The Grace Jackson Trilogy

Also by Amy Venezia

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Grunge & Grace

(The Grace Jackson Trilogy, Book 1)

Cigarettes and Butter

(The Grace Jackson Trilogy, Book 2)

Mercury and Music

(The Grace Jackson Trilogy, Book 3)

THE GRACE JACKSON TRILOGY

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FEATURING

GRUNGE & GRACE

CIGARETTES AND BUTTER

MERCURY AND MUSIC

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AMY VENEZIA

Published 2019

by Ra Vision Books

amyvenezia.net

© Amy Venezia

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or means

(electronic, photocopying, mechanical, recording, or other) without written permission

from the publisher. Failing to adhere to this may result in being held

liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims.

Edited By: C.F. Dick

Cover Art and Format: T. Considine

ISBN: 978-0-578-59250-3

This book is dedicated to every soul living on planet earth and every soul living in the realms outside of these.

Contents

GRUNGE & GRACE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

CIGARETTES AND BUTTER 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

MERCURY AND MUSIC

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

9 LoVES / 9 LiVES

Chapter One

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GRUNGE & GRACE

(The Grace Jackson Trilogy, Book 1)

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AMY VENEZIA

Chapter 1

He watches her. She has no idea how much he watches her. It isn't out of some creepy obsession. It isn't that he needs her. Wait. If he were to be completely honest, he would have to retract that last statement. He does need her. More than she is aware.

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She has no idea how he can feel through her. The slightest nuance of feeling. Like when she runs her hand through her hair. She has this nervous habit of pulling her hair behind her ear when she feels self-conscious. She has no idea that he can slow that action down to slow-motion frames and feel every strand of hair that caresses her fingers. When she drinks coffee, he can taste it. Thank GOD she’s a coffee drinker. Too bad she isn't a smoker, he thought as he flicked his cigarette, all the while not taking his eyes off her.

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Yeah, he smokes where he is. It isn't like 3rd-dimensional smoking. It's some watered down, simulated version of smoking. We are talking another dimension...and here, anything can be simulated and felt...to an extent. So he picked up smoking once he got here. Something he had quit when he was in his body. One good thing about being dead...nothing can kill you anymore. Simulated or not.

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Sitting in a wooden backed chair, he has his legs stretched out as he studies her naked body. He cocks his head to the side so he can see every single flaw when the light hits them. Would she have been someone he would have noticed in life? Maybe. Noticed, but that would have been the extent of it.  And now, standing in front of him naked, she is so beautiful. It isn't just her. Every human being is beautiful. He sees this now. To have a body. To have skin. It is beautiful. When he looks at her and hears the flaws that she berates herself over...it's pure beauty.

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He crosses his arms as he recollects all the ways in which he too used to berate himself over stupid imperfections. His ears being one of them. Most of his life he kept his hair long. His ears were not the deciding factor in that choice, but he certainly did like that he didn't have to feel self-conscious about them... like when he wore his hair shorter. His dick too. He would have liked to have a bigger dick. But hey, his wasn't bad...though guys are always comparing in their minds. Like some imaginary dick ruler, constantly. They may not be conscious of it, but it drives everything. Symbolically...truthfully.

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Fuck the dick ruler, he thinks as he gets up from his chair. He walks over to where she is and whispers in her ear that she is beautiful. At that moment, she looks in the mirror while putting her lip gloss on and thinks about how she is getting older. Sometimes she hears him. It blows his mind how she can hear him... sometimes. Sometimes, it isn't that she hears his words...she feels them, and he loves to see that. It is as incredible as it is frightening. Jesus. What if some asshole was here whispering in her ear something assholes say? She just jabbed herself over getting old...so she didn't hear him this time. Or feel him. Or is there an asshole around he can't see?

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Either way, it makes him think of the women he has loved in his life. His daughters. And how so much of their days are spent criticizing their humanity. His thoughts drift to his wife, and he instantly feels a stab of dull pain. No. He isn't ready to go there yet.

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He mumbles something along the lines of being a fucking loser and right then he sees her stop putting her mascara on long enough to whisper, You are so loved, do you know that?

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He can't help but scoff at himself, Of course, that one she heard.

Chapter 2

WTF? Grace rolled over in her bed and reached for the cell phone that was charging on the nightstand beside her. It had been a non-stop symphony of buzzes; which she tried to let loll her back to sleep...but her logical mind out-ruled her sleepy head, and she had to see what the hell the fire was. She sat staring at the home screen of her phone as it blinked wildly...fighting the age-old curse of hard-to-focus eyes first thing in the morning. Every social media notification was lit up, and across the top of her phone were all kinds of symbols indicating message after message...comment after comment.  72 emails?? Still sleepy, she sat dazed for a moment.  Her thoughts began to clear, and she realized something must have gone profoundly wrong in the world! Feeling a wave of panic, she almost didn't want to click on one of the slew of notifications. She closed her eyes and halfway opened one of them...her body leaning away from the phone she was holding...her finger hovering over a notification as if afraid it might explode or bite.

