Month: September 2021

CHAPTER 12

The day was quiet.  The town sleeping between seasons.  As usual, this far north, the temperature had fallen.  Stepping out into the cloudless night, Marcus saw many people looking his way.  With no coat, shivering, moonlight highlighting his pale face; the police, if they came this way, would have no difficulty knowing he’d been here.  Still he walked, drawn to the shelter by unbreakable threads.

The modern building was larger than Marcus had hoped it would need to be.  Glass doors looked out upon the street.  The vestibule was bright and Marcus could not enter.  Behind the desk facing the doors, the young woman watched him walking back and forth.  He looked in, shading his eyes.  When he saw her, he quickly turned away.

“Dr. Abram.”  Though she spoke quietly, Marcus heard her.  “There’s a man pacing in front of the door.”

Marcus looked at the large brass letters labeling the building.  T.O.I.C.S., smaller print sitting below, explained the meaning of the name, but he could not read the words.

A man in oversized glasses walked to the receptionist.  Even slightly bent, age pulling him to the center of the earth, he towered over her. A hand, mottled with age spots reached up to scratch the silver grey hair circling a high forehead. Through the glass Marcus could see the electric blue eyes that time had not changed.  All four watched the door, waiting for the stranger to once again pass by.

“I thought.”  She began, only to be interrupted.

“You thought my instructions to have you call me if ever a young man standing before our doors was a bit strange?”

She looked away.  “You said he wouldn’t enter.  How did you know?”

Dr. Abram smiled.  “I didn’t know.” 

Marcus passed and Dr. Abram pulled his sweater close around him. 

“Harriet don’t come out into the dark.  I don’t think I’ll need you.  If I do”—he whispered—“it will be too late.  If anything happens to me call the police and stay where it’s brightest.”  He looked at the overly bright lights carefully placed around them.  They filled each room, every night.  The residents had learned to sleep bathed in their glow.

 “Dr.”—she grabbed his arm—“don’t go.  I’m scared.”

 “You probably should be.  There are many things to fear, but I don’t think I need to fear him.”  

The door opened and Marcus turned quickly around.  He remembered those eyes, their kindness and he smiled.

“It is you?”  Dr. Abram stepped out, eyes closing as the door locked behind him.

“Yes Doctor.”

“It’s been a long time.  I tried to save you.  I went to the police, we went back as quickly as we could.”

“We left as soon as it returned.” Marcus looked away.  “I thought you must gotten away, why else would it be so angry, but I could not be sure it was angry with me, for sending you away.”

Dr. Abram closed his eyes picturing the room he’d returned to.  The blood stained mattress, rodent bones collected in the corners.  “It’s cold.  You must be freezing.  Come inside where we can talk.”  He backed away from the pain in Marcus’ eyes.  “You can’t.”

Marcus, turning away from the lights, surprised to see the Dr. still standing beside him. 

“You do not run?”

 “I believe I have nothing to run from.”

“I am glad you are still here.”

“How can it be you?  You should be older.”

“You can ask, but I cannot tell you.  I don’t understand it either.  This is a shelter?”

 “Yes. I opened it as a safe haven for abused children, boys or girls.”

“That is good.  Are there many?”

“Always too many.  You’re welcome here, you always will be.”

“You have given me a warmth I have not felt in a very long time.”  Marcus wrapped his arms across his chest.  “The pain pills, I have always wanted to thank you for them.  I kept them. I used them slowly.  He never understood how I was able to ignore the pain.  It was a small victory.”

“The ribs, arm?”  The doctor searched for signs of previous injuries.  “You healed well, even the thumbs.”

“You did a good job.”  Marcus looked at his hands, the thumbs only slightly misshapen.

“You came back to see me?”

 “Yes, for a while now I have been revisiting, I guess that is what you would say, those that helped me.  I think in my own way I am saying goodbye.  I want you, someone to know I survived, that I am not what he tried to make me.  I thought you might understand, would believe me.  I”—he turned away once again searching among the stars—“have been hiding, fighting him all these years.  The police think I killed four women in a place called Carson City.  I was hiding there.  A woman found me, tried to help. She did not understand the danger.  His voice broke.  “I thought he was further away, but he found me.  He killed her and the others, but I am blamed.  Please do not believe them.”  He stared into the doctor’s eyes, “I have never killed. I only wish for one person to think kindly of me.  Perhaps to mourn.”

Tears were in the doctor’s eyes.  “I will mourn.  I believe you.  I saw your suffering.  I saw the boy doing his best to save someone he didn’t know, had no reason to save.”  He pointed to the sign.  “Do you see what I named the shelter?”

“I see the letters.  The words, I cannot read them.”

“T.O.I.C.S.  It stands for The One I Couldn’t Save.  It is named for you.  I wanted so badly to save you.”

“But you did.  I had given up; thought there was only cruelty.  No reason for me to go on, to not embrace the darkness he wanted for me.  But you, your eyes were kind.  I could see that you cared, though you did not know me, and I knew there was a reason to continue, a reason to resist.  I have saved some lives.  I hide, but then I let him find me, so that he will know I am still here.”

“Why?”  The doctor shivered.

“It is cold.  You should go back inside.”

 “I’m fine. Please continue.”

“He spoke very often of taking another boy prisoner, another one to torture.  He wants to join the Gods he believes in.  To prove himself worthy, he has to show them he was not weak.  Not weaker than anyone would be, even those far older than he had been when his father beat him.  He takes those he feels are strong and keeps them until they beg or cry.”

“But you?”

“I have never begged, never cried.  I do not think it is possible for me to cry now.  So I continue.  I show him that I have not died so that he will chase me and not take another.  But I am so tired.”

The doctor reached out, one arm placed firmly around Marcus’ shoulder.  Frowning, Marcus looked at the hand. “I do not usually let anyone touch me.”

 “I’m your doctor.”  The comment was rewarded with a tentative smile. “How did you escape?”

“I guess you can say I escaped, but in a way I am still a prisoner.”  Marcus pulled down the collar of his shirt.  “I had had enough.  He was going to use me as a reason to kill.  I couldn’t let him do this.  It was then he made me into what I am.  I let him think”—Marcus turned away—“that I loved him for this.  He was to teach me how to kill; I saved the girl and escaped.  I was stronger than he knew.”

“I am sorry for what you must have had to do.”

“That was when I died.” He paused, looking into distant memories.  “There were boys, I helped them escape.  But I do not know if they lived.  I would ask, though you may not know.”

“Ask anything.”

“Years ago, I do not know how many, there was a place boys were used as slaves, young girls sold to old men.  I, Jason, we fought back.  I captured the Master of the camp.  The boys and girls, I told them to run.  We did not know each other’s names.  I have often wondered about them.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

“Gregor, that is his name, would have come for me.  If it found me with them, it would kill them all and once again, as with you, nothing would change for me.  I fought their Master to rescue them, not bring about their deaths.”

“Let me think.”  Dr. Abram searched his memories, using key words much like real keys, unlocking the place where the story he’d read many years ago was stored. 

