Foretell by Belle Malory Read Free Book Online

Closing my eyes, I let the pulsing music drown out the high volume of my anxiety. Somehow, I managed to fall into a deep slumber, forgetting about the madness that had taken over my life these past few hours. At least for a little while.
     

     
    The soft hues of daylight shined into our room, waking me. The rumble beneath my feet indicated our train was still moving. According to my cell, it was 7:00 a.m. Way too early to be awake under normal circumstances.
    The cell phone was also testimony to dozens of missed calls from my mother and a few from my sister. At least I’d thought to silence the ringer. I toyed with the idea of listening to the voicemails, but honestly, I wasn’t interested in hearing my mother’s frantic voice displaying a mock portrayal of concern over my welfare. She would only be upset that the goose that laid her golden eggs finally flew the coop. She could no longer use me. That was as far as her distress truly went.
    “You should break that,” Lola said, pulling me out of my contemplative state. She was staring at me cautiously. Her fingers loomed over strips of her hair where she’d been braiding it. “If your family contacted the police, it could be used as a tracking device.”
    I looked at the phone again, debating. I supposed there was no point in keeping it. I snapped it in two, surprised by how easy it had been to break.
    “The guys went to get breakfast,” Lola mentioned.
    My last connection to home.
    Broken.
    “I’m about to join them,” she said. “Do you want to come with me?”
    I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
    “You should eat,” she suggested, eyeing my figure. “You’re already too skinny.”
    I raised a brow. “Gee, thanks.”
    She grinned. Then, more seriously, she warned me, “Don’t go anywhere, okay? It shouldn’t take long.”
    “I’ll be fine,” I reassured her.
    I found myself completely alone in the cabin. It was quiet, too quiet. The pieces of my broken phone plunked loudly against the wall of the metal wastebasket as I tossed them in. Their echoes made the room sound emptier, smaller.
    I knew I couldn’t let myself dwell on what was happening back home. I needed to put myself back together and move on.
    That was no longer my life. Not anymore.
    There was a small mirror in the bathroom. I looked myself over in it, and grimaced. My hair was in an array of tangles, and my ashen skin looked as if it belonged to a ghostly being.
    I turned on the sink faucet and scrubbed at my face and hands. The icy, cold water helped to wake me up. Afterwards, I combed my thick hair back into a twisted bun, tying it up with a black ribbon.
    Typically, I didn’t wear much makeup, but I felt like it was necessary today. I dabbed on some concealer, some blush and swooped one thin line of black liner across the upper lids of my eyes.
    After I was done, I looked myself over again.
    Better, I decided. Much better.
    I sat back down in my seat, bored now. These trains should really come stocked with televisions. Or at the very least some magazines.
    A bound leather book sat across from me on the opposite seat. Intrigued, I picked it up and was surprised by its heftiness. I eyed the doorknob, listening to hear if anyone was coming. It remained very quiet. Too curious to put the book down, I leafed through it. The pages were thick and textured. It was an artwork portfolio.
    Emotion was the prevalent element on each of the pages. Raw, unbridled and passionate emotion. The lines were detailed and elegant. The colors were rich and deep. Some of the art were mere sketches. Some were paintings. Some were printed copies of digital art. All of it was beautiful.
    I flipped through the pages hungrily. My love for art had found a feast.
    Curiously, many of the images were of the same blurred woman. The emotion was more tangible within those images. Her eyes held some sort of power. She was lovely, too. Her hair was blonde, flowing in tight ringlets down her back. In most of the portraits,