The Drazen World: Purgatory (Kindle Worlds Novella)

role of my protector, despite my protests that I could most definitely take care of myself.
Past events showed that I could not, in fact, be entrusted with my own safety.
I felt him before I even heard him.
Hunter.
Without a word, he spread his entire length along the bed and folded his arms behind his head, keeping his eyes closed. I smiled at how naturally he had invaded my life.
"Tell me a story, Spunky."
Ugh. We needed to do something about that fucking nickname.
And so, I did. But not before I turned my body perpendicular to his, resting my head on his stomach with the book held out in front of me. Not the most comfortable position but one that gave me comfort, nonetheless. Not only could I feel his warmth, but every one of his breaths rocked me like a drifting boat out on the sea. Lulling me into safety and prepping me for a story that almost felt as though it were fiction.
But it wasn't. As I would soon find out.
Chapter 7
Twelve years earlier.
Age: 14.
Scribe: Insight of Canavan
 
Patrick and Suzanne Reese sat at the dinner table, their two teenage children bickering about wanting their independence. Gabby wanted her own friends, tired of sharing friendships for the sole reason of being a twin. Darren had responded calmly, almost jokingly, "Well, stop stealing my friends then and we'll be golden."
With a sigh, Patrick placed his hand on Gabby's fist resting dangerously on the table cloth.
"Sweetheart, eat. We'll sort this out after dinner. Now is not the time." The raised voices suddenly went mute but the death glares continued. Suzanne knew that they couldn't win all of the battles but they were adamant about winning the war.
"How's school going? Any tests coming up?" Patrick asked Darren as he scooped up a large fork full of linguini. With a shrug, his growing son finished chewing before giving him a proper response.
"It's fine, I guess. We have a History test next week but I should be good. Just need to reread the last two chapters on the American Revolution." Patrick nodded, pointing the fork at his son. "Don't wait until the last minute to do that. You want your information to make it to your long term..."
"Long term memory and not fall into short term." They all echoed his long-time mantra when it came to studying. The table fell into laughter as everyone resumed their meals.
"Gabby baby, anything coming up for you?" School work wasn't her forte but music was etched in her very soul. By now, Patrick had learned that if he wanted to have her talking up a storm, it was the subject of music he needed to aboard, not English Lit.
"There's a recital on Friday but I'm not ready."
"Why do you say that?" Patrick knew better than to contradict her. When it came to the piano, Gabby never saw the perfection that was her talent. She would practice until her fingers were raw, until her mind ate, drank and breathed the partition laid out before her eyes. Half the time, his daughter wasn't even aware of the fact she was humming the notes while doing odd things around the house or riding in the car. An artist's mind in constant limbo between reality and abstraction. A perfectionist always shy of her expectations and feeling as though she were tumbling into failure on a daily basis.
He should have seen the signs early on. Those warning lights signaling her mind's dangerous dance with depression. They both, as parents, should have done something sooner. The truth was, she was their little princess. The apple to daddy's eye and the pride permanently living in their hearts.
With all the love they had for her, ultimately, they failed her. The mental professionals tried to balance out her moods but the medication was never quite doing its job, instead pulling their little girl further and further from her true self.
"Something isn't right and I can't find it. I thought it was the arpeggio at first. That maybe the sequence was too slow but when I tried to fix that, the fermata was too long and threw everything else off. I can't find the problem." Her voice was rising with every word alerting him that maybe this wasn't the subject they needed to focus on at the table. Patrick's eyes darted over to his wife, a silent communication they had perfected months into Gabby's "episodes". Even Darren had picked up on their codes.
"Hey, did you meet that new girl? Monica?" Lowering his eyes to his plate, Patrick breathed a sigh of relief at their son's acute knowledge of his twin sister. She would be okay as long as he stood by her side. They had to believe that.
"Yeah, she's a singer. Her voice needs a little push, though." Gabby paused to drink from her water glass before continuing her observation of this Monica. "But, she kinda sounds like Ella Fitzgerald mixed in with Anastasia. It's hot." Patrick blinked trying to understand if the word "hot" had taken a different significance since last he used it.
"She's definitely hot..." Darren muttered probably hoping no one had heard him. They all did. And just like that, laughter spilled throughout the room and levity filled their hearts. "Oh, and she plays the Theremin which means she's original. I like her." The excitement in Gabby's voice returned, acting as a balm to his frantic nerves.
"What is that?" Patrick asked, as he broke a piece of bread to wipe away the white sauce from his pasta plate.
"It's a Russian made instrument. It has, like, two antennas. One controls the volume and the other the pitch. And the really cool thing about it is that the thereminist doesn't touch the instrument. It's like man and machine are communicating through musical