“The farm was in Alabama.  Boys and girls in various stages of illnesses, addictions, and abuse had gone to the police, who then raided the camp.  The guards died, burned inside their barracks.  No one cared to investigate the fire. I think the name of the boy that led them was Jason, but I cannot be certain. Most of them were reunited with their families.  Others were given new homes.  I don’t know how well they fared.  You set them free?”

“It was my plan, but we did it together. The younger boys set fire to the barracks.  They must be forgiven. The guards were cruel.  The Master…”  His voice faded.  “I offered myself to him in place of a weaker boy.  Master was another of the monsters I have seen.  I was too strong for him.  The food in the camp was good and once I was a farm boy.  I left him to Gregor.  He was well punished.”

“Why were you there?”

Once again Marcus looked away.  “Gregor did not like a sickly toy and I had stopped eating. Please,” he hurried on, seeing the doctor’s distress.  “This is a good memory.  I must say farewell to you now. I cannot stay here.  He will be looking and I do not want him to find you.”  He grew quiet, letting his feelings search the night.  “He is not close.  I will leave tonight.  I’ll let him find me far from here, so you’ll be safe. But stay, as I see you do, in the light.”

“I have not slept in a dark room since I ran from that cabin, felt him closing in on me, turning away only when I got to the police station and its bright lights.  But wait,” he reached into the pocket of the long grey sweater he wore.  “Take this.  It’s a business card.  I know you can’t read it, but if you ever need me, need to get here, it’ll tell you where I am.”

Marcus took the offered cards, frowning.

“I gave you a few.” The doctor smiled. “Just in case you lose one. Please”—he bent closer looking into grey eyes now the color of the sea with the morning mist rising from it—“don’t lose the cards.”

Marcus remained quiet, carefully placing them deep into the pocket of the dark jeans he wore.

“Where will you go, how will you travel?”

“I have one last goodbye, the first I was to kill.  I do not know the name, but I remember the way.  I travel at night.  I walk. It is not hard.  I walk fast.”

Marcus reached for the satchel tied to his back. “This is for your shelter.  I do not know how much there is.  It was Lenore’s.  I did not steal it.  She gave it to me, but as you can see it does me no good.  It would be much better used to improve the lives of those living here.” 

The satchel changed hands; the doctor not looking inside. 

“There is just one more thing you can do. Please help the man who plays the violin at the bar, Joseph Parri.  He gave me shelter.  I believe with your help he could stop drinking, be a good man again.”

 “No matter what has happened to you, how he changed you, you are a good man.  Marcus.”  He spoke quickly before Marcus could turn away.  “I want you to remember me.”

“I am forgetting Doctor.  I can no longer remember my father, my mother or sister’s faces, names.  I can tell you how my father would have wanted me to act.  I have done my best.”  He looked at the night sky, as if hoping for confirmation.  “I am beginning to forget even those that came after he took me.  That is one of the reasons I’m saying goodbye.  I fear I will forget it all.”

“I can explain why that is happening to you.”  The doctor chewed on his lower lip.  “It’s called psychogenic amnesia.”  He saw Marcus looking around, not knowing that he was trying to feel if Gregor was close.  “You don’t need to know that.  What it means is that people who suffer mental distress, like car accidents, certain diseases and in your case extreme abuse, suffer a loss of self.  You don’t lose your memories, not at first but over time all the memories associated with the person you were, begin to fade.”

“It is good it is slow. Will they return?”

“I cannot say, at least not in your case.”  Abram frowned. “Do you know what you are?”

“I know only that which I can and cannot do.”

“If you find out, if you need help, of any kind no matter what—he chuckled, a bitter sound—“no matter how old you’re not, no matter where this road takes you, contact me.  I’ll always answer.”

“I will try to remember.” 

Far from the state with a face was his journey’s end. Marcus wanted to begin, to turn east, but it was time to look into Gregor’s eyes, to let him know he had not yet won.  He turned back to Carson City, but he did not think he would have to go that far.

Officer Andrea Perkins felt the hairs on her arms stand at attention.  The air around her was suddenly chilly, and the night seemed far too dangerous.  She stood, hesitant to leave the brightly lit doorway.

There was an unnatural darkness to the night. A black shadow not far from where she stood.  She could not tell who or what was hidden there.

She heard a footstep from behind and quickly turned, hand reaching for her weapon.  

“There is no need.”

She turned to Marcus, who stood just beyond the reach of the light.  “They found the girls alive?”

“Yes.  They…”

“What is this?”  Gregor growled, stepping from the shadows that hid him.

“You would not understand.”  Marcus looked away, dismissing him.

“Do you count them?”  Gregor snarled.

Marcus ignored him, keeping his eyes on the policewoman.  She took a step forward.

“Don’t.”  She obeyed Marcus’ command.

 “It has been a long time.”

It was not addressing her, and Andrea felt like she was witnessing something few would see.

“Not long enough, I think.  I thought you should know that I am still here.”

“Aren’t you tired of this game?”  Gregor glanced at Marcus, beginning to grin.

“It is a game I am winning.”

“No.” The reply was a screech.  “I have killed many.  Those four in the city were for you.  You lost your friend.  You know I don’t like you to have them.  What was her name?”

 “Lenore, yes she was a friend.”

 “She didn’t tell me where she lived, even when I beat her.  I knew you would find her.  Did it hurt?”

He laughed cruelly and Officer Perkins shivered.

Marcus ignored the question.

“I had no doubt the sheep would think you killed her.  They would make things easier for me.  I didn’t expect you to get free of them.  You, who refuse to kill, how did you escape?”

“I did not need to, have never needed to kill.  You killed her to get me, but I’m still free.”  He pointed to the police station. “You cannot enter their bright lights.”  Marcus was sure the officer would understand the warning. “I have no intention of fighting you here.  You are too weak in the light.”

A cruel laugh accompanied his words, and Marcus turned his back to Gregor.  “Follow me if you can.”

He disappeared, quickly followed by the blackness that had been waiting.  Officer Perkins heard the words, whispered in the wind.

“You are lucky he came back.”

She went into the station.  The report she filed, told of the overheard conversation, exonerating the man wanted for the Carson City murders.  It would be found much later, and its words would save a hard won life.

Chapter 12

T

he day was quiet.  The town sleeping between seasons.  As usual, this far north, the temperature had fallen.  Stepping out into the cloudless night, Marcus saw many people looking his way.  With no coat, shivering, moonlight highlighting his pale face; the police, if they came this way, would have no difficulty knowing he’d been here.  Still he walked, drawn to the shelter by unbreakable threads.

The modern building was larger than Marcus had hoped it would need to be.  Glass doors looked out upon the street.  The vestibule was bright and Marcus could not enter.  Behind the desk facing the doors, the young woman watched him walking back and forth.  He looked in, shading his eyes.  When he saw her, he quickly turned away.

“Dr. Abram.”  Though she spoke quietly, Marcus heard her.  “There’s a man pacing in front of the door.”

