Chapter One: Aria

There was no remorse in Isadora’s words.

“Are you ready to die?”

Sunlight pierced through the tall oak trees of the forest, light reflecting off the silver knife in her hands. She pointed it straight at my heart.

“No,” I stated. I clung onto my own blade tightly, sweat beading down my forehead. I was out of breath and tired. The chase had drained me.

There was a moment where I thought I had lost her within the dense cluster of trees, but the damned witch still found me. I suspected she was half bloodhound.

Isadora emerged from the foliage while I was still catching my breath—an apparition of both beauty and terror.

My heart beat like war drums as she stalked me with the grace and ferocity of a panther.

I rose from my resting spot. Flight didn’t seem to be working out for me which left me with only one other option.

Fight.

“Prove to me that you still want to live then,” Isadora said, her lips forming a thin smile. Before I could say anything, she was already on me, the knife slashing through the air, aimed straight at my head.

I spun out of the way, my movement fluid like water.

Over the past couple of weeks I had put my body through the ringer, pushing its limits with each grueling workout session in Shadow’s gym. I supposed dodging knife attacks was a good of way as any in gauging how far I’ve come in my training.

Isadora came at me again, her knife slashing at me ferociously. She was determined to draw blood.

I wouldn’t let her. I telegraphed her movements, dodging all her strikes, while waiting for an opening where I could counter with my own blade.

That moment never came. I was too focused on dodging her attacks that I failed to notice that she had backed me against a large oak tree.

I was trapped.

“Dead,” Isadora whispered.

“Screw that,” I cried as I lunged at her with my knife. It was an act of desperation, but I had no other choice.

Isadora was fast. In one swift motion, she caught my arm in between her armpit, taking me slightly off balance, and then swept my legs out from under me. Her knife immediately went to my throat.

I felt the coldness of its edge pressed hard against my skin. I shuddered as the knife slid across the length of my neck.

“Now you are dead,” Isadora said.

I sighed as I loosened the grip on my own knife and stared up into the sky.

“Yes, now I am dead,” I agreed.

Isadora lifted herself off of me and took a seat on the forest floor, dropping the dull-edged knife onto the ground.

“Your movements are faster. It’s become hard to hit you just by normal attacks alone,” she encouraged.

I sat up. “You still got me.”

“Be aware of your surroundings. The environment you’re in can be a greater weapon than the one you hold in your hands.”

I nodded. “So if you had to grade me between ‘helpless damsel in distress’ to ‘deadly ninja assassin’, where would I rank?”

Isadora thought about it for a moment. “One step above petty street thug.”

“Geez, that bad? I thought I would have made it to ‘unrefined pit fighter’ at least.”

“Perhaps if you had landed a blow on me.”

I pursed my lips. “Tomorrow,” I said. “For sure I’ll get you tomorrow.”

Isadora smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.”

We both sat in silence underneath the canopy of old oak branches and emerald leaves.

It was peaceful here in comparison to the chaos out there.

I wiped sweat off my brow and looked at Isadora—a gorgeous island goddess—thoughtfully. “You find me every freaking time. Even with a ten minute head start, you track me down. Seriously, I’m curious how you do it.”

Isadora shrugged. “I have help. Delilah follows you and I listen to her whispers.”

I shuddered.

Delilah was Isadora’s wife, murdered on their wedding day. Though I still had my skepticism when it came to ghosts, Isadora didn’t. Ever since Delilah’s death, I’d catch Isadora having conversations with empty spaces and dark shadows, supposedly chatting with her deceased lover.

One time, she caught me off guard while I was in the kitchen of Shadow’s home, making myself a sandwich.

I was in the middle of spreading a healthy glob of mayo over a slice of smoked chicken breast.

“It’s not enough,” Isadora had said, while sitting at the dining room table, sipping her coffee. “It’ll never be enough.”

I looked at my sandwich.

“Huh? More mayo then?”

Isadora looked at me, puzzled, before replying, “Mayo is bad for you, girl. It’s a mixture of lard and egg yolk.”

“You just told me it wasn’t enough.”

She proceeded to look at me as if I were the one that was crazy. “I was talking to Delilah.”

Obviously.

But if there were such thing as ghosts, spirits, and all other spooky things that went bump in the night, then without a doubt, Isadora was the one who could speak to them.

After what I experienced with her—the subconscious journey of self-discovery—it made me realize there were things hidden beneath the fabric of this world, things that simply couldn’t be explained through logic and reasoning.

Still, the idea of having a ghost following me around in the woods rattled my bones.

“Is Delilah still here?” I asked.

“No.”

That was a relief.

“She never liked crowded places,” Isadora added.

“Crowded places? It’s just the two of us here.”

She shook her head. “The spirits in this forest are noisy and miserable. There are plenty of them.”

I shuddered. Forget goose bumps, my skin was growing dinosaur balls.

“People come to this forest to die,” Isadora stated.

“Really?”

She nodded. “It all started with one girl who had decided to take her own life, just by the brook, over there,” Isadora pointed. “She slit her wrists and allowed her blood to flow into the stream.”

“That’s gross.”

