Novels by Avery Joe

AltheaWhen I thought everything was okay, all the walls were tumbling down. My life, my happiness, everything.I woke up in a haze, my head pounding as if I had been hit by a hundred storms. The sharp scent of antiseptic stung my nose, and I felt the unfamiliar weight of a hospital blanket over me. My limbs were heavy, uncooperative, as if they belonged to someone else, and my chest felt tight. It took a moment for my eyes to focus, the world around me blurry and indistinct.The pain was the first thing I recognized. A dull, aching throb in my lower abdomen, deep and unrelenting. I reached for it instinctively, as if I could touch the wound and make it go away. But when my hand brushed against the skin, it felt foreign—empty. As if the very thing I was searching for was no longer there.The memories rushed back like a flood.The blood. The pain. The terror that had washed over me in the moments before I lost consciousness. The frantic urgency of Matthias’s voice, calling my name, the

MatthiasThe elevator groaned as it descended, like the machine itself was reluctant to take me where I was going. Each floor ticked past with a hollow ding, echoing up the shaft like a countdown I hadn’t agreed to. Somewhere in the stillness between the fifth and the fourth floor, I caught my reflection in the polished steel of the doors; drawn face, bloodshot eyes, jaw clenched so tight it ached. I looked like a man walking into something he might not walk out of.The feeling of unease settled in the pit of my stomach, growing heavier with each passing second. The soft hum of the elevator's motor seemed to mock me, as if it knew the uncertainty that lay ahead. I tried to shake off the sense of foreboding, reminding myself that I had a job to do, a mission to complete. But as the elevator finally reached the ground floor and the doors slid open with a hiss, I couldn't help but wonder if I was walking into a trap.I didn’t bother adjusting my coat when the doors opened. The hallway ou

MatthiasAlthea's condition was getting worse, to the point she had to get into an operation room.Time did not make everything calmer; instead, every second scraped across my nerves like the edge of a dull blade. Each tick of the wall clock sounded louder than the last, a metronome counting down to something I couldn’t name. The longer I sat there, the more I felt like I was unraveling by degrees, breath by breath.I sat stiffly in the dimly lit waiting area just past the ICU doors, one foot tapping without rhythm against the waxed linoleum floor. That smell—the sour tang of antiseptic—clung to everything: the walls, the plastic seats, and the inside of my throat. It mixed with the faint scent of coffee long gone cold and something metallic, like the memory of blood. The air was cool, but my jacket stuck to me anyway, and every breath I took felt borrowed.I tried to distract myself by flipping through a magazine left on the table, but the words blurred together and the pictures seem

[Folded Page]Flashback, Part IIThe phone rang just past three in the morning.The burner, tucked beneath a drawer in the dresser, buzzed once—twice—its low hum slicing through the silence like a blade. Jess hadn’t been asleep. Not really. His body had settled, eyes closed for just minutes, but his mind had remained wired, straining through the dark for sounds that didn’t belong.His hand moved automatically, fingers closing around the phone, the sickening feeling of dread blooming in his stomach before his brain could even process why. Something was wrong. He knew it.The moment he answered, his voice was rough, hoarse from a mix of exhaustion and a deep, gnawing fear.“Reiley?” The word came out more as a prayer than a question, but it was too late. His heart was already sinking.The voice on the other end wasn’t hers. It was too calm. Too controlled.“Jessen,” the woman said. Her tone was efficient, practiced — not one ounce of emotion, not one crack of humanity breaking through.

[Folded Page]FlashbackThe rain battered the windows of the small house like fists of fury, the storm outside a violent mirror of the one raging within. Wind shrieked through the trees like lost souls, and every thunderclap seemed to rattle the very bones of the house.Reiley Alden paced the length of the living room, her bare feet soundless against the worn, splintered hardwood. She moved like a caged thing, restless, hunted. In the cradle tucked tightly into the corner — the safest corner she could find — baby Althea slept fitfully, her tiny face scrunched in some fretful dream only infants understood. The occasional twitch of her small hands made Reiley’s heart ache in a way that almost brought her to her knees.The storm outside was nothing compared to the one brewing inside her chest. She longed for it to pass, for the world to somehow become kind again — but some part of her, the part that had survived too much already, knew it never would.She paused by the fireplace, the flic

MatthiasA panic attack slammed into me like a freight train the moment they wheeled her through the emergency room doors.Althea lay so still on the gurney, her skin almost translucent under the harsh fluorescent lights, her breathing shallow and uneven, as if each breath cost her more than she could give. Her head lolled slightly to one side, and the sight of it—of her, usually so vibrant and stubbornly full of life, now fragile and terrifyingly still—carved something brutal and cold through my chest, a feeling I couldn't shake even as I stumbled forward.I tried to follow—I needed to follow—but a nurse stepped into my path, palm up, firm but not unkind. "Sir, you have to wait here. We'll update you as soon as we can," she said, her voice kind but leaving no room for argument."No—" I rasped, the sound of it cracking out of me, unfamiliar and raw. "I’m sorry," she said again, softer this time, her eyes flickering with sympathy. "Please. Let us help her."Helplessness crashed over