Marcus looked at the large brass letters labeling the building.  T.O.I.C.S., smaller print sitting below, explained the meaning of the name, but he could not read the words.

A man in oversized glasses walked to the receptionist.  Even slightly bent, age pulling him to the center of the earth, he towered over her. A hand, mottled with age spots reached up to scratch the silver grey hair circling a high forehead. Through the glass Marcus could see the electric blue eyes that time had not changed.  All four watched the door, waiting for the stranger to once again pass by.

“I thought.”  She began, only to be interrupted.

“You thought my instructions to have you call me if ever a young man standing before our doors was a bit strange?”

She looked away.  “You said he wouldn’t enter.  How did you know?”

Dr. Abram smiled.  “I didn’t know.” 

Marcus passed and Dr. Abram pulled his sweater close around him. 

“Harriet don’t come out into the dark.  I don’t think I’ll need you.  If I do”—he whispered—“it will be too late.  If anything happens to me call the police and stay where it’s brightest.”  He looked at the overly bright lights carefully placed around them.  They filled each room, every night.  The residents had learned to sleep bathed in their glow.

 “Dr.”—she grabbed his arm—“don’t go.  I’m scared.”

 “You probably should be.  There are many things to fear, but I don’t think I need to fear him.”  

The door opened and Marcus turned quickly around.  He remembered those eyes, their kindness and he smiled.

“It is you?”  Dr. Abram stepped out, eyes closing as the door locked behind him.

“Yes Doctor.”

“It’s been a long time.  I tried to save you.  I went to the police, we went back as quickly as we could.”

“We left as soon as it returned.” Marcus looked away.  “I thought you must gotten away, why else would it be so angry, but I could not be sure it was angry with me, for sending you away.”

Dr. Abram closed his eyes picturing the room he’d returned to.  The blood stained mattress, rodent bones collected in the corners.  “It’s cold.  You must be freezing.  Come inside where we can talk.”  He backed away from the pain in Marcus’ eyes.  “You can’t.”

Marcus, turning away from the lights, surprised to see the Dr. still standing beside him. 

“You do not run?”

 “I believe I have nothing to run from.”

“I am glad you are still here.”

“How can it be you?  You should be older.”

“You can ask, but I cannot tell you.  I don’t understand it either.  This is a shelter?”

 “Yes. I opened it as a safe haven for abused children, boys or girls.”

“That is good.  Are there many?”

“Always too many.  You’re welcome here, you always will be.”

“You have given me a warmth I have not felt in a very long time.”  Marcus wrapped his arms across his chest.  “The pain pills, I have always wanted to thank you for them.  I kept them. I used them slowly.  He never understood how I was able to ignore the pain.  It was a small victory.”

“The ribs, arm?”  The doctor searched for signs of previous injuries.  “You healed well, even the thumbs.”

“You did a good job.”  Marcus looked at his hands, the thumbs only slightly misshapen.

“You came back to see me?”

 “Yes, for a while now I have been revisiting, I guess that is what you would say, those that helped me.  I think in my own way I am saying goodbye.  I want you, someone to know I survived, that I am not what he tried to make me.  I thought you might understand, would believe me.  I”—he turned away once again searching among the stars—“have been hiding, fighting him all these years.  The police think I killed four women in a place called Carson City.  I was hiding there.  A woman found me, tried to help. She did not understand the danger.  His voice broke.  “I thought he was further away, but he found me.  He killed her and the others, but I am blamed.  Please do not believe them.”  He stared into the doctor’s eyes, “I have never killed. I only wish for one person to think kindly of me.  Perhaps to mourn.”

Tears were in the doctor’s eyes.  “I will mourn.  I believe you.  I saw your suffering.  I saw the boy doing his best to save someone he didn’t know, had no reason to save.”  He pointed to the sign.  “Do you see what I named the shelter?”

“I see the letters.  The words, I cannot read them.”

“T.O.I.C.S.  It stands for The One I Couldn’t Save.  It is named for you.  I wanted so badly to save you.”

“But you did.  I had given up; thought there was only cruelty.  No reason for me to go on, to not embrace the darkness he wanted for me.  But you, your eyes were kind.  I could see that you cared, though you did not know me, and I knew there was a reason to continue, a reason to resist.  I have saved some lives.  I hide, but then I let him find me, so that he will know I am still here.”

“Why?”  The doctor shivered.

“It is cold.  You should go back inside.”

 “I’m fine. Please continue.”

“He spoke very often of taking another boy prisoner, another one to torture.  He wants to join the Gods he believes in.  To prove himself worthy, he has to show them he was not weak.  Not weaker than anyone would be, even those far older than he had been when his father beat him.  He takes those he feels are strong and keeps them until they beg or cry.”

“But you?”

“I have never begged, never cried.  I do not think it is possible for me to cry now.  So I continue.  I show him that I have not died so that he will chase me and not take another.  But I am so tired.”

The doctor reached out, one arm placed firmly around Marcus’ shoulder.  Frowning, Marcus looked at the hand. “I do not usually let anyone touch me.”

 “I’m your doctor.”  The comment was rewarded with a tentative smile. “How did you escape?”

“I guess you can say I escaped, but in a way I am still a prisoner.”  Marcus pulled down the collar of his shirt.  “I had had enough.  He was going to use me as a reason to kill.  I couldn’t let him do this.  It was then he made me into what I am.  I let him think”—Marcus turned away—“that I loved him for this.  He was to teach me how to kill; I saved the girl and escaped.  I was stronger than he knew.”

“I am sorry for what you must have had to do.”

“That was when I died.” He paused, looking into distant memories.  “There were boys, I helped them escape.  But I do not know if they lived.  I would ask, though you may not know.”

“Ask anything.”

“Years ago, I do not know how many, there was a place boys were used as slaves, young girls sold to old men.  I, Jason, we fought back.  I captured the Master of the camp.  The boys and girls, I told them to run.  We did not know each other’s names.  I have often wondered about them.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

“Gregor, that is his name, would have come for me.  If it found me with them, it would kill them all and once again, as with you, nothing would change for me.  I fought their Master to rescue them, not bring about their deaths.”

“Let me think.”  Dr. Abram searched his memories, using key words much like real keys, unlocking the place where the story he’d read many years ago was stored. 

“The farm was in Alabama.  Boys and girls in various stages of illnesses, addictions, and abuse had gone to the police, who then raided the camp.  The guards died, burned inside their barracks.  No one cared to investigate the fire. I think the name of the boy that led them was Jason, but I cannot be certain. Most of them were reunited with their families.  Others were given new homes.  I don’t know how well they fared.  You set them free?”

“It was my plan, but we did it together. The younger boys set fire to the barracks.  They must be forgiven. The guards were cruel.  The Master…”  His voice faded.  “I offered myself to him in place of a weaker boy.  Master was another of the monsters I have seen.  I was too strong for him.  The food in the camp was good and once I was a farm boy.  I left him to Gregor.  He was well punished.”

“Why were you there?”

