The Last Door

J K Lassiter

Description

A novel that looks at the graphic reality of passion, lust, and sin; written for the reader willing to dive into the darker depths of the human condition. Follow Julie Holcombe as the tragic death of her parents leaves her devastated and vulnerable to the same demons that wait to prey upon each of us at our own moment of weakness. Experience her slow and agonizing fall into an abyss of darkness, where her demons relentlessly torment her. Julie's reality is altered and morphs into something hideous and cruel. It is a place where fantasy and reality share a common space and walk on the same ground. Watch Julie, feel her creep ever closer to the perverse and depraved visions of her twisted imaginings.

Sujets

• Romance
• Romance érotique
• BD Erotique
• Erotica

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 18 juin 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 474
• EAN13: 9781456631499
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Last Door
 
 
by
 
J K Lassiter
Copyright 2018 J K Lassiter,
All rights reserved.
 
 
Published in eBook format by Beach House Press
Converted by http://www.eBookIt.com
 
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-3149-9
 
 
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
 
CHAPTER ONE
J ulie glanced at her PC clock and calculated that the weekend would begin in precisely thirty-eight minutes. This time it was going to be different, she thought, and all day she was anticipating this Friday evening’s drive home. The day had seemed endless and she found herself checking the time as if it was a countdown to a rocket launch. As the moment grew near, the mental clutter of the day’s work was briskly whisked away. She briefly fumbled with the papers on her desk, in a distracted effort at organization. Pens and pencils were dropped into a cracked, purple coffee mug. The day’s files, stacked like losing lottery tickets were quickly herded into an empty drawer in the bottom of her desk. She slipped her shoes back on and fumbled nervously in the clutter of her purse searching for the reassuring sensation of her car keys.
Again, she checked her watch, and this time, reached for the light switch above her desk. With a single move of her finger, the day ended, as the screen of her computer went dark. All around her, cubicles were going black, one by one, like light bulbs burning out in some huge sign.
She joined her co-workers; waiting for the elevator. She was nervously tapping her foot on the hard terrazzo floor as the doors finally opened. The car was crowded, but Julie had no intention of waiting for the next one, as her fellow workers had chosen to do. She pressed and wiggled her way into the car, ignoring the annoyance and frowns of the other passengers.
Julie walked across the parking lot, keys in hand. She squeezed the unlock button, prompting the horn and headlight flash from her Honda. As she got closer to the car, she noticed a pink note tucked under a wiper blade. She retrieved the note and opened it. “Tonight’s The Night”, was scrawled across the paper and signed, “Rach”. She quickly shoved the note into her purse and opened the car door. She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat. She needed some music. Her favorite Cheryl Cole disc was already in the player. She turned it on and cranked up the volume.
The eleven-mile trip home was uneventful but seemed to be so much more tedious and longer than usual. Cheryl did all she could to shorten the trip but had no effect on the drive’s duration or Julie’s sweaty palms gripping the steering wheel as if her feet were dangling over the edge of a cliff. After a forty-minute drive of weaving her way through rush hour traffic, she turned into her apartment complex and guided the car into her reserved space, stopping it with a jolt. She quickly headed for the stairs to her unit, only to have to turn around and return to the car to retrieve her purse. Finally, she was at her front door.
Julie’s apartment was on the second floor of a vast network of second floors. It was her little niche in the world, hidden away within a maze of niches, each being occupied by unknown faces behind countless numbered doors. Julie’s door was number 208.
Her apartment was simple, spotless and reflection her basic needs It is a one bedroom, one bath, with a living room and small kitchen. The bedroom had a double bed and a battered oak nightstand, which held a bedside lamp, an alarm clock, and the family bible. That bible meant the world to Julie's mother. It was a treasured memento and always rested close to Julie’s dreams.
The only pictures adorning the walls were that of her parents’ wedding and her aunt Teresa, sitting on the beach on her trip to the Bahamas three years ago.
