The Search For Shattered Pieces *Complete*

Chapter One: Influx

Before:

Dead. We're sorry for your loss.  Is there anything we can do for you? So and so wanted to attend but couldn't.  Here's a condolence card.  We brought you a casserole.  That last one had been echoed two dozen times now, and the subsequent offerings attached were scattered on my dining room table—my soon to be late dining room table.  In fact, everything surrounding me was no longer mine.  I looked down at my feet, clad in black pumps and frowned.  I was standing on an Oriental rug—no, scratch that—a Persian rug.  Mom had hated when people called our rugs Oriental—almost as much as she had hated when people called me Oriental, or half Oriental.  She would always get this constipated look on her face and spit out, "Oriental is a thing, like a vase or a lamp, not a race.  My daughter is not Oriental," she would finish with a huff.  I loved looking at people's expressions right after mom stopped dressing them down.  I scuffed my feet back and forth on the Persian rug.  It was no longer mine, either. 
I was only half aware of the noise around me—that's all it was—noise.  The house was full of people but the noise could have been a freight train rolling through as opposed to the many mourners babbling inconsequentially.  Nothing really made sense.  Nothing was getting through.  I could hear my own heart-beat, loud and erratic, and that was about it.  My eyes felt permanently glassy, and watery, like someone had sprayed me in the face and then iced me over.  In fact, I felt iced over everywhere.  I was cold.  I was dead too.

Present:

My hair was sticking to my forehead and cheeks.  I was the idiot who hadn't tied it back.  My neck and chest felt sticky and I knew my clothes were pressed against me in an unflattering manner.  I hoisted my carryon a little higher up my shoulder, and tried to ignore the strap that was digging painfully into my skin.
I looked around tentatively, and I was pretty sure that anyone who saw me would notice the abject fear I felt reflecting from my glassy eyes.  This wasn't right.  Why was I here? I felt like I was betraying mom somehow just by standing here, in this place...crushed on all sides by bustling humanity.  There was so much life here...too much.  I could feel it, coming at me from all sides...it was almost electric, and I hated it.  It wasn't right.  It wasn't fair.  I was standing, alive, surrounded by life and She. Was. Dead.
    Was it too late to runaway? Where would I go? Who did I have now...no one. I had no one.
    "Ms. Crawford?"
    I blinked. There was a man standing several feet away from me, a handsome man roughly in his late twenties? He was definitely staring and speaking at me. But my name wasn't Crawford, it was Lee.
    "I'm sorry?" I hated how weak my voice sounded—how broken.
    "Yes, excuse me, of course, Lee. I'm just so used to your father and mother."
    "My mother's dead." My words came out strong, and cold.
    The man blanched. I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down. I should probably say I'm sorry for making him uncomfortable. But frankly, right now I didn't care if I made him uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable, both physically and mentally, and if I couldn't be comfortable why the hell should he?
    "Uh, Terrance already got your bags. If you'd like to follow me I'll take you to the car."
    I didn't say anything. But I did follow him, because what else was I supposed to do? He knew my dads name, he didn't seem like a serial killer, then again I didn't have a lot of experience with serial killers...so who knows.
    When we reached a gleaming black car and stopped, my eyes widened, and despite myself, I couldn't help gaping. It was a Bentley. And it was a beauty.
    "Please..." The man opened the door and waited.
    I tossed my bag in and slid across the luxurious backseat. When the man was settled behind the drivers wheel he turned slightly and said. "I'm Herschel, the driver. Well, the main driver for your dad and your mo—stepmother." I was vaguely aware that he was speaking. But honestly all I heard was Herschel, your blah blah, for your blah blah blah. I was distracted by the scenery which was whizzing past me at lightning speed. I had the faint impression of wide broad flat leaves, and strange trees. I saw the blue of the sky and the buildings and houses, like so many tin toys that came and went. It was strange...and I wasn't so proud to admit, more than a little bit scary.
    Finally we pulled up to a huge iron gate. I was sure that I probably looked like a backwater Sally Sue, eyes glazed, mouth open wide. I had never seen anything like this in my life save for a few movies and the odd TV show here and there. This kind of grandiose, and come on, ostentatious in-your-face wealth wasn't something I was used to. The driveway seemed to go on forever, and when we stopped in front of the largest house I had ever seen in my entire life, I was practically hyperventilating.
    I did not belong here.
    "A-hem, Ms..."
    I realized that Herschel, driver Herschel was holding the door of the car open for me and waiting. I toss him a small smile before I grab my bag and slide out of the car. It wasn't a graceful slide, either. It was more like I fell out of the car.  I stared at the huge double doors in front o me.  They were carved, as in, there were carvings engraved into the two huge doors in front of me.  I had never seen such massive doors before.  Well, the Cathedral that mom and I went to...had gone to...had doors like this...but that was it.  I was still staring stupefied at the doors when they opened to reveal a somber faced woman of about forty.  Her eyes were narrowed and flinty...she definitely did not exude a "welcome" feeling. 
I took a deep breath and hefted my bag.  I could do this.  I could at least do this until I figured out a better plan.  I was legal—almost.  I would just think of this cold eyed woman as a judge...yes, that would work.  She actually looked exactly like one of the many judges that had sat behind the panels at one of the many competitions I had skated in.  I smiled slightly.  Yeah.  That would work.
"Ms. Crawford I presume." She said, and wow if her voice wasn't even colder than her eyes.
"It's Lee.  My last name, it's Lee," I said, and I was pleased that my voice, although soft, came out assuredly and not broken.
"I...see.  Well, come in.  The missus is expecting you."
I walked through the massive doors and entered...oh hell...I entered Buckingham Palace? Okay, I'd never actually been in Buckingham Palace, but hello, I'd seen photos, and hell if this place didnt look like a palace to me—to anyone.  Heck, my whole house, I sighed, my old house, could have fit into the foyer of this place.  How many people lived here anyway.  Jeez, who the hell needed this much space for an entryway, anyway?
"Stay, here." The cold eyed lady instructed me.  I almost ran into her back due to being distracted.  I bit back a sharp retort like, "I'm not a dog, don't tell me to stay." But last minute I remembered I was a "guest" here. 
I'm not sure how long I stood in the huge foyer staring at, well, everything.  The chandelier which was probably the size of my old roof back home was glittering like so many diamonds above my head...waaaay up high.  There were painting on the wall, and a few portraits.  I found myself gravitating toward the largest portrait on the far wall.  I didn't realize I was standing in front of it until I was so close I could actually touch it if I wanted to.  It was a family portrait—a huge family portrait.  In the center, the dominating focal point, was a gorgeous woman with a fall of golden hair, so bright it resembled the sun.  She was sitting in an upholstered chair, and standing at her side was a strikingly handsome man with brilliant violet eyes.  I felt my heart clench in my chest.  Suddenly it became difficult to breathe and I closed my eyes for a minute to try to get my breathing under control. Oh God.  Okay, I could do this.  I WOULD do this.
I opened my eyes and forced myself to refocus on the portrait in front of me.  The man.  He was very handsome.  His hair was blonde, perhaps a shade darker than the woman sitting in the chair.  His physique was toned (at least it looked so in the portrait) he had a full mouth, slashing cheekbones and truly arresting features...but it was his eyes that captivated...those violet eyes...MY violet eyes.  There was no doubt in my mind that I was staring at my father—the man that had contributed to my conception, the man who I owed some of my familial DNA to, the man who had left me, left us...
"You're here."
I jerked around, and found myself face-to-face with the beautiful woman in the portrait—albeit she was definitely the older version.  "I...guess I am?" I wasn't sure how to respond...what she wanted me to say.
She walked forward slowly, and yet still managed to swing her hips.  "Lyra, right?"
I nodded.
"I'm Bethany, Bethany Crawford-Parrish." She held out her hand.  I hesitated a second before taking it and shaking it.  Bethany.  She looked like a Bethany.  Instantly I chastised myself for making such a presumptuous and stupid assumption just by first introduction.  I knew better.  Mom had taught me better—taught me to be better.  I could hear her voice now.  "People may have their prejudices, their presumptions, but you, you my orchid will always keep an open mind...a kind and open heart.  You cannot change how people initially perceive you...but you can be instrumental in how they WILL perceive you." Oh God. Mom. Mommy...why weren't you here? Why did you have to leave me? I choked back a sob and tried to get my game face, my skate face on.
    "Hi." I took a deep breath. "Thank you...uhm, thank you for—"
    "—You don't have to thank me, Lyra," Bethany waved me away, "You're Stefan's daughter. Of course you're welcome here."
    Oh. Well. That was unexpected. I found myself smiling...slightly. She sounded...honest. "Well, thank you anyway."
    "Come...let me show you to your suite."
    "Suite?" I quickly followed after Bethany. I was seriously in awe of her at this moment. She was striding, quickly, in 4 inch heels...and heck, she wasn't awkward looking or anything. I followed her up a huge winding staircase and kept trying to keep myself in check...because I was certain that my mouth was open so wide I could probably catch flies. The house...if it could even be called that, got even more impressive the higher we went. It was surreal. Human beings didn't live like this...well, normal human beings didn't live like this. I had fallen while attempting a triple axle, fallen and bumped my head, and now I was in a coma and dreaming...I was in some sort of weird fucked up fairy tale land, right? Yeah, that sounded a lot more plausible than anything else.
    "So this is your room, the en suite as well. And of course the bathroom and French corner."
    "French corner?" I knew I sounded like an imbecile, but really?
    "Oh, it's really just a 'nook,' but the architect called it a French Corner, and the term stuck."
    I was standing in the Elysian Field, I had to be. If this wasn't the Elysian Fields, then I was the Queen of England. The room...no wait...the Elysian Field was simply put...unreal. "Uh, this is all...mine?" God, Lyra, could you sound anymore stupid?
    "Of course, honey. You're Stefan's daughter, my stepdaughter. And can I just tell you I'm so excited to finally have another girl in the house?"
    I swallowed. Oh. My. God. "I'm sorry?"
    "Yes, well between Stefan and the boys it's a madhouse...sometimes I feel like I'm living in a frat house."
    Oh God. Oh God. I will not hyperventilate. I will not hyperventilate. "Boys?" I squeaked. Hell, I actually squeaked. I wasn't even aware that I could make that sound.
    Bethany frowned. "Yes, my boys, your brothers, your new brothers."
    "Brothers?" Now I knew I was squeaking. Hell, I wasn't just squeaking I was actually having a full blown panic attack.
    "Lyra, Lyra honey, are you okay? Sweetie...honey...are you...Hannah...Hannah get in here!"
    I was vaguely aware of loud voices and rushing, stomping feet before darkness pulled me under.

______________________________

I hope you're enjoying "The Search For Shattered Pieces." TSFSP is the first contemporary RH I have offered for public viewing, ever :) I am, by nature a paranormal, fantasy, dystopian kinda gal, however...as a lover of the written word, I write and write and write...and Lyra, well Lyra is VERY close to my heart as I was a competitive figure skater and continue to coach, teach and obsess over anything and everything that has to do with ice, lol.  Please vote, comment, etc. let me know if you'd like more of Lyra...(I can easily just focus on my paranormal/dystopian works) but I do feel compelled to write Lyra...her journey is one of self-discovery, and so much more.  I love you all. Thank you all for your continued support.