Veracity (The Seven Cities Book 1) Read Free Page A

close my eyes and a strip of bright white flashes through my mind, the briefest glimpse of a long, white road stretching off in the distance.
    Was that a memory?
    I try to explore the idea, but the headache begins to build, and I cowardly back down, unwilling to challenge the raging bull guarding my thoughts. If I still had memories tucked behind the pain, they remained safely hidden, waiting for the moment I was strong enough to rescue them. 
    The road is nice, all things considered, with deep ditches filled with tall grass and sunset colored flowers. Beyond the ditches are pasturelands and tall pines encased in barbed-wire fences.
    The pavement itself is in decent condition, with only a handful of places showing erosion and disrepair. Over the course of the day, I have to skirt around several large holes filled with murky water. I lean over each one, trying to catch my reflection in its surface, but I am only ever able to see bits and pieces, an eye here or a nose there. In a way, it is more fitting to see myself like this.
    In the afternoon, the heat becomes intolerable. As the humidity rises, my hair sticks to my forehead and the back of my neck in damp curls. My clothes cling to my body uncomfortably, and I am dripping with sweat. I drain one of the bottles of water and tuck it back into the suitcase, which is getting heavier with every step.
    The sun finally starts to dip behind the tree line, bringing instant relief from the hot day, but also mosquitos the size of my thumbnail. They fly in great swarms, filling the dusky sky before turning their attention to me. I tuck my hair into the collar of my shirt, trying to spare the tender flesh of my neck and shoulders from their assault. They bite every inch of exposed skin, even finding the space between my blue jeans and socks.
    A burned out shell of a building is growing on the horizon and I sigh in relief at the sight. To my great disappointment, the building is too damaged to explore, but the paved area around it is clean and will make a solid foundation for my tent. Despite his warning not to fear the road, I set up the tent behind what's left of the building. Picking a corner of the lot where it butts against a patch of trees, I pitch the tent, hoping I am well hidden from the highway.
    It takes me a good while to figure out how to set it up, and I am exhausted by the time I crawl inside. Curling up in a ball on the floor, I try to distract myself with thoughts of the young man. I picture the sadness of his eyes as he left, and I imagine myself taking his hand. He may be the only person I can remember, but I still feel silly for thinking about him after all he has done. I drift off to sleep reassuring myself I am better without him, the man who took everything and left nothing in return.
    The dream comes as he said it would. At first it is just brief flashes of jumbled imagery and emotions bouncing around incoherently, but then there is the vivid sensation of running; the feeling of crashing through the trees as fast as I can, arms pumping at my sides. My chest heaves with effort as I jump over logs and duck under low hanging trees.
    The image of the young man flashes next, his endearing half-grin plastered across his face. The image dims and brightens, as if caught in a roaming light in the darkness. His laughter rings out into the night, cool and crisp against a backdrop of angry shouts and baying hounds.
    I feel his arms slip around me, the frantic beat of his heart banging against my own chest. He is no longer laughing, but frightened, pulling me as close to him as possible. We are being hunted, the smell of honeysuckle and pine thick in the air. The sound of approaching boots rise up impossibly loud, sending waves of panic through me. The sound grows closer, and louder, until it is right on top of us and so piercing, it no longer resembles the sound of boots but rather an angry demon screaming from somewhere deep and dark.
    The screeching cuts off sharply, the