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Grace, did you see that Kyle Kent died last night??? OMG,  PLEASE tell me you are going to try and connect with him? I am so heartbroken...

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Grace sat up in bed trying to think if she even knew who Kyle Kent was. She quickly Googled his name and the instant his picture came up she recognized him. One of the world's most prolific guitarists. He had been a part of several bands...sharing lead sometimes...all the time playing that guitar. He'd written numerous songs that had moved a generation. Grace sat and tried to recall some of them. She felt a little guilty only being able to think of one, but hey...he wasn't her kind of music. She smiled a sheepish smile, looked up and whispered: I hope that doesn't offend you. Before she went on to look at more messages, she sat still and closed her eyes, saying a prayer for his soul.  Saying a prayer for anyone who loved him.  Saying a prayer for a world who let him into their hearts and were very shaken by his departure.

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After reading as many of the messages as she could take, Grace threw her phone on the bed, sitting on the edge of it, feet flat against the cold, hardwood floor. You would think she could put some cute carpet down, so her feet didn't receive a big fuck you from the floor every waking morning...but the thought had never even occurred to her. She welcomed the jolt of cold that roused her from the deep.

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Closing her eyes, she sat and allowed herself to open to the energy she could feel wanting to come in.  For a brief second she let it in...and in that second, she felt more depths and layers of things that she previously thought impossible to experience in a such a split moment. Enough to jolt her body, she quickly shut it off and felt resistance in every part of her being to opening it back up again.

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In a stumbling version of walking, as if she'd had one too many drinks, Grace made her way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She stared into the pouring water long enough to fixate on the individual streams. Grace noticed how one of the small holes in the shower head didn't have any water coming out. She considered how the tiny streams of water were just like humans. Each one an individual...pouring out to make a whole. She thought of how Kyle Kent, this man she knew nothing about, was no longer pouring out.  Just like that tiny, empty hole in the shower head. Her heart felt sad as she entered and closed the glass door, allowing the hot water to pour over her and the steam to rise, making the glass all around her look like clouded walls.

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She was used to feeling for souls who had made their transition. She could tune into every one of their emotions imprinting on hers the moment she gave herself permission to open and connect with them. But this was different. This was something unique. She felt such profound sadness...mixed with a gut knowing that something was wrong...and a knowing that this was going to be a life-altering experience should she allow it. Why was she feeling so much resistance? Usually, her first instinct was to jump in and help...do whatever she could. This was her life. This was all she’d known since childhood. To her, the dead were not dead. It had been a difficult life...feeling this way since she was able to remember...in a world where everyone was not only terrified of death but also thought it was the end of love. The end of connection. The end of communication. She couldn't consciously place it...this feeling she was having about Kyle Kent, except that it was a foreboding feeling that her life as she knew it was about to change drastically.

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She had been facing the water, allowing it to stream down her face when she decided that she was not going to get into this right now. She was going to trust her instincts that were sounding off like a five-alarm fire, and she wasn't going to let herself feel guilty for it.  As she turned around to face the now thoroughly steamed up glass enclosing her...she was stunned to open her eyes and see crystal clear, one word written in the steam...

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Grace.

Chapter 3

NO, NO, NO, NO...What the fuck?? No!! Standing next to his body, like he was on some hoverboard, he desperately tried to jump back in it. What the hell is happening?? He was in a daze. He could feel, yet he couldn’t. He felt the panic and at the same time, felt half asleep. He attempted to hurl himself toward his now limp body double on the cold tile floor of his hotel bathroom...but each time; it was like hitting some invisible force field. He felt the fight starting to give out...like air leaving a balloon...deflated, he sat on the side of the tub and waited.

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At first, he couldn’t look at himself. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCCCCCK. The only thoughts he could muster. Flashes of images passed before his eyes. His children. Their faces...at all ages, one after the other...each one pinging his heart. A heart he could still feel. Strange memories, like the sound of silence in the thick woods of the Northwest. The smell of a microphone. Yes, when you get that close, you can smell every bit of breath and saliva they’ve had spewed their way. Staring into an old tin can...one filled with dirt and a seedling...a project from grade school that mesmerized him...almost into a trance. He would stare waiting for the first sign of life peeking through the dirt. Imagining what was going on underneath. Imagining if he concentrated hard enough...that little seed would hurry up and sprout.

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Now, he looked down at his body. He studied his hair, now soaked with sweat. He noticed the soles of his feet. Strange thing to notice, but true.

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He had been in an absolute fury. Like a Tasmanian devil had entered his body. Uncontrollable energy. That is all he could remember. The threat. The rage. Why couldn’t he see himself from that point to this?

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Now, he stares down at his body, and the person standing next to it.

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Something isn’t right.

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As it all sank in he started to realize they were going to say he did this to himself. Did he do this to himself?

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He sat dazed and confused and in absolute shock thought to himself...

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Fuck my life? Fuck my DEATH.