“Two weeks later, a boy decided to follow in her footsteps. He too entered into this forest and took his own life, overdosing on heroin.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked. “I never heard these stories in the newspapers.”

“The media doesn’t report suicides in the papers. They fear it will inspire others to do the same. But stories, especially ones meant to be kept secret spread like wildfire. These woods became folklore. Many come here seeking thrills, hoping to catch a glimpse of spirits. Tragically, there are also a handful of misguided individuals who come here to take their own lives, feeling that their existence no longer has any purpose. They want to add to the myth surrounding this place—Moral City’s suicide forest.”

“I don’t understand, why waste your life like that?” I said. Even after Justin—my best and only friend—was murdered and Shadow had turned into an eclipse-sized asshole, never once did I have the urge to take the plunge into the afterlife.

I decided to become whiny instead and do questionable things such as getting fingered by the love of my life’s best friend.

I sighed. There wasn’t a minute that went by where I didn’t regret what transpired between Lincoln and me. I threw away a piece of my soul and Shadow’s trust—should he ever find out—in a moment of weakness.

It certainly wasn’t the right way to go about things, but it was still better than cutting myself.

“Can I be honest with you, Aria?” Isadora asked.

I nodded. “There’s nothing I appreciate more than honesty.”

Isadora smiled, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes. “I attempted to take my own life before.”

Her words struck me like a right hook. “What? Was this recently?”

Isadora shook her head. “No. I do admit there are nights where the loneliness is unbearable. It’s hard sleeping alone after you’ve grown accustomed to waking up, listening to the gentle breaths of your loved one.”

“So when did this happen? And how?”

Isadora leaned back against a rock and looked up at the cloudless, blue sky. She was lost in thought. When she finally spoke, her voice was melancholy. “I lived a life of freedom, up until I was fourteen. It was a happy life, one filled with the best memories. I often reminisce of sitting on the beach, watching my older brother leap into the ocean with his net, ready to catch another week’s worth of fish. Everything was so perfect back then. Everything was innocent. I was still innocent.

“And then they came in the middle of the night, those greedy bastards, with their brass knives and gold teeth. They were the slavers of my island; the Pirates of God, as they called themselves. My brother fought for me—fought for my freedom. He ended up with a bullet between his eyes. I’ll never forget the image of him lying face down in the sand, blood pooling around his head. I had cried and I fought, but in the end, I wound up in a cage, ready to be sold to the highest bidder aboard a white yacht. The man who bought me was Mr. Friday.”

I was taken aback. “From everything I’ve heard you and Mr. Friday were close. He was your mentor, like a father to you almost.”

Isadora spat. “Do fathers wake their daughters up in the middle of the night to rape them?”

My jaw dropped. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

She shook her head. “As twisted as it sounds, I almost have to thank Mr. Friday. Without him, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today. I was weak then. Now, I will stand toe-to-toe with any man and have their bloody heart beating in my hands when it’s all over.”

“But you almost didn’t make it to now,” I stated.

“Yes. I almost didn’t make it,” Isadora agreed. “I’m here now because of Delilah. Two years after Mr. Friday purchased me, he also purchased Delilah from the Pirates of God. In the beginning, she didn’t say a word to me. We both moved about Mr. Friday’s mansion like a pair of zombies, our heads deep within a thick fog, waiting for the next moment when that monster would take us again.”

“Every day, I felt more hatred for Mr. Friday, and every day, I was one step closer to the brink of madness. One night, I finally decided to resist. I had listened to the screaming in the back of my head that told me to fight that fucker, to fight for whatever bit of humanity I had left within me. And so I fought.

“I fought hard, but ultimately I was too weak. Mr. Friday ended up having his way with me—but this time he introduced a new element into his sexual repertoire: Violence. He loved the fight and my resistance. He broke me that night—shattered the last of my emotional stability.

“Isadora…”I whispered. “I…I…”

I had nothing to say. What could I say?

“That night, I decided I would leave this life forever. I tied rocks to the ends of my ankles and made my descent into the bayou, each laborious step taking me further into the dark waters of the afterlife. When my head was completely submerged underwater, I closed my eyes and released my breath, and waited for death to come.

“However, it never did. Instead, two nimble fingers undid the rocks tied to my feet, and two loving arms pulled me out of the water and dragged me back to shore. It was Delilah.

“I screamed at her and cussed her out with every profanity in my vocabulary. I wanted to die. Why didn’t she let me die? My words broke her down and she too started crying. ‘I’m sorry,’ she had said as she sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands.

“We were both weak and vulnerable, and at that moment, we needed each other more than the air we breathed. Our arms wrapped around each other’s bodies, longing for human comfort that we so desperately needed. We cried into each other’s shoulders, while sitting at the edge of the island, bathed in the full moonlight.

“It wasn’t long before we became lovers, secretly sneaking off from the house to indulge in our love for one another. Of course, Mr. Friday caught wind of this, and called us both to his chambers. At first, we both expected the worst—a savage beating or perhaps he would kill one of us to teach us a lesson.

“Instead he wanted to watch us make love.”

I tried picturing someone forcing Shadow and I to have sex in front of them, satisfying some sick voyeur fantasy. I shivered. “That must have been hard.”