Once again Marcus looked away.  “Gregor did not like a sickly toy and I had stopped eating. Please,” he hurried on, seeing the doctor’s distress.  “This is a good memory.  I must say farewell to you now. I cannot stay here.  He will be looking and I do not want him to find you.”  He grew quiet, letting his feelings search the night.  “He is not close.  I will leave tonight.  I’ll let him find me far from here, so you’ll be safe. But stay, as I see you do, in the light.”

“I have not slept in a dark room since I ran from that cabin, felt him closing in on me, turning away only when I got to the police station and its bright lights.  But wait,” he reached into the pocket of the long grey sweater he wore.  “Take this.  It’s a business card.  I know you can’t read it, but if you ever need me, need to get here, it’ll tell you where I am.”

Marcus took the offered cards, frowning.

“I gave you a few.” The doctor smiled. “Just in case you lose one. Please”—he bent closer looking into grey eyes now the color of the sea with the morning mist rising from it—“don’t lose the cards.”

Marcus remained quiet, carefully placing them deep into the pocket of the dark jeans he wore.

“Where will you go, how will you travel?”

“I have one last goodbye, the first I was to kill.  I do not know the name, but I remember the way.  I travel at night.  I walk. It is not hard.  I walk fast.”

Marcus reached for the satchel tied to his back. “This is for your shelter.  I do not know how much there is.  It was Lenore’s.  I did not steal it.  She gave it to me, but as you can see it does me no good.  It would be much better used to improve the lives of those living here.” 

The satchel changed hands; the doctor not looking inside. 

“There is just one more thing you can do. Please help the man who plays the violin at the bar, Joseph Parri.  He gave me shelter.  I believe with your help he could stop drinking, be a good man again.”

 “No matter what has happened to you, how he changed you, you are a good man.  Marcus.”  He spoke quickly before Marcus could turn away.  “I want you to remember me.”

“I am forgetting Doctor.  I can no longer remember my father, my mother or sister’s faces, names.  I can tell you how my father would have wanted me to act.  I have done my best.”  He looked at the night sky, as if hoping for confirmation.  “I am beginning to forget even those that came after he took me.  That is one of the reasons I’m saying goodbye.  I fear I will forget it all.”

“I can explain why that is happening to you.”  The doctor chewed on his lower lip.  “It’s called psychogenic amnesia.”  He saw Marcus looking around, not knowing that he was trying to feel if Gregor was close.  “You don’t need to know that.  What it means is that people who suffer mental distress, like car accidents, certain diseases and in your case extreme abuse, suffer a loss of self.  You don’t lose your memories, not at first but over time all the memories associated with the person you were, begin to fade.”

“It is good it is slow. Will they return?”

“I cannot say, at least not in your case.”  Abram frowned. “Do you know what you are?”

“I know only that which I can and cannot do.”

“If you find out, if you need help, of any kind no matter what—he chuckled, a bitter sound—“no matter how old you’re not, no matter where this road takes you, contact me.  I’ll always answer.”

“I will try to remember.” 

Far from the state with a face was his journey’s end. Marcus wanted to begin, to turn east, but it was time to look into Gregor’s eyes, to let him know he had not yet won.  He turned back to Carson City, but he did not think he would have to go that far.

Officer Andrea Perkins felt the hairs on her arms stand at attention.  The air around her was suddenly chilly, and the night seemed far too dangerous.  She stood, hesitant to leave the brightly lit doorway.

There was an unnatural darkness to the night. A black shadow not far from where she stood.  She could not tell who or what was hidden there.

She heard a footstep from behind and quickly turned, hand reaching for her weapon.  

“There is no need.”

She turned to Marcus, who stood just beyond the reach of the light.  “They found the girls alive?”

“Yes.  They…”

“What is this?”  Gregor growled, stepping from the shadows that hid him.

“You would not understand.”  Marcus looked away, dismissing him.

“Do you count them?”  Gregor snarled.

Marcus ignored him, keeping his eyes on the policewoman.  She took a step forward.

“Don’t.”  She obeyed Marcus’ command.

 “It has been a long time.”

It was not addressing her, and Andrea felt like she was witnessing something few would see.

“Not long enough, I think.  I thought you should know that I am still here.”

“Aren’t you tired of this game?”  Gregor glanced at Marcus, beginning to grin.

“It is a game I am winning.”

“No.” The reply was a screech.  “I have killed many.  Those four in the city were for you.  You lost your friend.  You know I don’t like you to have them.  What was her name?”

 “Lenore, yes she was a friend.”

 “She didn’t tell me where she lived, even when I beat her.  I knew you would find her.  Did it hurt?”

He laughed cruelly and Officer Perkins shivered.

Marcus ignored the question.

“I had no doubt the sheep would think you killed her.  They would make things easier for me.  I didn’t expect you to get free of them.  You, who refuse to kill, how did you escape?”

“I did not need to, have never needed to kill.  You killed her to get me, but I’m still free.”  He pointed to the police station. “You cannot enter their bright lights.”  Marcus was sure the officer would understand the warning. “I have no intention of fighting you here.  You are too weak in the light.”

A cruel laugh accompanied his words, and Marcus turned his back to Gregor.  “Follow me if you can.”

He disappeared, quickly followed by the blackness that had been waiting.  Officer Perkins heard the words, whispered in the wind.

“You are lucky he came back.”

She went into the station.  The report she filed, told of the overheard conversation, exonerating the man wanted for the Carson City murders.  It would be found much later, and its words would save a hard won life.

For those of you just beginning to visit my website here’s a blurb for each book in the Darkness and Light Series

First Book written in the Darkness and Light Series

DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL

Dark Night of the soul begins with Marcus returning to the place where he won his freedom. Saving the little girl that was to be his first victim, Marcus was able to escape. With the passing of many years, Marcus’ life has come full circle when he is reunited with the little girl, now a woman. Recognizing Marcus for what he is, not what Gregor tried to make him, Maddy walks by his side and a final battle begins. Not just a battle to save those Gregor is planning to kill, but a battle to bring Marcus out of the dark, freeing his soul from its long dark night.

A DARKNESS DESCENDING

(The Prequel to Dark Night of the Soul)

Marcus’ nightmare begins when he is taken prisoner. The memories of the life he led before being taken, gives Marcus the strength to survive his long imprisonment. As time passes, the tormented becomes the tormentor and Marcus finds within himself a strength he did not know. Saving the little girl who was to be his first victim, Marcus is finally free. Continuing to use his memories even as they are slowly being stolen from him, Marcus becomes both hunter and prey, keeping Gregor from taking another. Knowing his years may be endless, but his memories will not, he begins looking for those he’d met throughout his long journey for a final goodbye. Finding help and compassion where he least expects it, Marcus returns to where his fight for freedom was won.