The sofa in the living room was left to her by her grandmother when she passed away. Julie saw it as an old Victorian monstrosity that she kept and tolerated only because of her deep affection for her Mi Ma. Along with the old sofa, was an overstuffed, tattered chair and ottoman. This arrangement was Julie’s private oasis, her buttress against the waves that might be pounding her world. It was used often. The imprint of her delicate frame could be seen etched in the creases and folds of the blue corduroy fabric. A reconditioned computer sat on a simple desk and a printer rested on the floor beneath it. This piece of furniture was a makeshift landing strip for everything from a pair of pliers she had used to tighten a lamp base last week to a torn pair of pantyhose she had never gotten around to throwing away. A stack of papers, a stapler, and an empty wine glass were haphazardly arranged on top of the computer. The printer blinked a single red eye, trying to tell her it was out of paper. Several pairs of shoes, a pocketbook, and an umbrella also shared space under the desk. In fact, most everything that didn’t have a home or ran away from home usually ended up on the desk or under it. The desk was an out of place thing and didn’t belong, among its neat and tidy neighbors. It was one of those eccentric pieces of flotsam that bobbed up and down in Julie’s life. A table under one of the windows held a collection of Mickey Mouse memorabilia that she had been collecting since she was a young girl. Her mother got her started on a trip to Disneyland on her fifth birthday. She had been picking up pieces here and there ever since. It helped to occupy her time and mind and always reminded her of her mother. She kept the ones that her mother had purchased separate from the rest. The walls were decorated with only two pieces; an enlarged, framed photograph of her parents and her, taken at her First Communion and her Associate's certificate from Juniper Hills Junior College.
The kitchen was also a bare-bones affair, providing a simple two-seat eating area. There was a vintage chrome legged table, secured from the Goodwill, and two simple ice cream parlor chairs. The counters held a coffee maker, a toaster oven, and a six-bottle wine rack. The rack was always full and a re-corked bottle usually rested beside it, at the ready.
CHAPTER TWO
J ulie found herself to be her own best company. Despite her efforts to the contrary, her thoughts and her secrets were trusted companions. And, though they may be trusted they were not often welcome. Despite her efforts, the bitterness of truth would seep under her locked door like plumes of dark smoke and she had no choice but to entertain them. A hurtful and malevolent friend can often be better than no friend at all. Most people in her life were kept at a distance. She could touch them and reach out to them but her personal, emotional space was hers and hers alone. Julie believed that people only served to complicate her life and those same complications usually resulted in personal damage or hurt of one kind or another. Prior experiences can be an accurate gauge as to the quality and effect of future events and Julie found it best not to travel the same road twice. It was her intent to play it safe. Being alone only leaves one person to blame and one to be hurt.
No one knew what made Julie tick. Her Aunt Teresa and her best friend, Rachel Simmons, knew more about her than anyone else. But, it would ultimately be an encounter with a stranger, who would skillfully unravel her secrets and speak to the intimate company that she kept.
Julie was an enigma; there was always something that simply wasn’t complete, like putting a puzzle together and not knowing that several pieces were missing. The picture could never be finished. Julie always held those missing pieces and tucked them away in some secret place that even she only rarely visited.
Her emotional enemies formed a permanent cloud, hovering above her head. They would tap her on the shoulder like a relentless reminder from an annoying friend. Being alone, kept her safe from the turmoil that she perceived to be around her. She could socially adapt and seemingly flourish, yet behind that facade she found it challenging to confront change, people, and her own demons.
Julie’s parents had been killed in a car accident when she was fifteen. She was a passenger in the back seat and survived the ordeal, with only minor physical injuries. However, the mental damage that she sustained proved much more difficult to quantify. She was always close to her parents, especially her mother, and that unique bond that exists between parent and child cannot easily be severed in life or death. Her mother, Janice, was an attractive and very young looking woman, with a kind face, a warm smile and an always cheerful demeanor.
Most young girls, at Julie’s age, were feeling a sense of rebellion against their parents and seeking to exercise their independence. But, with each passing birthday, Julie only grew closer to her mom. Her mother became her best friend, and confidant. Julie’s mom had meticulously guided her from diapers to a young and vibrant young girl while providing the strength and wisdom that her journey would require. She was Julie’s rock, the single strongest force that anchored her fast on a sea of temptation and kept her on a righteous path. She did all of this with love, gentleness, and understanding. Her mother had never raised a hand to Julie or so much as exchanged cross words with