Forbidden script book 1, p.1
Forbidden Script Book 1, page 1
Copyright
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Forbidden Script Copyright 2022 Kali Willows
Digital ISBN: 978-1-68361-684-9
Print ISBN: 978-1-68361-685-6
Published by Decadent Publishing
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
About the Author
Elora Roberts is a renowned psychic with a tragic past and a hidden lineage very few know anything about. Working with countless people from all walks of life, telling their fortunes, and speaking to the deceased, she can see everyone’s future—except her own. The chance meeting with the man she had dreamt of years ago unlocks secrets of her past after she reads for him, and her world becomes unhinged with the vision of imminent danger.
Artist. actor. director, Brennen Wentworth is every woman’s fantasy and nursing a shattered heart. Referred to Elora, he gets the answers he’s been seeking, and renewed hope in love. When his biopic film of a controversial subject becomes plagued by a string of dangerous accidents, the scene is set for deadly terror behind the cameras.
Can Elora unravel the messages from beyond time to end the carnage, or will she be too late to stop the evil descending upon them?
Can you imagine having the incredible gift of foresight, but never have the ability to use it for yourself? We all have blockages, or generational curses that plague us in some shape or form.
For some, it’s parenting styles that may have affected us in negative ways, for others, it may be race, gender, heritage, appearance, religion or beliefs others may not embrace. How do we overcome them?
Denying our heritage or who we are won’t help us avoid a repeat of events that happened hundreds of years ago. Not talking about historic events that have shaped society from tragedy can be a grave mistake. We learn from the past. Burying it means we are at risk of repeating those mistakes, or not growing from the lessons bestowed upon us.
To truly be complete, we need to embrace everything about ourselves. We need to learn the lessons our ancestors suffered from in order to heal the generational wounds left in the wake of hatred and oppression.
Be true to yourself. That is the one thing we have power over. The rest will fall into place when we master our own truth and identity.
Blessed be.
Kali
Dedication
To Billy, an actor, an artist, a celebrity, and friend who inspired me to create Brennen Wentworth with his on-screen portrayals of unrequited love, heartbreak, and unstoppable determination. In real life, you are compassionate, caring, creative and a true kindred spirit who helps others in need. It’s always amazes me at how humble and down to earth, you are.
We needed a role that reflected the essence of your true personality. You are the one person whose genuine hugs can put all your broken pieces back together again, if only for a little while. After decades of seeing your characters die, lose the girl, and sacrifice for the outcome, here’s your chance for a happily ever after...or is it? You’ll have to read the book to find out!
Thank you for the gift of continued friendship.
Love,
Kali
Forbidden Script
By
Kali Willows
Prologue
Shielded only by the black of night, Elora quivered beneath the cedar tree at the entrance to the forest. The misty vapor of her warm breath crowded around her and she covered her mouth to stifle her sobs. The faint sound of sultry guitar music echoed through the air, coming from the open window of her abandoned house in the distance. A lifeless heap lay in the deep snow just yards beyond her reach. Elora stared in shock at the mass of wet ebony hair that clung, frozen to the motionless face beneath it.
Fighting back the scream of terror that lingered in her throat, Elora wept without a sound as the icy wetness raced down her cheeks. Paralyzed by her grief and fear, she trembled as she watched the body. Smoke billowed out of the chimney of the house. A lingering odor of burning oak blanketed around her, a cruel reminder of the warmth she fled from to escape the savage assault.
A sudden sharp pain stabbed through her left arm. Panic struck through her at the sight of blood spewing. Elora clutched at her wrist as a cry of agony escaped her trembling lips. A wave of fear rushed over her chilled body as she watched the steaming crimson from her arm drip down her hand onto the newly fallen snow. The brilliant diamond engagement ring on her finger disintegrated before her eyes.
As she gasped for breath, the fierce thrum of her pulse behind her ears drowned out the music. Frantically, she shifted her eyes around to seek escape, but then she spotted a dark figure bolt towards her. She hitched her breath and ducked down to hide in the bitter darkness. The attacker screamed in a ferocious rage.
“Elora, you bitch! Get back here now.” His face was shrouded by the steam from his roars. “You can’t get away from me. When I find you, I’ll kill you, just like I did your boyfriend here.” The man growled as he brutally slammed his foot against the body on the ground, over and over again.
The sight of every wallop to the lifeless torso ripped through her heart. As tears streamed down her frozen face, she looked behind her. The merciless cold stung her bare skin like a thousand daggers piercing it all at once.