WHERE THERE WAS DARKNESS

Waking from what he believed would be his fiery death, Marcus finds he is no longer what he was. What he doesn’t know is what he has become. Struggling to answer the questions surrounding him, he finds he is not alone. The one who changed him lingers, haunting and tormenting him. Chief Daniels, the man whose understanding helped Marcus step out of the darkness , stands beside him, introducing Marcus to the world he could be a part of, a world Marcus longs to join. To be a part of that world, Marcus must first accept who he is and what he has become.

DARKNESS AND LIGHT, THE HUNTER

Finally accepting his altered state, Marcus uses the part of him still walking in the shadows. To hunt the human monsters he faces, Marcus must hide who he is and with each success comes the fear he has not hidden enough. Always watching, living off the life of the man he stole, Gregor waits and Marcus wonders if the monster is a part of himself, one he cannot destroy. Marcus hopes each solved case, each life saved will bring him the peace Gregor stole the day he stole the boy Marcus had once been. Stepping into danger, Marcus knows doing what only he can, being who he really is, keeps him a man apart, putting his family, his dreams for peace, and his life at risk.

DARKNESS AND LIGHT, VAMPIRES (coming soon)

Searching for the ever-elusive redemption, Marcus finds in this quest he is not alone. Gregor’s long journey and both their ultimate fates, depend on the strengths and weaknesses of each other. The dead he could not save haunt Marcus more than the shade walking in the half-world beside him. Marcus’ abilities take him to places he never thought to see, paths he never thought to walk, and bringing him into a world threatening to take from him all those he’s grown to love. Marcus is still the man fighting to escape the the flames he had once hoped to die in.

I love the cover and must thank Norma Gustafson once again for the great photograph, which works very well for my Marcus, my main character, rising from the flames that has been the life he’s lived. The proof is on the way and full publishing is yet to come. Once it’s proofed, it’ll be available in all formats.

tIt was 1995. My son was almost four. I’d tried to get pregnant for four years, then I gave up. The next two years were an adjustment, but my husband and I adjusted. Of course, as every trite story goes, that’s when I got pregnant. Now with a happy and healthy baby boy, a good marriage, and a good job, I should have been happy. Instead I was listless and borderline catatonic. I told my doctor I’d stopped menstruating. He told me I was too young, as if his pronouncement settled it. I went to another doctor, who sent me to the doctor who saved my life. My thyroid had decided to go on a permanent vacation. The endocrinologist sent me to have an MRI, to make certain it was only my thyroid, that and to find a possible explanation for all my headaches. What they found was a brain abnormality with two possible diagnosis’s. It could be muscular Sclerosis. That terrified me. It could be a brain tumor. I was almost relieved. I decided I’d rather die all at once, than watch myself be eaten alive. It was a tumor, benign. I hadn’t let myself think about cancer. I did not then know that my second cousin had died only two years before from the same thing.

At the time there were only a few doctors who operated on that part of the brain, the temporal lobe, and luckily for me the third best in the world lived in New Haven, Connecticut. He told me I would be all right and I believed him.

Three months later, I was calmly waiting for surgery. I had a four year old son to help grow. I was going to be there for him. I am, but for the next four months, not as much as I would have like to. He had to go to daycare when my husband wasn’t home to care for him. I could hardly care for myself. A large portion of my skull was removed, all the muscles attaching my jaw to the tissue around it had been cut, the optical nerve moved aside. The miracle of medical science, and the skill of amazingly dexterous hands is not the taking apart, but the putting back together. For many months I could not chew, but you don’t chew ice cream. I still can’t chew gum. The headaches are all but gone. The 500 count bottle of aspirin a week down to 500 count bottle a year.

With little to do, I sat down at the kitchen table and wrote(longhand) Dark Night of the Soul. A story of determination, redemption, love, and a spirit determined to overcome his monster. Though it’s fiction and my main character is called a vampire, his monster is no more supernatural, than mine had been. He is, however, far more frightening. In six months I was back to being a mother and returned to work. I put the book away. When I was a child, I’d decided to be, the best person I can be. I was now even more determined. I’m still working on it. Sometimes I fail, sometimes I don’t. After retiring, I published my book. It grew with me, but it is still about determination, redemption, love and a spirit determined to overcome monsters. The monsters are no longer just mine. It is now also about what we teach our children, how we teach them love or hate and what we can learn from them.

Stop and take a moment to look into a child’s eyes. Not your child by blood, not even a child of your own race. All children are our children.

It is funny how time passes. Dark Night was published in 1996. I’ve published four other novels, two more are coming. I’ve watched my son become a man I am proud of. I don’t know how many more chapters I’ll have, but I do know one thing. I’ve lived.

Free of the police, Marcus lett his emotions seep from him.  He felt for Gregor, but could not find him.  Day was almost upon him and once again he was seeking shelter. He walked over to the cemetery, a cruel laugh escaping.  He spoke to the weathered stones. “Seems fitting.F

Off in the distance he heard voices.  He followed the sounds.  The vault’s door was ajar.  

“Come on.” The voice was cruel, and Marcus ducked behind the building, hiding in the little shade it provided.  The shade would not last. 

“Put some muscle into it.”  Grunts followed the words.  That was followed by the grinding sound of stone on stone.  “Got it.”

The cheer was muted.  “Is it there?”

“Sure is.  What an ass.” 

Marcus counted the voices, deciding there were four.  The sun moved.

“Who’d bury all those diamonds?  Did they think she’d wake up in heaven, move to the rich side of the clouds.”

“Stop shootin the breeze.  It’s almost light out, we gotta get outta here.”

Pressing himself into the stonework, Marcus could only hope they would listen to their leader. 

He heard their heavy breathing as they rushed to close the door.  He could still see them in the distance, running between gravestones when he opened the heavy oak door; sliding inside.  He lay in the dark ignoring the open casket.  Tired as he was, he couldn’t stop the pictures in his mind.  The woman who had only wanted to be loved; tortured, killed, but still protecting him.  Once again, he mourned.

Night approached and Marcus studied the map.  Highway I ninety would take him to the state with a face.

He stepped onto the highway, not knowing how far he had come, how far he still had to go but the destination was important to him in a way he could not explain.

He walked, letting the highway take him where it would.

Another welcome sign and Marcus was tying to read the words when he heard a scream. A man was trying to throw a woman into his car, but she was fighting and it looked to be more difficult than expected.  He didn’t expect Marcus. 

“Let her go.” 

She clawed at the man’s face, falling when she was freed.  Marcus, stepped forward, pinning him to his side.

“You should go.  Get away.” A closer look showed Marcus that she was not as young as he thought.

“No.  More police are coming.  They should be here any minute.”  She turned to the man still squirming in Marcus’ arms.  “We’ve been looking for you.  I need you to tell us what you did with the three missing girls.”

She cuffed him, locking him to the car. “Stephen Lewis, you are under arrest.”

 Marcus turned to face him, letting the darkness rise.  Marcus’ eyes turned black, his voice deepened, his whisper a growl.  “Where are they?”

Beginning to shake, Stephen clamped his mouth shut.

“You will tell me.  You don’t want me to get angry.”

