Given New Worlds

  Given New Worlds

  __________________

  Rachael Sircar

  Copyright © 2018 Rachael Sircar

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: TBD

  Dedicated To

  Those who have experienced challenges yet continue to walk in God’s mercy and grace within the new worlds He has given them

  Abigail Ellwood.

  Darling of the limelight.

  Beautiful. Elegant. Sought after.

  The daughter of a famous movie actress and a beloved United States Senator, Abby has only known life in a bubble, under the protection of her high-status parents and the security detail surrounding them.

  The one thing she longs for – anonymity - is a mystery to her.

  Everyone knows her name.

  Then she meets Sean.

  Once a year, on her birthday, Abby receives a note.

  On the note is written one word.

  REVENGE

  But on Abby’s twenty-fifth birthday, the note is carved into her back during a vicious attack, leaving her battered and unresponsive.

  Awaking from her catatonic stupor months later, Abby finds that she has been blessed with a new world, yet there is one thing missing…

  Sean.

  Psalm 10

  FIRST WORLD

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT wasn’t a fairytale childhood by any means.

  It was a whirlwind of busyness

  and learning how to be perfect.

  Through it all, Abby knew the one perfect thing.

  God.

  But she didn’t speak of Him.

  Her parents wouldn’t understand a god of perfection - a god of sovereignty and solace - and protection. They only the understood the god of high priced security and fortified walls around the estate. They only knew those things they could control, or at least have a perception of control therein.

  So, no. Abby didn’t say a word.

  She would pray to her plastic Jesus - the one that hung from the rosary Nanny Marie had given her. Nanny Marie, who had been sent away on Abby’s seventh birthday, when there had been another scary note found. Abby remembered the note. It said the same thing as all the other notes. It said REVENGE.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BEING a teenager in the spotlight is hard. The mental tug of war with parents and security personnel pulling you out of the light, while paparazzi and curious onlookers are dragging you back into it.

  Abby judiciously walked the tightrope of anonymity as she changed from child to young woman. Always dressed in fashionable, yet inconspicuous clothing. Always careful to wear sunglasses and a hat when in public, because if they can’t see your eyes, they can’t see your feelings. Only talking to girls that had been pre-approved by a team of social advisors. Never talking to boys, unless briefed prior to the discussion, and only then, being given the appropriate comments and responses. Always revealing her true thoughts to God alone, because if you only used words inside your head, They couldn’t find out.

  It wasn’t clear exactly who They were. But the overwhelming sense of fear instilled in Abby from birth communicated that They were something to be avoided at all costs. They seemed to change from day to day. They were the media. They were an opposing senatorial candidate. They were the person that sent those awful notes that said REVENGE - the notes that drove her parent’s fear and their overprotection.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ABBY entered college with vigilant formality. She was provided the sense of leaving the nest with a shedding of tears from her mother, a practical speech from her father, a new car, and a few decorative items to adorn the condominium she would be sharing with a quiet yet imposing young woman whose father was the U.S. Ambassador from India.

  Veena Singh was trudging through the medical classes along with Abby, but her interests leaned towards sports medicine while Abby refrained from pinning herself down to one specific practice. It was safer to wait and see what her parent’s advisors would choose for her at the end of pre-med.

  Wedgewood College was neat, compact, and secure. Waving Florida palm trees lined the entrance, and stately oaks along the promenade classified it as an elite private university. The small campus afforded Abby the ability to recognize faces as she walked from class to class, and within the first week, she’d been able to differentiate security personnel from students and teachers. They conspicuously stood out like sore thumbs. Even at the nearby private hospital where Abby was now doing her clinical work, the ever-present security was within view. A normal person wouldn’t be able to tell they were only there to be eyes, and someday maybe weapons, but Abby knew exactly who they were. She had spent her whole life surrounded by men and women highly trained to notice everything that could come between her and her perfect world.

  That was, until the day in the library.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  OCCASIONALLY, when Veena was blasting early alternative bands through the condo and the walls began to close in, Abby would go to the large campus library that was overstocked with unread books. The building featured few students; as most of the Wedgewood population had resources at their fingertips on cell phones and laptops, there was no need to go to a warehouse of old, dusty texts.

  Several groups of students were gathered at tables, pouring over cell biology and neuroscience while Abby held a pristine copy of A Walk to Remember by Nicholas Sparks. Apparently, nobody on campus read fiction either.

  Curled into a ball on one of the overstuffed chairs, Abby read until her eyes began to itch. She remembered Nanny Lemon informing her eleven-year-old self that she should look away from her book at least once per minute to keep her vision from deteriorating. At this point, it had been fifty-two minutes, but Abby wasn’t counting.

  As she directed her vision away from the text, and across the library, towards the clock hanging over the librarian’s counter, Abby saw a male. Not just a male, but an alarmingly handsome male. It wasn’t the fact that he belonged on the Men of Crew picture in the campus magazine. It wasn’t the fact that he had a ruffled head of thick, dark hair that looked like it had been run through with a set of manly fingers. It wasn’t the fact that his eyes had been pressed into her own as she’d looked up. It was the fact that when he realized she was looking at him, his cheeks turned a ruddy maroon and he tipped his head into his hand, focusing once again on the laptop and pile of medical books sitting in front of him.