Desperate to flee, she spotted an unbeaten path behind her that led deep into the forest. Elora crept down the path and headed into the woods for refuge. As she raced through the brush, she stopped at every few trees and ducked down as she looked back. With no sign of her attacker in close pursuit, she stomped her bloodied foot against the trunks of the narrow pine trees, forcing an avalanche of snow to hide her crimson-drenched tracks. The falling snow worked; it hid any trace of her path. Renewed purpose flooded her as she pressed on to seek safety.
Despite her terror, Elora forced herself to go slow and quiet. Her heart pounded with fright. She clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle her frantic gasps for breath. The image of the lifeless body raced through her mind. Fighting back the anguish, she forced herself to keep moving. Behind her, the warm light of her home faded into a cloud of blackened mist.
At the edge of the forest, Elora paused as she wheezed for breath and shivered. A familiar sound filled her ears. It was the rush of the river lining the edge of her property. Several feet deep, it would be icy cold, but it was her only way out. A rush of hope washed over her weary body at the sound. Just a few acres down, she could reach a neighbor and call for help.
Elora lost her balance and fell down the rocky embankment and twisted her ankle. Clutching a dangling branch with her right hand, she held tight, avoiding the fall into the frigid water. Crossing now might prove a glacial end if she couldn’t swim. Elora climbed back up the ice-clad mound and steadied her stance. She had to get out of open view, away from her relentless predator. Her bare feet burned in agony in the freezing snow.
For a brief moment, she stopped to catch her breath and glanced down, relieved to find a secluded nook within the stump of a massive maple tree. There, she found asylum. Squeezing into the hidden hole, she prayed to her guides for protection. Her ankle throbbed, the tears she shed instantly crusted to ice on her face, and her blood coursed through her chilled veins. Violent tremors of shock rolled over her half-naked body. Her lavender negligée was tattered and torn and far too thin to provide any protection against the elements. An unsettling silence blanketed the forest. The image of his lifeless body dead in the snow flooded back, and she clasped her hand over her mouth, holding back a whimper.
A sharp pain struck her chest. Elora looked down and checked for an injury. Her chest was covered in blood. She smeared it away to inspect the wound. There was none, but underneath the blood, she found a large black symbol etched in her flesh, the Egyptian symbol of the Eye of Ra. Running her fingers across it, she sucked in a deep breath. This symbol denoted protection and the third eye. Suddenly, the center of the eye spilled blood all down her chest.
As panic flooded in, Elora cupped a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. Just then, a vibrant, colorful dragonfly of teal, blue, and purple landed on her blood-covered hand. It held such a peaceful presence. A wave of calm washed over her. This symbol, the most powerful of all to her, meant good luck and safety. It meant everything would be okay.
Sleepiness enveloped her tired eyes and battered body. Stinging numbness filled her limbs. Drifting into a peaceful calm, she closed her eyes and took several inhales. The rhythm of her heartbeat slowed, and the thrum behind her ears faded. Welcoming the tranquility that followed, she gave into the nothingness that swathed her.
Just as she slipped into a blissful moment of peace, suddenly, a jolt shocked her into consciousness as she grabbed at
Elora gave him a relentless and violent struggle. She clawed at his hand and lashed out at his menacing eyes. After what felt like an eternity, she finally managed to break free from his grip. As she fell to the ground, she let out a blood-curdling scream. Once she started, she didn’t stop; her screams grew louder and louder. She closed her eyes and shrieked for her life. Her own eardrums ached from the sound as she flailed her arms and legs about in a defensive rage. Elora bolted up, shouting…to an empty room. It was then she realized she was in her own bed. She clutched her chest, surprised to find no symbol etched in her skin despite the residual pain of it.
The pounding of her heart eased a little as the feeling of danger dissipated. Working to calm herself, she forced in a slow, deep breath, and exhaled.
“Damn, what a brutal dream.” With caution, she glanced around her warm, cozy bedroom. No one was there. Elora lay back and nuzzled into the soft blanket as the beads of sweat cooled on her face, neck, and chest.
Most often, her vivid dreams were prophetic. To determine their meanings was difficult at best. In many cases, the dreams didn’t come to fruition for days, weeks, months, and in some rare situations, even years. The violence and desolation of this one were unprecedented. An unsettled feeling rooted in her gut. This one was big and terrifying. Why would someone want to kill her? Who was that man in the snow? Why was she wearing an engagement ring? Elora hadn’t been with anyone since her breakup with Michael. After she abandoned that living nightmare, she found her contentment in remaining alone and unattached.
As disturbing as it was to her, the symbolism in this dream was just another piece of crucial information that she had to mentally file away until the clues provided began to make sense.
“Did this one have to be so violent?” she asked out loud with a half-hearted scoff.
Elora worked to slow her pulse and steady her nerves. She closed her eyes as she cleared the images of terror and physical discomfort that lingered from her hellish ordeal. Her dreams were so graphic, so real, they were often impossible to differentiate from reality until after she awoke.