Officer Andrea Perkins waited.  The stranger’s face was familiar even though he did not look her way.  She tried to remember where she’d seen it.  There was a menace to him, but she was not afraid, though she was certain his captive should be.

Finally Stephen began to speak.  “They’re at the Capstone, in the cellar.  There’s a door.  It’s hard to see.  They…they’re alive.  I swear.”

“Capstone?” Marcus swallowed his anger, turning grey eyes to the officer. “Does that mean anything to you?”

“I know it.  We searched it, but we didn’t find anything.”

Once again Marcus turned, the whites of his eyes filling with blood.  He felt the vessels break, the pressure of his anger pulsing through his veins.

“It’s by the fountain, hard to see.” Stephen whined.

Officer Perkins called dispatch.  “They’re sending officers now.”  

She looked down the road.  “I expected the others to be here by now.  They knew where I was going.”

“Didn’t you think I would expect patrols?”  Stephen snickered.  “You are all so predictable.”

“I’m not.”  Marcus tightened his grip.

Ribs close to breaking. Stephen turned to Officer Perkins, his eyes asking her to get him away.

“Explain, you piece of shit.  Brag a little.”  She stood back, far from where Marcus stood.  

“They’re off investigating the frantic calls from the family I used to get their attention.  Left the phone just within reach.  Your buddies aren’t all that concerned about a female officer.  Probably didn’t want you on the force in the first place.” Marcus’ hands tightened on his arm.  “You’re hurting me.”

“Not nearly enough.”

“Police brutality.”

 “Not a cop, not a murderer either.  That is lucky for you.”

It clicked, the wanted poster faxed over that afternoon.  The sketch artist had done a good job. 

“I think it’s time to read you your rights.”  Perkins stepped closer.

Marcus, watching her closely, noticed that she looked his way, making sure he was listening.

“Do you understand your rights?”  Stephen nodded.  Perkins turned to Marcus.  “I bet you understood them too?”  She waited until he nodded.  

“They should be here soon.”  Marcus glanced down the road.  “You do not need me.”

“You’re right, but I like the effect you’re having on him.  Just don’t kill him.  I’d hate to have to arrest you.”  

Marcus bit back his reply.  “What state is this?”

“Montana.”  Perkins answered.

“The state with a face.”  

“Do you have a long way to go?”  Perkins asked. 

“Don’t really know.  I’ll just keep walking.”

Sirens approached.  

Officer Perkins drew her weapon, looking at Marcus.  “You need to come with me.” 

“I didn’t kill them.”

“I believe you, but that doesn’t change anything.”  

 “I am sorry.”  He moved too quickly and she could not stop him from taking her gun.  The sirens grew louder.  She turned and he was gone.  

The night thickened, followed by the first tendrils of the coming dawn. Marcus ran to the shed.  It stood not far from the farmhouse, electric lines running between them.

Filled of tools, some were oddly familiar.

Ξ

“What are you doing in here?”  

Marcus had turned to face his father.  Showing him hands tucked in his pockets.  “I didn’t touch anything, just curious.  You’ve been spending a lot of time in here lately.”

A smile turned to him and Marcus remembered feeling relieved.  “Well I’m certain you can keep a secret.”

Marcus nodded, though a reply had not been expected.

“In the little spare time I have, I build things and right now I’m building your Mother a rocking chair.  It’s for her birthday.  I want to surprise her.”

“Can I see it?  Maybe I could help.”

“I’ll teach you someday, but you can’t learn on your mothers birthday gift.”

Marcus smiled, hands pushed further into his pockets.

 “Some of the tools are tricky, dangerous.  Don’t ever use them without me.  You understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes sir.”

“Over here.  This is a chop saw.  I have other saws. I’ll explain them all when we’re working together.”

“What are these?”  Marcus, knowing better than to touch, pointed at some metal bars, their edges sharp and oddly shaped.

“Those are chisels.  In fancy furniture stores they have routers, a kind of saw to make the fancy edges on desks and tables.  Me, I can’t afford them, so I do it the old fashioned way.  I shape the wood by hand.”

 “Sounds hard.”

“It can be, specially if it’s a hard wood like oak or cherry.  Pine’s softer.  It’s also fun.  I get to see what I thought up become more than an idea.  Now the rocker’s going to be as fancy as anything you could buy in a furniture store.  Your Mom, you must have noticed, never stops moving.  I’m thinking this will be a way she can keep moving while sitting down.  Works awfully hard your mom.”

“My Dad too.” He grinned.  “I don’t know why, but I like the chisels.  They seem a bit like the charcoal pens Cathy uses to draw.  She’s getting pretty good.”

“Your mother’s pretty good too, me, well furniture making is my art work.”  He’d nodded his head.  “This way.  It’s under the blanket, just in case Kate happens to visit.”

Ξ

The chair had been beautiful.  Intricately carved legs, soft smooth arms.  The back had a design his father had said was their family crest, though he hadn’t been certain.  It didn’t matter.  He’d known his wife would love it and Marcus had too.  Looking at the chisels, Marcus remembered the chair, the joy of being in on the secret.  He thought he’d been there when she got the chair but he could not remember. 

The sun was bright.  Marcus moved to the rear of the shed far from where the sunshine leaked around the door.  Making himself as small as his tall frame allowed, he hugged his legs and fell to sleep wondering if his mother still had the chair, did she have grandchildren to rock?

Dusk came and Marcus rose.  He left the shed heading for the highway.  His hunger grew with each step and he began to hunt.  The ranch would provide. Cows ambled over fresh green grasses, unaware of the predator stalking them.  

Entering the truck stop’s rest room, he overheard men talking about the Carson City killing spree. 

“Guy tore them apart.”

“Wish one of them was Mariam.”

“Can’t blame you there.  Your wife’s a piece of work.”

“Yeah, but only I get to say that.”  The voice grew angry.  

“I heard he stole a lot of money from one of them.”  

There was no reply.  Marcus washed the dirt from his face and neck, rubbing blood off the collar of his shirt.  He heard a voice fade to a whisper.

“That’s the guy, the sketch in the paper.”  There was a warning in the tone.

“Maybe he has the money with him.”

“You want to steal money from a man who tore four women apart.  Are you nuts.” 

 “Could you tell me where I am?” Marcus held out the map. “I am looking for a park.  I believe it is called Glacier.  You must show me.  I cannot read.”

The two men backed up slowly, eyes searching for another way out.

Marcus quickly closed the distance between them.  He heard them gasp when they found him standing by their side. “I am asking you politely.  Please show me where I am.”

The older man took the map, hands shaking.  “You are here. That’s highway I ninety.  Up here is the park, this whole area.  It goes into Canada.”  

“I ninety.  I have been traveling this road for a while.  Can you name the cities around the park?  Point them out.” 

 “There aren’t too many.”  He pointed, saying their names.  Marcus repeated each one, careful not to show a particular interest in any.  While they were looking over the map, the youngest man ambled over. 

“Do not try.  It would not be hard for me to kill you.  I am already wanted for four.”  Marcus reached out, grabbing the hand that had been snaking its way to the satchel. 

