A Vision of Green (Florence Vaine #2)

A Vision of Green

A Florence Vaine Novel

By L.H. Cosway

Copyright
©
2012 Lorraine McInerney

All rights reserved.

Cover picture “Walking on Woods” by Jose Antonio S
á
nchez Reyes.

Cover design by L.H. Cosway.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Books by L.H. Cosway

A Strange Fire
(Florence Vaine #1)

A Vision of Green
(Florence Vaine #2)

Tegan's Blood
(The Ultimate Power Series #1)

Tegan's Return
(The Ultimate Power Series #2)

Crimson
(An Ultimate Power Series Novella)

Painted Faces
(Coming Soon)

Table of Contents

Chesterport forest, 2 years ago.

The witches had been dragging the little psychic girl around with them for what seemed like days. They had taken her from her home and eaten their fill of her life force bit by bit. The final stop on their journey was the woods. A place so ancient, nobody quite knew how old it really was. Those trees had lain dormant for centuries, which is precisely why the coven preferred it. Nobody would be there to catch them killing a girl who had just barely reached adulthood.

Her pain was enormous. They didn't kill her straight away, just a little here, a little there; dragging it out so as to derive the biggest possible reward. Their leader sunk her magic into the girl, draining the most potent parts of her, and then she allowed her sisters to have their fill. The girl couldn't move or speak, yet when she finally reached the sweet release of dying, the magic mixed with her death and a supernatural door opened in the atmosphere. It was only a crack, hardly big enough to allow entrance to those ancient woods. But it would grow. For a crack never remains a simple crack forever.

The girl died, the witches moved on to other victims, and months passed by, years even. That was when the crack grew bigger; widened by another fraction, making it large enough to be sensed by the dark creatures who were seeking new and fertile lands to make their home. Creatures who drifted in the ether, waiting to be brought back to life. They had already lived countless lifetimes, killed millions, and they would live again, just as soon as that crack got big enough.

Their ruler told them to wait and to be patient. For once the door opened fully they would be reborn. They would have life within their grasp once more, and fresh victims ripe for their amusement. The weight of their anticipation grew heavy; it was a burden that the atmosphere could no longer withhold. And then, the crack split, widened into an enormous hole, and the creatures spilled through.

They made themselves comfortable amid the untouched nature of the terrain. Frolicked amid the bushes and the trees, ate their fill of the natural inhabitants until there was hardly a bird, rabbit or badger left for them to feast on. That was when their eyes turned to the town beyond the woods, to the humanity which lay just out of their reach.

With force they tried to leave, but they could not. That was when they realised they were trapped. The crack might have split and let them through, but this was a very old forest, and it would only allow them to go where they had been invited. They were not welcome in the town, and therefore they had to remain where they were. In a place that was now devoid of sustenance, for they had ravaged it and left nothing but plant life. They had no interest in greenery. They wanted flesh. They wanted blood.

The creatures howled at their ruler, screamed, thrashed and clawed for him to set them free. The impassive God walked among them and said he could not intervene, that they had determined their own fate with their rampant killing and thirst for death. He told them that if they wanted to eat, they would have to resort to vegetarianism, for they had consumed all of the animals.

They did not take this message calmly, but they knew there was no changing their ruler's mind, for he had his own adversaries to contend with. The heavenly ones, the Nephilim, were ensuring he kept in line, making certain that his creatures remained in the woodlands where they belonged.

Life went on, the creatures surviving due to their strong natures, their endless belief that soon they would figure out a way to leave their green prison. The only humans who came into their territory were strange and unpalatable, young men who were possessed by demons. They came there to run through the trees, but the creatures kept their distance for fear of facing the monsters within the human bodies.

What they sought were true humans, the weak kind, the ones who didn't hold the strength to fight back. Their acceptance of their leader's ruling would not last for much longer. Soon they would find a way out, a new crack, a door.

Soon.

Some people say that the best things in life are the hardest to achieve. That you have to struggle to get what you want the most, or be brave in order to cement the person you are in the eyes of others. I want my father to see who I am for once, that I'm not a victim or a weak girl he can push around and work his anger out on.

