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    The Harbinger: The Fray Theory, #1.1
    The Harbinger: The Fray Theory, #1.1
    The Harbinger: The Fray Theory, #1.1
    Ebook135 pages3 hours

    The Harbinger: The Fray Theory, #1.1

    By Nelou Keramati

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    About this ebook

    Dylan Sterling is an anomaly who dreams of events before they happen. But over the years, this peculiar gift has transformed into a curse. A dark curse in the form of a strange man who haunts him. Hunts him. Kills him.

    But unlike other people, even once Dylan has awakened from a nightmare, the agony of torture clings to his skin. The horror of his own brutal murder continues to resonate with him. Pain, it seems, has long become the status quo. That is until a recurring nightmare reveals a clue that might help him unveil the truth of his 'condition'.

    The race against time has begun, and with each passing day, the boundaries between dream and reality are becoming more and more muddled. And unless he can solve this mystery, he'll stand to lose even more than he thought possible.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFinch Hill
    Release dateMar 1, 2017
    ISBN9780995031258
    The Harbinger: The Fray Theory, #1.1
    Author

    Nelou Keramati

    Nelou Keramati is a Canadian author, architect, artist, and actress. She holds a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology (B.A. Psych) and a Masters in Architecture (M.Arch) from the University of British Columbia (UBC). In 2014, her acting pursuits combined with her cognitive-behavioral background sparked an idea which she developed into a mind-bending take on Existentialism. In 2016, she debuted her theories in Resonance, the first instalment of her Sci-Fi/Mystery Thriller, The Fray Theory. Blurring the boundaries between fact and fiction, Resonance has been lauded as ‘Science Fiction so convincing it may very well be Science Fact'.

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      Book preview

      The Harbinger - Nelou Keramati

      Prologue

      ‘From victim to victor. From flight to fight.’

      Chapter 1

      Phobia

      ~The day it all began~

      VANCOUVER AIRPORT MIGHT BE GRAND to a six-year old child, but to little Dylan who’s hiding under a chair at the far end of the departure terminal, not nearly big enough. Not with the luggage filling the gaps around him, and not with all the lingering or striding feet blocking him from view.

      He tightens his grip around the metal legs of the chair and shuts his eyes—a fox pup hiding from a big bad wolf that no one else believes exists.

      Not even his dad.

      He hears a scratchy noise from above and opens his eyes to big black shoes and dark grey pants.

      Found him, a man’s voice comes from higher up.

      Dylan’s heart clenches as a man kneels in front of him and peeks under the chair.

      Hey there, little man, he smiles. Are you lost?

      Dylan shakes his head sharply with wide eyes.

      Yeah— the man pulls the radio next to his collar closer to his mouth. Yeah, terminal E, south corner. He’s hiding under a chair.

      "Nooo, Dylan whispers as he leans in, still tightly gripping the chair’s legs. Don’t tell him," he begs the man who’s now facing away, looking at something in the near distance.

      Dylan’s heart accelerates, his knuckles white from squeezing the chair’s legs.

      His dad’s going to be really mad.

      What sounds like a mini stampede is followed by his dad’s leather boots appearing in the corner of his vision. And then he sees his dad’s hand as it lands on the floor, and his anxious face swooping down below the seat.

      At the sight of Dylan, his father grips his chest and gasps a breath, then reaches over and rests his hand on Dylan’s shoulder. Oh God, Dylan.

      The security guard smiles, then rises to his feet.

      Thank you, Dylan’s dad looks up at him.

      Course, Mr. Holt, he says, and then his feet walk out of Dylan’s sight.

      Dylan, Holt turns to face his son, his expression twisted from worry. Why did you run off?

      Dylan tightens his mouth.

      Do you have any idea how scared I was? he rubs Dylan’s shoulder. "I let go of your hand for a second to get our boarding passes out, then I look down and you’re gone. I almost had a heart-attack."

      I’m sorry, Dylan looks down.

      Okay. Come on, Holt gently pulls Dylan in.

      We can’t get on the plane, Dylan pulls back. It’s gonna crash.

      Holt exhales a deep breath, then lies down onto his side, propped on his elbow. D, he tightens his lips and raises his brows. We talked about this.

      Dylan frowns, shaking his head.

      Everyone gets a little nervous their first time on a plane. It’s normal to have nightmares—

      No, Dylan says. It happened. We died!

      If we died, then how can we be here? Hmm? he tilts his head to the side, smiling.

      "It hasn’t happened yet. But it will."

      Remember that dream you had about a glowing jellyfish floating around in a big, dark house?

      Dylan’s shoulders slacken. Yeah...

      Now, did that come true?

      Dylan stares at his dad, then looks in the direction of their flight gate, holding his breath.

