Between, p.1
Between, page 1
Between Copyright © 2024 by S. Everest
Cover Design by Paul Allen (paulallendesigns.com)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. The author is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Printed in the United States of America.
BETWEEN
By S. Everest
Contents
Celeste
Celeste
Caius
Celeste
Celeste
Celeste
Celeste
Caius
Celeste
Caius
Celeste
Celeste
Celeste
Caius
Caius
Celeste
Celeste
Celeste
Celeste
Caius
Celeste
Celeste
Celeste
Caius
Caius
Celeste
This book contains sensitive subjects, such as drinking, explicit sexual scenes, religious views, and graphic violence.
Other triggers are considered spoilers and will not be listed here. You can find a full list of triggers on my website:
http://www.severestbooks.com/triggers
This book is meant for those ages 18+.
This book does NOT end in a traditional Happily Ever After.
To A.
You deserved more than what life gave you.
Playlist
Bleed
deadmau5
World Unknown
PhaseOne, ERRA
In The Rain
ODESZA
The Grey
Bad Omens
Tonight (demo)
Amira Elfeky
In Circles
Holding Absence
Up in Houses
Falling Up
Another You
BONNIE X CLYDE
SUPERBLOOM
Silent Planet
Ultraviolet
Spiritbox
Heavener
Invent Animate
Dead in the Water
Ellie Goulding
Hospital for Souls
Bring Me the Horizon
Glass
Burn
Red
Celeste
Rain pattered against my windshield as I pulled my car up the wet, winding road. Leaning forward, I craned my neck to get a better view of my surroundings, but the heavy fog shielded me from seeing much. With a sigh, I fell back into my seat, my hands tight on the wheel as I kept my gaze on the red taillights in front of me. I followed as they led me on a curvy path up a hill, my windshield wipers pushing heavy raindrops to the sides of my view.
The inside of the car was too quiet. I had no cell phone service, since we seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, and not even satellite radio reached this part of the planet. I pushed every button I could on my car’s stereo, tried closing and restarting Spotify, and even searched around on the local radio stations, but absolutely nothing came through. So, I wallowed in silence, my black dress itching and scratching my thighs, my eyes red and burning from crying these past few days.
At least I had the steady beat of the windshield wipers to keep my sanity at bay.
With the palm of my hand, I wiped away a sudden stray tear, careful not to ruin my carefully applied makeup.
But with the single tear came an ache in my throat, one that I couldn’t simply push away when I thought of the reason why I was even here.
“Celeste, baby girl! The light of my life!”
I could feel the echo of his voice in my heart, beating along with my pulse.
But that’s all his words were anymore. An echo.
I knew this was going to happen. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep it together. Thankfully, I brought along a small package of tissues that were conveniently sitting on the passenger seat. I grabbed the plastic, ripped it open, and pulled one out, dabbing the rush of tears that were coming in by the dozen, careful not to pull my makeup off with it.
The choke in my throat wasn’t going away soon, and I wasn’t sure how much longer we had until we got to the top. Or the end.
I can’t tell because I can’t see a damn thing.
The car in front of me hit the brakes, forcing me to do the same. We came to a short, rolling stop before picking up the drive again. And once we continued on, that’s when the fog lifted away, and I could finally see where I was.
In front of us was a huge set of black iron gates that were propped open against tall, dark stone columns to allow all cars in. I looked up through the raindrops at the gorgeous design. There was dark green ivy twisted around the edges, snaking its way through the bars and reaching the top. The leftover fog settled at the bottom, resting on the damp road as the mysterious location granted us entry.
What kind of place is this?
An older guard stood at the open gates, a clipboard in one hand and an open umbrella in the other. He stopped the car in front of me, nodded at their words, then made his way to my car. I rolled down the window, quickly sniffled up any extra emotion, and painted a polite smile on my lips.
“Good afternoon, Miss. May I have your name?”
“Celeste Castell.”
The man nodded, slowly stepping away. “Thank you.”
And with that, he was gone, already making his way to the car behind me. I rolled up my window.
The short train of cars pulled in and drove higher, until we came to another older man standing on the side of the road. He lifted a hand to signal us to stop and pull over, so we did. There were two cars in front of me and only one behind me, and we all pulled off to the side and turned our engines off.
I took a deep sigh, one that expanded my chest more than what was comfortable. “Here we go,” I said to no one but myself.
Reaching over to the passenger seat, I grabbed my black raincoat and put it on, pulling the hood up and tucking away my dark brown hair.
“Hey, want to go somewhere special?”
“Like where?”
“Oh, I don’t know… Disney World?”
I only eyed the package of tissues for half a second before grabbing it and shoving it into my pocket.