“Thank you.”  He nodded politely to the older man.  “You should be more careful who you call friend.”

Once again night swallowed him.  He spoke to break the silence.  “I hope they cannot tell where I am going.  I cannot fight them and hunt you. I will find you. I will kill you.  There are two places I must go, one last promise to keep.”

Whitefish was a small town, catering to tourists and those who like to gamble.  It seemed every third building was a casino, some the size of small gas stations. 

 “It is odd”—Marcus spoke to the quiet night—“a place for children shares a wall with a casino.  I believe it is ice cream I smell, I think once I liked ice cream.”

Ξ

He remembered his mother’s voice.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart.  I am sorry I couldn’t get a cake.”

 “Cake, who cares about a cake?  Nothing in the world is better than your apple pie.”  His father had answered.

Marcus had sucked in the sweet fragrant cinnamon, while his frozen hands dug in the snow.  “I hope it’s okay.”

Behind him he’d heard his sister snicker.  “Course it is.  Snows not messed up, silly boy.”

“I am not a boy.”

“Are too.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender.

“How did you get the money?”  Cathy shivered.

“Stole it.”

“Stop.” She slapped his shoulder, fighting back a giggle.  “Tell me the truth.”

“Haven’t bought milk in four weeks.”

“Nothing to drink with lunch?  Jeez those dry sandwiches would kill me.”

Cathy”—his grey eyes grew stormy—“they do their best.”

She backed away from the hurt she saw behind his anger.  “I’m sorry.  Didn’t mean anything.  I know how hard they work, we all work.  I’m sorry, really.”

“The school has water.”  Marcus bent his head back to the treasure he’d hidden.

“Water’s better for you anyway.”

“Got it.”  He pulled the ice cream package from the snow, smiling.  “Vanilla for apple pie.”

“Marcus,” she grabbed his arm.  “I know I’m a silly little girl, but you are the best big brother in the whole world.”

 “You won’t say that after I eat most of the pie.”

Their laughter led the way to where the pie waited, two candle numbers sitting tall in its center.

“Thirty nine.”  Marcus had whispered.  

Ξ

Marcus was looking at the brightly decorated building his jaw clenching.

“What was I looking for?  Why was I digging in the snow?”  He looked at his fingers feeling the cold.  He was always cold.  He quickly hid his hands, tucking them in his pockets.

“I could almost see them.  I heard them, but it is all silence now.”

 “This is a strange place.”  Marcus looked at the mountains rising behind the town, the forests crowding its edges.  “It is pretty.”

The smell was strong.   Though he could not read the sign, it was obviously a restaurant.  The raw beef, rich and bloody called to him.  The other fragrances made his mouth water.  “I wish,” he turned suddenly away.  “If wishes were horses beggars would ride.  Who told me that?”  The night did not reply.

He quickly turned away. The music was beautiful.  Standing in the night, Marcus stopped to listen. He could smell the drink; hear the laughter of those within.  The feelings the town awakened grew stronger.  The longing was strange, with a power all its own.  Marcus found he could not leave.  The song was haunting, familiar.  As dawn approached, the building darkened and the last customers staggered out. Marcus followed.  

The man’s face was red, large blue veins crossing a bulbous nose.  His steps faltered as he stepped on the ragged hem of the overlarge pants he wore.  Sweat beaded on his forehead, a slow drip to his chin.  Marcus was quiet, though he would not have been heard regardless of the noise he made.  Hands shaking, the stranger could not fit the key into the lock.

“So un of a bitth,” once again he pushed the key shakily towards the keyhole, falling back away from the door.

“Let me.” Marcus took the key.

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”  Marcus carried him to the bedroom.  Helping him out of his shoes, he laid him on the bed, carefully wrapping him in blankets. It was not particularly cold outside, but seemed very cold inside.  Snores filled the room, snores that battled with the gurgling of the older man’s churning stomach.  Hugging the blankets he was soon lost in dreams.

Marcus pulled the bag from sleeping fingers.  Curious, he looked inside. The violin was beautiful. Its song had drawn him to the bar.  Placing the instrument carefully on the table by the bed, Marcus closed the curtains.  It was dark enough.  He found extra blankets thrown haphazardly in the room’s closet.  The closet was large and Marcus curled up on the floor. Closing the door, he made a nest and slept.

Stumbling footsteps woke him. A garbled, “how” was followed by the sound of brushing teeth.  

Stepping out of the close, Marcus walked over, hands held out before him.

“Do not be afraid.”

“Easy to say, but don’t expect me to listen.  Course I’m afraid.  Who are you?”

Marcus saw his hands were trembling, eyes glancing at the violin sitting beside the bed.  

“I saw you last night.  You were having trouble with the key.  I helped, got you inside.  You fell asleep before I could ask you if I could rest here.  I am sorry to have imposed but the blankets looked welcoming.  I hope you do not mind.”

“You slept in the closet?”

“Closest thing to a bed I could find. Nice and dark and really quite roomy, skinny.”

“You could stand to put on a few pounds.”  He looked at the instrument on the bed stand.  “Did you take my violin out of the bag?”

“Yes, I could not help but look. I am sorry.  It seemed too precious to be left on the floor. ”

“It is.”  He turned to look around the shabby apartment.  “Only thing I won’t pawn.”

 “Why?”

 “Long, sad, probably boring story.”

“If you don’t mind my spending the day here, I would like to hear the story.”  Marcus said.

“Hiding from something?”

“Hiding from everything.”

“I came here to hide too.  I learned that you can’t hide from yourself.  No matter how far you go, you always take yourself with you.”  He looked down at the floor, frowning.  “I’m not a good companion.”

“It was you playing?”  Marcus watched the stranger’s hands, gently stroking the rich wood.

“Yeah, sit in the bar, play for drinks and whatever money the tourists feel like dropping in the can.”

“Can?”

“I keep a coffee can next to me.  Accept donations.” He barked out a cruel laugh. 

 “It was beautiful, the music.  I sat outside, listening.  Should have been looking for a place to stay, but I lost track of time.”

“Lose track of time every time I go into a bar.”  He looked Marcus over, appraising him.  “If it’s okay with you, I’m going in the kitchen, make some coffee?”

“You are not a prisoner.”  Marcus looked away.  “I will not keep you if you want to leave, but I would like you not to.  I need a place to; hell what difference is it to you for me not to tell the truth, to hide.”

“Hide from what.”  He stood by the bedroom door uncertain what his next move would be.

“I am hiding, most lately from the police who think I murdered four woman. But first I am hiding from the man who murdered those woman.”  Marcus saw the man’s hand tightening on the doorknob.  “If I had wanted to hurt you, it would have been easy while you slept.”

Marcus sat down, crossing his legs, arms hanging loosely at his sides.  “Leave if you must.”