  There was something different about his blush. Something defining. Of course, everyone knew who she was. Most guys smiled like idiots when they looked at her - either pretending to be her best friend or acting like they were too cool to talk to her.

  But with this man? It was different.

  Abby glanced up at the entrance to the library. Her daytime watchdog was there. His security name was Rocket, but he probably had a classy name like Harold or Thomas on his driver’s license.

  Rocket’s eyes flicked back and forth between Abby and the gentleman in question.

  It appeared as though Mr. Men of Crew was going to be a No-Go Zone. Too bad. The cautious glance the handsome guy at the table occasionally sent her way had piqued her interest and she wanted to know more. Instead, Abby closed her book, placed it into the rolling cart labeled ‘Place Used Books Here’, and walked towards the exit. She couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of her eye as she passed. His hand was threaded into his hair and he was attempting to appear focused on the materials in front of him, but Abby could see his brown eyes catch her own in a silent dance.

  Through this gaze, Abby asked so many questions. Who are you? Why are you different? Do you know who I am? Do you care? Do you wish the same thing I do?

  Do you wish you lived in a normal world?

  Abby s
hook her head and exited the library, not allowing herself to dwell on the absurdity of the last question. As often as she posed that same inquiry, she just as often pushed it out of her mind. It wasn’t worth it to wonder. It wasn’t worth it to dream.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SUNDAY afternoon was reserved for lunch. Lunch with Dad. Lunch with Mom. Or lunch with whoever would take her to her usual dining spot and recite the week’s events over canapés and cocktails.

  Today it was Dad’s turn.

  “Dr. Phillips tells me you made a mistake in your psychopathology paperwork,” he said, pretending he himself had spoken personally with Abby’s professor, when in reality, it was likely the details were printed by his secretary and placed in a manila folder, strategically placed on Dad’s desk.

  “Yes.” she stated hesitantly, awaiting Dad’s reprimand, or a mention of the repeated declaration that there were other careers more befitting to her future and social status.

  “We can hire a tutor…”

  “No Dad. It’s medical school. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “You are aware that you don’t need to go to the campus library. All of the books you need are on your computer,” Dad pointed out.

  Abby set her fork down and rubbed perspiring hands on the napkin in her lap. Of course Dad would mention her library visits. She knew what was coming next.

  “I’d prefer it if you did your studying at your condominium. It’s quiet. You can concentrate better there.”

  “I was taking a break,” Abby explained, hoping she didn’t sound whiny. Dad hated whiny. “Besides, Veena listens to that awful music so loud when she works out. I need to get out once in a while.”

  “I see.” Dad pecked at his salmon and once again reverted to deep thought mode. Something was on his mind and Abby wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. She dug into her lunch and hoped by finishing it quickly she would be able to escape before any more words she didn’t want to hear came tumbling out of Dad’s mouth.

  “You’re twenty-three now,” he said.

  Too late.

  “Soon to be twenty-four. I’ll be able to rent a car,” Abby said, yet immediately regretted it as Dad’s eyes flicked with fear, then stoic acceptance. Each year, Abby managed to grow older. And each year, Dad could feel her slipping further and further away from his protective grasp.

  “Your mother and I understand that it’s normal for a girl your age to want to date.”

  Abby dropped her head into her hands. She didn’t point out that if she wasn’t living in the Ellwood cocoon, this conversation would be about six years too late. “Oh my gosh, Dad. Mom already talked to me about these things years ago. Along with Nanny Esther and my eighth-grade physical education instructor.”

  This time it was Dad’s turn to place his fork down and wipe his hands on his napkin. He shook his head and glanced around at the neighboring tables to ensure other diners weren’t within earshot. “No. No. That’s not what I’m talking about, Abigail.” He took a drink from his wine glass and motioned for the waiter to bring him another. Apparently, this wouldn’t be a conversation for the faint of heart.

  “Have you ever thought about dating?”

  “Well, yes. Of course.” She didn’t bother to mention that she was waiting for the proper guy to come along. One approved of, and sent by, her parent’s social advisors, ready to place a ring on her hand and a baby in her tummy. She was fully aware of the fact that she would never have a normal dating life. She could only pray God would be in the works. That he would oversee the minds and hands in charge of her future and make it a man who wouldn’t be too unbearable.

  “Your mother’s friend, Elise, has a son about your age…”

  “Randall Steinmetz? The guy who stuck his finger in the cake at his bar mitzvah?”

  Dad rubbed his chin and accepted the glass of wine from the returning waiter as if it were a life preserver. After another bout of deep thoughts and sips from his wine glass, Dad stretched his hands over the back of his neck and attempted a jovial smile.