      You don’t want to go to Disney World?

      Dylan looks at his dad who’s now blurry behind a veil of tears.

      Alright, then, Holt throws up his hand. Maybe next trip.

      You’re tricking me, Dylan brings his sleeve up to his eyes, his tears seeping into the fabric.

      Well— Holt chuckles as he checks the time on his watch. The gate is probably closed by now. So, we can’t get on the plane even if we wanted to.

      Dylan unclenches a bit, eyeing his dad’s face. Are you mad?

      "Me? Holt cranes his neck forward with raised brows. No, he shakes his head. But we’ll probably need to write quite a few apology letters to all the princesses at Disney World."

      Dylan’s heart sinks, but he puts on his brave face and nods.

      Wanna go home?

      Yeah.

      Alright. Come ‘ere you l’il monkey, Holt reaches in and pulls Dylan out onto his lap. He plants a gentle kiss on the side of Dylan’s head, his big arm wrapped around his son’s small frame. Let’s go home.

      Chapter 2

      Primacy

      Cuddling his toy fox Sir Digby under his sheets, Dylan stares at the tiny clock on his nightstand. He follows the third hand as it tick, tick, ticks away to 11:11—to that magical number when you get to make a wish.

      But tonight, he won’t be making a wish for himself. He’ll be making a wish that their flight lands safely. That the awful nightmare he had last night won’t ever come true.

      Tick, tick, tick... tick.........

      Dylan frowns at the sight of the third hand slowing down, and then stopping entirely.

      Is it broken, he wonders? But it’s new.

      Just as he reaches out, the third hand starts to tick again, only much faster than before. So fast that it starts to drag the other two hands with it. Faster and faster it goes, until all three are spinning out of control.

      And then suddenly from outside, warm light begins to seep in through his shutters. Glowing horizontal streaks of marigold, oozing into the navy blue of his dark room. Light that is warm like a sunset, but wavering like a fireplace.

      Dylan sits up in his bed, his wide eyes glued to the shutters. He swallows, then quietly steps out of bed, tucks Sir Digby in under his sheets, and starts towards the window with tiny steps.

      He lifts the corner of the shutters and looks at what he’d expected to be the back yard. But instead, his window is now facing the inside of a big and empty room, somehow.

      A dungeon.

      At the far end of the dreary space there is a massive fireplace. It’s filthy and frightful, and barely illuminates the outline of someone lying on the ground. A man who seems to be hurt. A man with red hair.

      Just like me.

      Like a mouse peeking out a hole in the wall, Dylan stares along his line of sight at the man on the ground, wondering who he is.

      He flinches when a pair of black boots walk across his vision, realizing the red-haired man on the floor isn’t alone. And suddenly, he can’t bring himself to look at anything but the boots circling the room.

      He traces up the man’s dark, fitted jeans to a lit cigarette in his hand. He then scans up the sleeve of his black shirt to dark hair draping over his broad shoulders. But when Dylan tries to catch a glimpse of the man’s face, he finds it hidden beneath a thick veil of white smoke.

      But there’s something unnerving about the smoke. Something unnatural about its shape, and the way it follows the man as he makes his way around the room.

      Dylan’s heart drops as the man turns and faces in his direction, realizing the smoke has taken the shape of a gas-mask. A frightening, floating gas-mask loyal to the face beneath.

      An anguished groan beckons Dylan’s focus down to the red-haired man on the ground. He is struggling to rise, and appears to be in a lot of pain. He looks up at the masked man with terror and confusion, and catches a glimpse of Dylan along the line of his sight.

      His contorted face goes slack, and then his widened eyes begin to zigzag through the air.  Why? he asks of the masked man as his focus returns to Dylan.

      Why not? the masked man responds, and then flicks his cigarette down at his victim.

      LOOK AWAY! the red-haired man screams as ravenous flames ignite, devouring his entire body. LOOK AWAY! he extends an open palm to Dylan. LOOK AWAAAAY! his shrill cries rip through his throat and—

      Dylan jerks awake in his bed, his knuckles white from squeezing Sir Digby.

      A soft whimper escapes his quivering lips as tears break in his eyes. It was just a dream, he whispers to himself like his dad always does. It was not real, he mumbles, his voice weak and high-pitched. Not real, not real, not real, he repeats with his eyes shut. And the instant he’s summoned the courage to open them again, one glance at his shutters is all it takes for him to leap out of bed and run out his bedroom.

      His little feet stomp the hardwood as he rushes downstairs, the sound of the TV from the living room drawing him closer to his dad. To comfort and safety.

      He runs down the adjacent hall, ready to leap into his dad’s arms, but stops dead in his tracks at a sight he

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