Isadora shook her head. “For two years, Mr. Friday had violated my body—his touch akin to spider legs, crawling across my skin. There was nothing intimate about the sex we had. Delilah, on the other hand, knew how to please me—how to find all the delicate spots on my body that made me tremble with desire. If making love to her, while Mr. Friday watched, would keep him off my body for one night, then it was a gift from the Universe itself.

“So we satisfied Mr. Friday’s curiosity. We made love in front of him—and to be honest—when I was with Delilah, everyone and everything around us disappeared. There was only her, and I.

“We were like two candle flames, burning within a cold, dark world. The next night, Mr. Friday asked for us to perform in front of him again. It was at that moment that I knew the power we potentially had over him. He asked us, instead of ordering us. And then the night after, he once again approached us, practically begging to see us make love again. He was transfixed by the beauty of our intimacy. It was something he had never seen nor experienced before: love serving as the foundation for sex.

“This time when he asked us, we requested to have a fine dinner prepared for us first. It was a simple request, but for slaves, simple requests usually ended up with Mr. Friday beating us senseless. However, this time he complied.

“The next day, we asked for a bedroom—one that we could share together—instead of being forced to sleep on the cold ground in the basement cellar. He too granted us that request. With each passing day we asked for more and he granted us more.

“We had a golden opportunity on our hands. Together, Delilah and I devised a plan, one that would gain us both our freedom and the wealth of Mr. Friday. We began requesting education from Mr. Friday, insight into both his business as well as the witchcraft he was infamous for. With every passing day, we learned more from the man, and it wasn’t long before both Delilah and I were entrenched into his criminal organization—Delilah handling the business side of things while I delved in the criminal activities.

“Within two years, we had gone from being his whores to serving as his most trusted captains. He no longer used us to satisfy his sexual urges—we were far more useful in making him money. One summer evening, Mr. Friday finally died.”

I raised a brow. “Something tells me you and Delilah had a role to play in his death.”

“I seduced him and then tied him to the bed posts, just before repeatedly stabbing him. We tossed his body into the bayou to serve as food for the alligators. At that point, both Delilah and I were confident in our abilities to assume leadership of Mr. Friday’s organization while keeping his death a secret. Mr. Friday’s name alone brought both credibility and fear to the organization.”

“Who else knows that you murdered Mr. Friday?” I asked.

“With Delilah gone, only you.”

I was surprised. “Why divulge this secret to me?”

Isadora plucked the dull knife from off the ground. “I trust you. I know your dark secrets and it’s only fair that you know mine as well.”

What dark secret did I have? I shot my confused “what?” look at Delilah.

“Lincoln,” she whispered. “When you allowed me inside your mind, I unlocked all the secrets buried within. Lincoln’s living ghost told me everything.”

“Oh,” I said as panic began to swell inside my belly. “I see. You won’t tell Shadow, will you?”

Isadora laughed. “As long as you promise not to tell anyone about Mr. Friday.”

I nodded. “Sounds like a fair deal.” It was a deal that I hoped lasted until the sky fell down.

I rose from the ground, dusted the dirt off my pants, and stretched. My muscles were aching and I was dying for a hot shower to wash off the layers of dirt and sweat caked to my skin. My mouth had dried up as well.

“Thirsty?” I asked.

Isadora nodded.

“Me too. Participating in simulated knife fights and divulging our darkest secrets has a dehydrated me.”

“You’re a strange girl,” Isadora smiled.

“And you’re not? You do have a reputation of being the female version of Voldermort.”

“Volder—who?”

I sighed. “Nevermind.”

We gathered our things and headed back to the car.

I glanced at Isadora and took satisfaction in knowing that the voodoo witch of New Orleans and the queen of the Lousiana Underworld was my friend.

After losing Justin, there was an empty void for friendship that I thought could never be filled. Sure, I have Shadow, but he didn’t count. We slept in the same bed. That wasn’t considered friendship.

There was also Lincoln, who we needed to save from Calisto, the psychotic corn husking bitch. Lincoln and I’s platonic relationship took an unexpected turn when he fingered me on top of Beau’s priceless antique piano. I’d be naive to ignore the awkwardness that now kept us apart as friends.

We made our down the winding path of the forest, through the clearing and back onto the dirt road where the black Cadillac Escalade was parked. I took one last look of the forest and shuddered, just before taking the driver’s seat.

“Of all the places we could have trained, why in this horrible place?” I asked.

“Because, this place scares me.”

“Isn’t that all the reason to stay away from this suicide forest?”

Isadora shook her head. “The day where I no longer feel fear is the day my heart has turned black and I have lost my humanity. I’ll need it if I wish to reunite with Delilah again. Being in this place reminds me that I’m still human.”

“Laughing with your friends, tasting good food, breathing even…those are also signs that you’re still human, Isadora,” I stated.

“Joy is something that doesn’t currently exist in my life,” Isadora sighed as she opened the passenger side door and entered into the vehicle.

I fired up the ignition.

“What is it that you fear most?” I asked, bluntly.

“That I’ll never get the chance to watch Calisto suffer for all that she’s done.”

Amen to that.

#

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