  Abby needed to be kinder. She knew it must be hard for him. She was in the spotlight, watched by everyone, known by everyone. Whoever she dated would be front-page headlines. She needed to do it right. Her parents’ reputations were like a fast running machine and any slip-up, any dirt in the gears, would send the machine to a screeching halt. Abby didn’t want to be that obstacle.

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” she said with an understanding smile. “I get it.” She opened her hand and placed it palm up on the white tablecloth. Dad reached across and wrapped her fingers in a comforting embrace.

  “Thank you, Abigail.”

  She understood. It wasn’t a thank you for the words she spoke. It was a thank you for the words he didn’t have to. Superficial was better. There were prying ears everywhere. So many thoughts and feelings were unspoken between her and her parents. The tip of a head, the shift of an eye; all silent sentences that communicated what they really needed to say. It was an art.

  “Well, you have a psychopathology report to finish, am I right?” Dad asked, clearly proud of the fact that he’d studied up on Abby’s syllabus.

  “Done,” she said with a confident smile, hoping his unease could be quickly converted to happiness once again; the happiness he needed to show for the masses, the happiness he needed to procure in order to get through his daily senatorial life of meetings, press conferences, and tiptoeing through the limelight.

  “Abigail,” he said as he stood and took her hand to help her out of the chair. Not in assistance, but in the gentlemanly show to be displayed on all occasions. “You know Mom and I are very proud of you, right?”

  “Yes, Dad,” Abby said, rolling her eyes with amusement. It had been stated millions of times.

  “And you know we love you.”

  “I know.”

  He leaned down and lifted the shoulders of her cardigan as if to tidy it along her arms, but in actuality he was leaning close to her ear, out of the prying eyes of wait staff and diners. “You know whatever decisions we make, it is because we are trying to protect you.”

  The words sent a chill over Abby’s skin and she welcomed Dad’s warm hands on her shoulders as thoughts of what could happen to her floated through her mind. She never went there - never considered what would happen to her outside the secure world in which Mom and Dad had placed her. And she wouldn’t think about it now. Too painful. Too frightening. It was better to dwell on the small things, like making sure the bread crumbs from the roll she’d eaten weren’t cluttering her skirt, and lightening the mood with a sarcastic, but playful comment to keep the air from turning rigid with emotion.

  “Well, you and Mom had better start looking a little harder,” she whispered into Dad’s ear with a giggle. “My biological clock is ticking and I’m sure you’d like grandchildren at some point.”

  A smile crinkled the lines around Dad’s eyes, easing Abby’s heart and she followed him out of the restaurant, but she couldn’t help but wonder about that biological clock. She was an old woman on the dating timeline, surely up for sainthood at this point. And the possible candidates her comment would bring forth left her considering a possible jaunt to the closest nunnery. Hopefully her parents wouldn’t subject her to any jerks like Randall Steinmetz. Abby knew for a fact he had a heroine dealer on call and wouldn’t hesitate to use Abby as leverage for his fake political career if he snatched her up as a wife.

  Maybe it would be someone new. Someone who wasn’t from old money, old Hollywood, or old politics. Maybe someone like the guy at the library.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT had been two weeks since her lunch with Dad. He’d gotten the biological clock message loud and clear. Mom was littering Abby’s email with bios and pictures of guys she and her high-class friends considered appropriate. Abby had only picked a couple out of the bunch and was currently communicating with them via text and email. She’d never been into social media, so that left her lacking. There were a gazillion users
out there pretending to be Abigail Ellwood, but she knew from the start that putting personal information on a computer was like the kiss of death. Better to avoid it all together. The approved guys with whom she was communicating seemed to get it as well. They were respectful and kind, only asking pertinent questions.

  Abby also noticed that Veena no longer blasted her music in the workout room. Dad must have said something about it to Mr. Singh, thereby communicating the transgression to Veena. But evidently, Veena hadn’t been fazed by the edict. She was her same casual, cool self. She’d even offered to show Abby some self-defense moves, just in case a guy became too amorous. It appeared as though Dad had communicated the date factor through the grapevine as well.

  So, every day at five-thirty in the morning, she and Veena wrestled and pushed each other on the mat that covered the corner of the workout room in their condo. It felt good to get some aggression out physically, even though Abby suffered more than a few bruises from Veena’s rough handling. The woman was a rock. Each of her tiny muscles had muscles of their own and she had a core that could withstand a Category 5 hurricane.

  Veena had Abby in some weird Krav Maga hold when a cockroach skittered across the floor causing Abby to pull out of the hold and leap away from the offending insect before it came within ten feet of her crawling skin.

  “That was a great escape. But next time bring your bicep to the ear…”

  “Get it, get it, get it!” Abby pointed and began to scream as the roach scrambled up the wall towards the rack by the bathroom. “Don’t let it touch my towel!”

  “You’re such a baby.” Veena walked to the wall and did a round kick, centering on the location of the roach, leaving a gross yellowish-brown mark on the wall. “Saved your life,” she said, pretending to blow the smoke off a gun and stick it back in a holster.