Chapter 4

Grace sat staring up at the ceiling. Another night...another Kyle Kent dream. This one marked the 7th dream involving him. Man was he taking her on some wild rides. Every one of them about his wife. Every, single, one of them. He was showing her memory after memory. Or some scenario where Grace was just witnessing their whole dynamic. This entangled web in which he found himself. She threw the covers off of her. The dream had caused her to wake up in a sweat. Why was he so damn adamant about showing her this stuff...and why was he so damn confused when he did? On the one hand, she could feel love. On the other hand, a manipulative force of nature. In one instant, warmth. The next instant, reptilian coldness.

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She could feel him. Yep. He was right there ...in the room...she could feel his static. She could feel his presence. She could feel his pain. His confusion. His desire to be close. Seven dreams and yet, Grace still had not carried on a conversation with him. Oh, he was persistent. But the more he tried, the more Grace resisted. All she could feel was that same feeling she felt the day she found out he’d died...that this was one rabbit hole she could go down, and never find her way back.

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She felt guilty. But she also knew she would eventually give in. It was just her nature. Her heart. It was a part of her being...the pull to connect. To help others. To give everything she had...even sacrificing a fucking decent night’s sleep...until there was peace for both her and the spirit coming to her.

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Grace turned over on her side and put her hand on top of the pillow, resting her head beside it. She finally decided to speak out loud to him.

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You win. But I am going to tell you right now; you need to make up your mind regarding how you feel about all of this. This going back and forth, two different versions thing is not fun to feel. I know it can’t be fun for you either. Can you try and get that straight, soon, please...pretty please? Her voice trailed off like a little girl, meekly asking for a treat. At that moment, Grace almost jumped out of her skin when she felt the weight of what seemed like an arm covering hers...and a hand grasping hers as it lay on the pillow.

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Jumping up, she blurted out Okay...I realllly felt that. I mean, ‘as if you were a human’ felt that.

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Her mind raced as fear crept in. She had been touched before by spirits. Many times. Their touches are uniquely different. One time, there was a spirit that felt like pure electricity zapping her in the middle of the night. Grace would jump up as if she’d been cattle-prodded...soaking wet, with sweat from head to toe. Other spirits had caressed her cheek. Or her hair. Even held her hand. But this...this was the most physical feeling she’d ever had with a spirit. The density...the solid feeling of weight. Most of all, the wave of affection that moved through her whole body.

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See...rabbit hole. I knew it, she whispered ...laying her body back down onto the bed.

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How was she supposed to sleep now?

Chapter 5

(4 days before his death)

Kyle sat reeling. Staring at his laptop, his hand holding his head in disbelief. His shoulders shrunk as the full weight of his upper body sank and balanced upon his elbow on the desk. His whole body was sweating. His thoughts were like race cars speeding around the track. Over and over...one after the other, no checkered flag in site.

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How could he have been so stupid? Were things bad? Yeah, they had been for a couple of years now. He was growing weary. He was exhausted from the soul beatings. He was tired of being continually scrutinized under a microscope. It had never been a big issue...at the beginning he welcomed it. The more control she wanted, the more he felt like she loved him. How fucking pathetic, he thought to himself as he slammed the computer screen down. He leaned back in his chair and felt the room spinning.

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The walls were closing in. Every single road of escape imagined was met with a dead end as soon as it began. He wanted to punch something...but hell, he was even too tired for that right now. In the last few months, he had fantasized about his escape. Every time he did, he knew there was no way she was going to let him go. She would destroy him. Wear him down to dust. She would make sure he paid in every way possible. Every idea he had of what he could do to get out was instantly met with what she would do to keep him in. Fuck, he was even willing to sleep on his brother’s couch. He would be willing to let it all go. The fame. The things. The money. The rights. The only thing stopping him was his kids. And she knew that. She used them in every way possible to threaten him back into submission.

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But this? This was a blindside. This was something he never even imagined she would stoop to.

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He could feel a wave of anger he'd never, ever felt...churning in his gut...moving deeper into places outside of his physical body. He could feel it in his soul. If he could take his pain and anger and mix it together...it would be the color of blood. Yep, his life. His legacy. His money. His worth. His marriage. All the color of blood.

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He sat there, paralyzed for a moment. Unable to think of any course of action. Unable to even move his body.

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He felt like one of those nightmares where you can’t move your body, and you want to scream, but you can’t utter even a word.

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One thing he knew, no one was going to tell him what to do anymore.

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He closed his eyes and mustered up enough energy to let out a scream inside his head...

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THIS IS BULLSHIT!

Chapter 6

Grace once again jolted up in her bed. She kept seeing the same image every night. Same flash of his face...so close to hers. His hair was soaking wet from sweat. His eyes were open, bulging from the strain. He was so angry. So in pain. So out of his mind. So enraged. She could feel every one of those emotions pulse through her like a shock wave. So much so it made her jump out of her sleep state and gasp for air.

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Screw this, she thought as she laid back down in her bed. These are things she wished she didn’t have to feel. But she knew she had to feel it to see the truth...to see what he was trying to show her.

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She could feel him in the room. Her breath was heavy. As if she’d just sprinted a mile...she focused on the rising of her chest. She focused on slowing down her breathing in an effort to