Stepping out of my car, I was met by a tall man with golden hair holding a black umbrella that covered him from the heavy drops. He handed me an umbrella of my own, and I briefly made eye contact with him before taking it.
“Compliments of the Estates.”
His rich voice was smooth on my ears as he stepped aside and made his way to the car behind me, handing the man stepping out an umbrella as well.
I opened the umbrella and raised it over my head. The rain tapped on the synthetic fabric and ran over the sides, and I was extremely thankful for the cover.
I turned and looked at the car in front of me, only to see two people standing by their doors, their umbrellas open and up, waiting for me.
My parents.
Walking up to their car, I joined them in silence. The three of us made our way over to the older man who was standing on the side of the road, waiting for us. All in all, there were only six of us gathered together, seven if you include the older man waiting for us, eight if you include the umbrella man.
Who, as I turned around to look over my shoulder, was now nowhere to be found.
So, we were back to seven.
But in my glance backward, I locked eyes with the person from the car behind me. I gave him a gentle smirk, even though I could feel my chin begin to quiver at the sight of him. Uncle Lucas. With soft steps and the rod of his umbrella resting on his shoulder, he approached my side, and without a word, his elbow nudged mine as a small, sympathetic grin rested on his face. I wanted to bury myself in him, right then and there, and let the fast-forming tears pour out of me.
But I collected myself and kept my composure. I can cry later.
My dad stretched across me and gave Uncle Lucas a pat on the shoulder, silently acknowledging the death of their youngest brother.
“You are all gathered here today in holy remembrance of the beloved Russell Castell,” the man began, speaking over the sound of rain.
I squeezed my eyes shut at the mention of his name.
“Uncle Russ! Uncle Russ! Come play Candyland with me!”
With one hand still holding my umbrella, my other hand found its way into my pocket, my thumb gliding along the plastic tissue wrapper in an attempt to ground me.
“Will you please follow and join me at his resting place?”
The older man—who was clearly a priest based on his clothing—stepped onto a stone path, and the six of us followed. I recognized the two people in front of us; they were a husband and wife who were very close to Uncle Russ. The man was a friend since high school, and the woman was close because they were often together. I wish I could remember their names. Uncle Russ spoke nothing but good things about them, and seeing the look of sorrow on the man’s face told me all I needed to know. It hurt them as much as it hurt me.
I was sandwiched between Uncle Lucas and my dad, with my mom nestled in on his other side. Her arm looped through his, her sniffles loud enough to ring through the quiet, peaceful area.
The priest led us onto a narrow walkway that had buildings on both sides. Some were small, some were massive. Some had gates, some had windows, but all had open doors. I scrunched my face at the thought. Why were they all open? Weren’t the doors supposed to be closed in privacy, in respect for the deceased, in hopes they would gain peace?
As we walked, I glanced up and noticed last names on each building, and a few were so worn and faded that I had trouble reading them. Every building had greenery along the front and sides, spreading like beautiful vines in the gloomy air.
Then, the priest stopped in front of a new, large building. Tilting my head up and angling my umbrella back, my breathing stopped as I read the name above the door.
Castell.
There was no hope of keeping my tears in any longer.
An arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I leaned into it.
“It’s alright, sweets,” Uncle Lucas whispered to me. “It’s okay.”
His words were meant as a comfort, but sometimes comfort in the darkest of days only made my heart feel heavier.
“Die with the Lord in your heart, and you will gain eternal life.”
The rest of the words tuned out of my head as the priest rambled on about the afterlife, soul restoration, and the comfort of Heaven above. His words fell on deaf ears as I watched him extend his arm, showcasing the gorgeous structure.
My gaze fixed on the name etched in stone as everyone else bowed their heads in prayer. Blinking lightly, another tear slipped from my eye.
“Now, Celeste, you need to go out and give ‘em hell, you hear me?”
“It’s only cheer practice, Uncle Russ.”
“I know, but you need to show them that you’re the best. Got it?”
“Got it.”
My mind blocked out the prayer and the echoed textbook responses around me. I don’t think I could even try to participate with the giant lump of sorrow stuck in my throat. Instead, I closed my eyes and inhaled. I needed to breathe in the wet, fresh air around me. I needed to feel the dampness on my skin. I needed to live in the life I had.
Reaching out, I opened my hand, palm up to the sky. Cold raindrops landed on my hand, filling the creases of my palm. I hoped that, wherever he was, Uncle Russ could still feel the rain.
Or, even better, he could feel the sun on his face.
On the other side of Uncle Lucas was a set of vines that scaled the side of the building. With my hand still open, I reached across him, careful not to interrupt his prayer. Taking one of the leaves in my grasp, I brushed the pads of my fingers against the smooth, flat greenery.
