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Table of Contents

Title Page

The Immortalies Community

1. Elita

2. Elita

3. Elita

4. Leo

5. Elita

6. Elita

7. Elita

8. Elita

9. Elita

10. Leo

11. Elita

12. Leo

13. Elita

14. Elita

15. Elita

16. Elita

17. Leo

18. Elita

19. Elita

20. Leo

21. Elita

22. Elita

23. Leo

24. Elita

25. Elita

26. Leo

27. Leo

28. Elita

29. Elita

30. Leo

31. Elita

32. Leo

33. Elita

34. Elita

35. Leo

36. Elita

37. Elita

38. Leo

39. Elita

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The loud boom of the metal cars colliding sends a piercing pain right into the middle of my eyes. It fuels the already sharp throb inside my head, and it’s the last thing I need.

The car accident in front of me was not only avoidable but played out in slow motion. Now they block my way and both their stupidity could ruin this whole case.

The light is still red as both drivers exit their cars.

This is a problem. There’s no time for them to cry over their lack of concentration on the road. I’m already late setting up my equipment before Richard Carrington, the biggest payday for the year, arrives at the Hotel Chancellor. A refurbished upmarket hotel in the city, and the meeting place with his mistress. Or, so I hope it is.

The young man from the four- wheel-drive Ute, that rammed the back end of the middle-aged woman’s hatch, throws his hands up and yells as he approaches her.

This could take a while.

A horn beeps from a car behind and sends another sharp buzz to the already rhythmic pounding in my head. Migraines suck. Big time.

I move the shifter to park and rummage through my bag, looking for the white pill bottle I just picked up from the pharmacy. When I yank it out, the referral to my MRI flies out at me.

I shake my head and scrunch it up, but I can’t make myself throw it in the makeshift trash bag that hangs off my gear shift. Instead, I bury it in the depths of my handbag, knowing I cannot ignore this problem for much longer.

The doctor said to wait before I take the pain medication. He specifically said no driving and all that doctor rubbish. But, I’m close enough to the hotel. And these pills are my only hope of gaining back control of the basic functions this migraine is affecting.

Maybe if I told him about my dreams, he wouldn’t have looked at me like I was pushing for drugs, even though I was. Instead, he could’ve told me I’m not dying. That he knows exactly what’s wrong with me, and I’ll be fine. It’s just stress.

Whatever, I just need to get past the next twenty-four hours. Take the drugs, and tomorrow it will be like it never was.

My stomach knots.

Or maybe the MRI will show it’s a brain tumour. With the dreams and pain the side effects. Thanks again Topher for your online research and constant nagging. He might be my best friend, or more like my brother from another mother, but his really been a pain in my ass.

That’s the only reason I’ll go to the damn appointment. If anything, I owe it to him to understand what’s happening to me.

Even if I already know what causes it.

The damn dreams.

Every time I have them, I wake up like this. There’s no denying it now. Worse, it’s becoming more frequent.

Last night was the most vivid and clearest of all. I could almost see three feet in front of me. I saw the crisp green grass, even felt it between my bare toes. That’s all. As I tried to force my head up, the sun overpowered me. I woke in a cold sweat and with the start of my dreaded migraine.

Shaking two little white pills out, I watch as the tension is mounting ahead. As a response to whatever the male driver said, the woman sticks up her middle finger. Then rubs her neck and arches her back, hobbling.

The man looks aghast at her. Then his arms fly like those of a conductor as he rants and raves. His voice is loud, and if I wanted to. I could wind the window down and make it out word for word. But why the hell would I do that. They just need to hurry up and get out my way.

He stops and looks around at the traffic that’s formed. Surveying the crowd.

“Yeah, that’s right. Your embarrassing yourself. Now get the car off to the side and move on.” I say. Obviously, he can’t hear though.

Then he stops on me. Peers forward, and for some reason walks towards my car.

“Shit.” I down the pills with a sip of water.

I’m so close to the hotel, I can see it right over the parkland’s in the south end of Adelaide’s City. I didn’t get my ass out of bed just to screw up my chance because of a minor accident.

The man knocks on my window.

I wind it down and look up. He’s in his late twenties or early thirties, about my age and dressed very well in clean jeans and a crisply ironed graphic t-shirt. I do a double take of the four-wheel-drive Ute he came out of. Normally a workman’s car. It’s a high-end black Mercedes.

“Did you see what happened?” He points to the scene. “That idiot is trying to say it was my fault!”

The idiot, or woman he means, is now on her phone pacing up and down. There is no sign she is experiencing anymore pain and walking with ease.

I nod.

Why he feels the need to pick me out of the crowd is anyone’s guess. Just add it to the list of the day from hell.

“Maybe you both should just move your cars off the road and wait for the police to sort it out.” I try to be as polite as I can, even flash him a well-practised smile.

That’s probably who the woman is already on the phone with. Maybe she knows she has a better chance of getting the police on her side if she’s the one who reports it. Innocent or not. That’s part of the reason I

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