The earth-toned walls lined with soft white fairy lights, and the wooden floor of her master bedroom held a calming presence she cherished. The burgundy quilt her mother made her rested on the bench at the foot of the bed, bringing comfort. The framed, picturesque sceneries her sister painted enhanced the peaceful esthetic to her room. These simple treasures brought her some solace in her family’s absence. It’d been three years since they had both passed.
The windows filled with lustrous plants, and the comfort of her beech wood sheets soothed away the residual fright. Absorbing the serenity of her room, she willed away the violent images. Then, a soft image flowed in of another dream she had had many times over the years: the face of a striking man that haunted her. The corners of her mouth curled back with pleasure at this welcome image. Bewitched by the warm, chestnut eyes, framed with black lashes and perfect ebony brows, she reminisced about his flawless skin and perfect lips.
“Now this is a dream I can handle. I wonder if I’ll ever meet this man?” she called to her guides.
One day, Elora, when you least expect it, a soft voice whispered.
With a final deep breath, she flipped the covers off but hesitated to get out of the refuge of her warm bed. These dreams took more energy out of her than she earned with a good night’s sleep.
Chapter One
Spirit Is As Spirit Does
The soft light from the dozen candles she had lit danced and flickered about, casting shadows over the walls and ceiling of her parlor. The soothing fragrance of amber wafted up to her nose as the smoke from the burning incense encircled them. Elora shuffled the cards and cut the pile into three.
“Choose one,” she prompted the woman sitting across from her.
The young lady remained silent as she tapped the center pile. Elora collected the chosen pile then placed it on top of the second and third piles, and then flipped the cards one at a time into the ten-card Celtic spread.
“During our meditation, I sensed a great deal of discomfort in your lower left side. I feel as though you have been struggling with bouts of sharp pain the last three weeks or so?”
The woman widened her eyes and folded her hands together as she bit her lip. “I have.”
Elora studied the cards in the spread. She set her palms down on the table and then closed her eyes to ready herself to receive the divine messages.
After several moments, she looked to the young woman. As though watching a translucent daydream cast over the view of her client unfold before her, Elora studied the imagery and translated the messages for the eager woman in a soft voice.
“Tiffany, your mother is here in spirit with you. She wants me to tell you about the yellow rose you gave her the day before she passed. She keeps it with her, and says to tell you, she’s fine and is with you often.”
The lady’s chin quivered and she cupped her mouth.
“Your mother was a pretty woman with brown hair and big blue eyes. She paid particular attention to her appearance. Her hair was always neat and she preferred to wear detailed eye makeup when out and about.”
Tiffany arched her brows and dropped her mouth open. “Yes. You’re absolutely right.”
“She’s showing me a watch and holding her chest. It appears she was sick for some time and knew she would pass. It was lung cancer that took her.” Elora spoke matter-of-factly and sought no confirmation.
“It’s true.” The woman’s voice cracked.
A crashing wave of emotion rushed over Elora, and she worked to push it aside. Empathic to the core, she felt every emotion and often physical discomfort of those in close proximity to her. Tiffany’s grief was borderline crippling. Acclimatized to how to manage the waves during readings, Elora inhaled a cleansing breath and released the secondhand sorrow to continue.
“Tiffany, it’s no coincidence you came today even though your friend cancelled. Your mother has been trying to get you to listen to her for months. She says you have been having sharp pains in your lower left side and have done nothing about it.”
“Yes!” she gasped.
Elora straightened her back and narrowed her eyes as she continued.
“The minute you get home, you call your doctor and set up an appointment. Do you understand this?”
“Yes, I do.” Tiffany hung her head and nodded.
Elora continued. “The pain has been worse lately and happening more often. Your mother asked me to remind you of the family medical history. Her mother, your sister. You can’t waste valuable time avoiding the symptoms and the discomfort. Illness is treatable if you seek medical care. It won’t go away on its own, no matter how much you ignore it. Our bodies speak to us through symptoms and sensations. The more you ignore them, the louder your body will have to speak.”
“What is it, Elora? Is it cancer?” Tiffany’s voiced wavered as she questioned. The client steeled her back as she pursed her lips and furrowed her brows.
“As we discussed at the beginning of your reading, I’m not a doctor and have no medical training, Tiffany. I can’t speak to specific diagnoses. That’s a medical professional’s job. But the message is clear, you have to take better care of yourself and not risk your health any longer. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“What I can tell you, and again, this is my interpretation, not a diagnosis; I see a black mass on your left ovary. I’m not able to tell how serious it is, but spirit shows us these things as a means of prevention.”