English ivy. A type of vine that can climb up the side of a building with no help. It lives on its own, surviving by clinging onto the nearest surface and spreading as far and wide as possible.
A brief smile appeared on my lips at the sight of nature mixed into Uncle Russ’ mausoleum. It was comforting, in a way.
I dropped my hand and looked around, only to see everyone still in prayer. I briefly glanced at the other mausoleums before landing on a dark figure down the curved path. There was a man standing there, completely still, watching our burial service from afar. He was tall and broad, wearing a dark rain jacket with the hood pulled up, preventing me from seeing his face. But even though I couldn’t see his face, I could feel the intensity of his stare on us. On me.
Rain dripped off the rim of his hood as he stood without any cover. I could immediately tell it wasn’t the umbrella guy from earlier. Was he a guest? Was he visiting another mausoleum? Was he a friend of my uncle? His dark pants looked to be drenched as I continued to watch him, waiting to see if he wanted to come over and join the group.
But he didn’t. Instead, he simply stood there as the priest rambled on, our vision caught and locked on each other, the rain running off his hood and onto his shoulders.
“Here we pray for eternal rest and mercy of the Lord.”
“Amen,” the group muttered, snapping me back to the service. I briefly looked to my dad and uncle, but they didn’t seem to notice that I wasn’t participating. And if they did notice, they didn’t care.
The priest nodded and stepped to the side, allowing us privacy and access to the inside of the mausoleum. The husband and wife stepped in first, but only stayed for a short moment before exiting. They greeted us politely before heading back to their car.
My mom and dad both walked up the few stone steps and headed inside. A quick sob escaped my mom, and my heart lurched at her sadness, feeling similar emotions in myself.
But when they were inside, I looked back over to the curve in the path, only to see the mysterious man was gone.
I tilted my head curiously at the empty sight.
After a drawn-out minute, my parents came back out, and my dad made his way to me. With a quick peck on the side of my head, he whispered, “I love you so much, baby girl.”
Another tear rolled down my cheek. Uncle Lucas extended his elbow to me, and I wrapped my arm around him. Dropping our umbrellas, we walked in unison up the steps and into the mausoleum.
On the inside, it was spacious. There were two stone benches, one on either side against the wall. Colorful stained-glass windows lined the opposite walls, letting in minimal light as pigmented reflections barely illuminated the concrete floor. Beautiful stone columns rested in each corner, and a rectangular counter sat against the back wall.
And on that counter was a plain black vase.
It’s hard to comprehend the fact that my uncle has been reduced to ash that can fit in a countertop container.
What once was a person who never ceased to make me laugh was now a pile of dust wrapped in ceramic.
“He loved you, Celeste. You and your sister.”
My uncle’s voice was soft as his words found my ears. I nodded, unable to speak.
There was never a doubt in my mind that he loved us. I know Uncle Lucas and my dad love us, too, but now it felt like there was a missing piece in our family. One that we could never fill, never get back, never let go of.
“Is she okay?”
I looked at him, momentarily confused. “Who, Serena?”
He gave a nod.
“Yeah,” I took in a breath, thoughts of my sister floating through my head. She took Uncle Russ’ passing just as hard as I did. “She’s as okay as she can be.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s at home. She couldn’t find a sitter.”
Stillness resounded in the walls of the mausoleum as he hummed in response. We both took a moment to settle in this newfound reality, that he was gone, and that this was all we had left of him.
Unwrapping myself from Uncle Lucas’ arm, I approached the granite countertop. The surface was polished and shiny, with not a single speck of dirt or dust to be seen. My finger brushed against the edge.
“This place is beautiful,” I began, the catch in my voice unrelenting. “I didn’t even know it existed.”
Turning back to look at Uncle Lucas, I watched as he shrugged. “Most people don’t.”
There was a truth to his statement that I couldn’t shake. We were in a hidden cemetery with no cell service and no other cars or visitors. The entrance was covered in a layer of dense fog, and I would’ve missed it entirely if it weren’t for the other cars. Before coming here, I tried searching the place on my phone, but I didn’t even know where to begin. This graveyard was covered in secrecy, and I was itching to understand why.
But my grief was heavy, heavier than my desire to figure things out.
For now.
Completely turning myself to my uncle, I eyed him. His cheeks were sunken in, the skin around his eyes was purple, and the life in his irises looked hollow.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He sighed. “Oh, I will be. Don’t you worry about me, okay?”
I hesitantly nodded. Both my dad and Uncle Lucas took Uncle Russ’ death hard, harder than they let on. They sat together in silence in my parents’ garage for three nights in a row, drinking and smoking cigars, letting only their memories do the talking. But at least they were there for each other.
And in their bond, I knew Uncle Lucas wasn’t lying. I knew they both would be okay someday, even if it took longer than expected to heal.
