Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone)

over her.
    Now those dreams have turned to nightmares as Noella begins hearing voices, witnessing murders she can’t possibly know of, and seeing the monsters from her sleep merging into her waking life.  
    Noella doesn’t want to return to King’s Point, the psychiatric hospital where she was forced to go after an “episode” two years earlier.  
    She tells herself she’s better.  
    But then one night Noella sees the impossible... Dante, watching her from afar, as he has for centuries – nearly as long as he's loved her.
    Is Noella losing her mind? Or is she linked to a hidden world, destined to be normal ForNevermore?
    ForNevermore is a bold new paranormal serial, with awesome cliffhanger endings that will make you feel like you’re watching your favorite TV show right on your Kindle.  

    * * * *

    Check out the first two exciting chapters of this new paranormal serial.

    CHAPTER ONE

    Aurora Falls, New York
    Friday, October 26
    9:50 p.m.

    On the short list of things worse than what had already happened to Noella Snow today, being murdered was definitely one of them.
    It was her 17th birthday, and was officially her worst birthday in 10 years. Considering what happened on her 7th birthday, that was saying a lot.
    She was working the counter at Keefer’s Koffee, Aurora Falls’ pathetic excuse for an echo of Starbucks, and wondering why she’d even agreed to cover Tammy’s shift. She looked at the clock for the hundredth time. Ten minutes until closing. It seemed as if the clock was conspiring to keep her from the bed she couldn’t wait to fall into, where she could pull the covers over herself, and try to forget this day ever happened.  
    Noella was wrapping unsold brownies in thin sheets of ice blue cellophane so they’d be “fresh” for the morning rush, while ignoring the urge to shove one, or five, in her mouth. Sure, it would dull the day’s pain . . . for a few minutes. But once she swallowed, the dull ache would return, stronger, accompanied by her old friend guilt.  
    Treat yourself, it’s your birthday, girl.
    It was her birthday, and she had grown into a slim young woman, but neither changed a childhood of name-calling, with barbs such as Thunder Thighs, Chunky Monkey, and Patti Fatty, crushing trust and reducing her confidence to crumbs.
    Noella slid the tray of brownies into the cooler with a decisive shove, just as the front door dinged and split the silence of the nearly empty coffee shop. She looked up, and felt a cold snake of terror slither across her shoulders, then down her spine.  
    Noella wasn’t sure how she knew, whether it was the voices she’d taken pills to silence, or a hunch, but she knew for certain that death had entered Keefer’s.
    The weird thing was that guy didn’t look dangerous.  
    He was young and handsome, even in soft wash jeans and a moody-looking leather jacket. His blue New York Mets hat and thick mop of brown hair made him look like any one of the hundreds of guys who came into the coffee shop. But there was something in his eyes that bled into Noella’s, something that said:
    He is here to kill me.
    Most nights there were at least four or five people scattered among the 10 booths peppering the front arc of Keefer’s. They usually lingered around, hooked to the Wi-Fi, and taking a million years to leave, keeping Noella from closing and getting on with what little life she had. Tonight, of course, the place was tumbleweeds. She hadn’t had a customer in 15 minutes, punctuating both the loneliness of her birthday, and her new vulnerability.  
    Tony, the shift manager, was out back taking the evening’s trash to the dumpster, though Noella knew he was really just sucking down yet another cigarette. Tony smoked more minutes than he worked, making him a generally useless co-worker.  
    Useless or not, I could really use him right now.
    “Welcome to Keefer’s,” she said, trying not to sound nervous. “What can I get you?”
    Mets Hat said nothing as he drifted toward the counter, his eyes studying the menu on the wall above and behind her as if he were trying to figure out a menu written in Swahili.  
    But his eyes weren’t really reading the menu. They were reading Noella.  
    That wasn’t uncommon. Though Noella considered herself plain, that didn’t stop any number of creepy guys from coming in, undressing her with their eyes, and worse. Sometimes they’d comment on the faint heart-shaped birthmark on her left cheek, as if they