I've spent many long hours visualising the scene where I show my dad my true self, where I defeat him in body, mind and spirit. It varies from me having super human strength and being able to hurt him physically in the way he has hurt me so many times before, to simply reciting a long and haughty speech about how much of a low life he is. While I'm giving this speech his eyes will inevitably widen with guilt, shame and understanding.

Of course, I know that's never going to happen. Especially the second scenario. Evil people don't know that they're evil, and therefore can't accept the fact. To them the things they do are for a cause they see as being good. Their view of what's good is always distorted. I'm sure that every dictator in the history of the world believed that his bad deeds were justified in his own messed up vision. My dad is no different. I just don't know whether he excuses his actions because he thinks he's had such a crap life, or because he feels the need to escape the woes of being saddled with a stuttering, disappointment of a daughter.

Maintaining a strong front with him is going to be very difficult. Maybe that means it'll be the most rewarding thing if I succeed. However, it's not a good omen that I can already feel my courage dwindling away, bit by bit, with each new step that brings me closer to him.

I hear the music blaring before I've even walked into the front garden of Gran's house. I guess it's not her house any more. I'm not sure who it actually belongs to now. Maybe it goes straight to Dad since he was her only son. Now there's a frightening thought.

When I've gotten to the front door I stand still for a moment, breathing in and out, telling myself to be brave, that I can do this. I really hope I can do this. Dad's inside, laughing and joking with someone else. Someone female. They both sound drunk off their faces, which isn't exactly ideal. I don't know how dad's going to react to seeing me again after all this time.

I turn my key in the door and step inside. Some awful song by The Happy Mondays is playing at full volume. I probably wouldn't despise the band so much if my dad didn't have a penchant for playing their albums when he gets drunk or high.

I notice the woman first, swaying her hips to the beat of the music in the centre of Gran's quaint living room. The contrast is unsettling. The woman's got messy bleach blond hair with the roots growing out about an inch or two, and she's wearing skin tight blue jeans with a white halter top. Several tatty gold necklaces grace her neck, pooling in the centre of her chest.

She's probably only in her late thirties like Dad, but she looks older, especially in the face. Her leathery skin is aged before its time. Drink, drugs and cigarette miles, I like to call them. You know, those extra years that substance abuse tends to add on to a person's appearance.

Her body isn't that bad, except the boobs are a bit saggy and the cleavage a little wrinkled from too much sun. She twists and grinds with the music, a can of beer in her hand and a massive grin on her face. So this is dad's latest conquest. I'd like to say he's done well for himself, but I don't think he ever brought a decent woman home in all the years I lived with him. They're always like this one, harsh, weather beaten and careless. She probably has a bunch of kids somewhere that she's neglecting in order to get pissed drunk with my dad. They always do.

I walk over to the stereo and yank the plug out of the wall. The woman whips around to face me.

“
Hey, what did you do that for?” she slurs.

“
W-who the fuck are you?” I counter loudly, cursing because that's all people like her understand. You've got to be blunt with them or else they'll think you're a pushover.

She steps back a little, not sure how to approach the situation now. “I'm Sal, Terry's girlfriend, you must be his young one, Flo isn't it?”

“
Yeah,” I answer on a sigh. “Where is he?”

“
I'm right here,” says a voice just entering the room. A voice that makes me wince and shiver all at once.

I turn around to face my dad. He's got a six pack of beer in his hand. I'm hoping this means he's only drinking tonight. He's wearing his usual rig out, battered black jeans, boots and a denim shirt. His dark brown hair, the exact same shade as mine, is just as messy as his lady friend's. His brown eyes are a little bit blood shot. He yanks a can of beer out of the pack he's holding and shoves it into my hand, before placing his arm around my shoulders aggressively.

“
Well Flo, did ya miss me at all?”

I close my eyes once quickly to bat away the tears. His presence is too much to take this close. The smell of him hits me; cigarettes, booze and cheap after shave. Scents can be powerful in dragging memories to the surface. Memories of my face and ribs all sore from him beating on me. I don't say anything.

He doesn't comment on my silence. “Come on, get that down you, we're celebrating. It's not every day your old bat mother finally hits the bucket and leaves you her house and whatever else she might have squirrelled away over the years.”

Christ, does this mean the house really does belong to him now?

“
How do you know she l-left it to you?” I whisper.