Watching him turn away, Marcus heard him head to the kitchen.  He could hear grinding sounds, but he didn’t know what was being done, so he let his mind wander.  So many mornings ago he had woken to the smell of coffee.  His father would laugh at his wife.  She only drank tea and Marcus thought he had called her a snob.  There was always a laugh in his voice.  Marcus strained but he could not remember the sound.  

The man returned, sitting beside his unexpected guest, cradling a cup of coffee.  “I’m Joseph Parri.  Do you drink coffee?”

Marcus smiled.  “Thank you Joseph. I don’t, but it is kind of you to ask.”  He looked away for a moment.  “I would tell you my full name but I don’t remember it.  I am Marcus.”

 “The bastard that killed those woman is he your father, a friend?”

Marcus frowned causing the lines in his face to deepen.  “He is not my father.  He killed him a long time ago.  Someday we will find each other.  I do not know who will walk away.  I am living to die.”

“I guess that’s something we have in common. I have a wife and two children somewhere.  It was a toxic relationship,” he chuffed.  “That’s what my wife called it.”  His red-rimmed eyes showed deep wells of misery.  “Everything I tried, all the jobs I worked at.  I was always a failure.  A violin player isn’t a typical bar musician.  I wanted to play first violin, that’s what they call the lead violinist in an orchestra.”

“I have no experience with orchestras but I believe you play well enough.”

 “My wife told me I did and I thought so too.  Came close.  Drank the opportunity away.  Have one drink, followed by as many as my money will buy, sometimes what I can borrow.  We had to separate; my wife and I or she wouldn’t have had enough money to support the kids.  I miss them, but not enough to stop drinking I guess, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“I think it is not that you don’t miss your family enough.  The hunger for the drink, it is too strong.  You cannot go home unless”—he paused—“I think my father would have said, until you slay that dragon.  Some monsters are not so easy to slay.” Marcus looked at the bright sunshine peeking through the shear curtains in the other room.  

“I have a day job that I’m trying to keep.  You’re coming here last night may have saved it for at least one more day.”  Joe rose.  “When I’m not drinking or playing the violin, I’m cooking.  Breakfast place just down the road.  If you get hungry later, the meals on me.”

“Could you tell me if there is a doctor here, name…”  Marcus’ eyes narrowed as he tried to pull the name from the far reaches of his mind, from behind the places he stored the things he did not want to remember.  “Abram.”

“Sure there is.  He’s a great guy.  Opened, runs and fully supports the shelter on Main Street.  Opened it a long time ago.  I wasn’t here back then but I understand there’s a rather sad story to go along with it.  I’m sure the natives know it.”  He called over his shoulder while quickly dressing, “go out the door, turn right go two blocks. It’s on the left, big building.  Nicest place in town.  Can’t miss it.  Will you be here when I return?”

“When will you return?”

“Not until dark.  Then it’s back to the bar.”

“I will be gone after it grows dark.  If you don’t mind, I would like to stay the day.”

“Whatever you want to do.  Just lock the door on the way out.”  He grabbed his keys heading towards the door.  Hand on the doorknob he paused. “Will I ever see you again?”

“I think for you, it would be best if you don’t. I hope you slay your dragon.”

He heard the door close, knowing the man would need help getting home again, probably many more times.  “There are so many monsters.”

He sat unmoving while she cooked and ate her dinner.  He sat while she watched a television show, whose laughter seemed forced.  He sat when he heard her faulting steps lead her to bed.  Then he rose

The hospital stood before him, but Marcus could not bring himself to go inside.  He walked, stretching kinked muscles.  His speed brought him quickly to the desert the town sat inside.  

The cottontail was munching on the little grass it could find.  Nose twitching, it turned to where Marcus stood.  Large rear legs propelled it forward, putting distance between them.

“I will not eat you.”  He watched the hare.  “My sister… would be ….”

Ξ

“Dad,” her voice had been both cajoling and angry and had made their father smile.  

“Little one”—he had gently twitched her nose—“what is it you want now?”

“Not much.”  She’d pointed to Marcus. “Nothing big like him.  I want a rabbit, a cute little bunny for a pet.”

“Even small pets need to be taken care of.  You have to feed it.  That costs money.  Money we don’t have.  I’m sorry but that’s just the way it is.  Maybe we can get you one next year.  Crops are doing better this year.  So far there’s been no drought, plenty of sunshine, just the right temperatures.  If things stay like this, we’ll have enough to get your brother a dog and a bunny for you. Marcus promised to help out, maybe get a job.  He can make some extra money for the dog. You can’t get a job.  Too young.” 

“I can help out. I have my vegetable garden. I’ll grow its food.  Please daddy.”

“It’s hard to say no to you two.”

“Dad,” Marcus walked over, hands tucked deep into his pockets.  “If Cathy”—he could not look up, now wanting Cathy to see how hard this was for him—“If you can’t afford to get a dog and a rabbit, you should get Cathy the rabbit.  I can wait until I can afford the dog.”

Cathy turned, hugging her brother’s legs, almost making him fall.  “No big brother. I’m not letting you do that.  You’ve wanted a dog for as long as I remember and I,” she wagged her finger in his face, “have a good memory.”

“Your sister’s right.  You’re getting the dog.  You’ve earned it.  Cathy can wait.”  He’d turned to his little girl.  “Just one more year.  I promise you’ll get that bunny when you turn thirteen.”

Ξ

 “I hope she got a bunny.  I cannot hunt what …”—he shook his head but the name would not come—“she loved so much.  Tonight I will look for other food.”

The bobcat had no problems eating hare and Marcus saw it stalking its prey.  Far faster, Marcus caught the cat, quickly breaking its neck.  After the meal, he glanced at the animal, pain in his face.  “You did not deserve this.”

Looking up at the inky night sky, he raised his fist.  “This must end.  I cannot bear this.  So much death.  I was meant to grow things, bring life, not take it.”

He sank to his knees.  “I cannot cry.  I don’t remember how, I have fought not to for so long.  If I find the spigot, I will not be able to turn it off.”

It was late morning when he woke.  He quietly went into the bathroom, hoping the blood would clean, once again glad that black hid so many sins.  

He heard Lenore humming while preparing breakfast.  The envelope lay untouched by the side of the bed.  Inside he found many hundreds.  He did not count them. 

“Aunt Lee.”  A voice called out as the door shut.  Marcus heard what the young woman could not.  The heavy sigh of someone not welcoming her guest.

 “Your brother here too?”  Lenore walked over.

“Of course.  Just came to make sure you’re okay.”

“You mean you came to make sure your inheritance is okay.”  Spoken under her breath, still Marcus heard and he knew the second act was about to begin.  Carefully combing his hair, he dressed in his new clothes.  

“I do not believe I have met these young people.”  Marcus went to Lenore’s side.

“This is my niece and nephew, Shayna and Kyle.  This is my fiancé Allen.”

“Fiancé?”  Two voices spoke as one.  “Who are you?”

Marcus swallowed. Being introduced as her fiancé was unexpected.  “I am the man who is to marry your aunt.”  He embraced her.  

“Allen what?”  The young man stood feet apart as if ready for a fight.

“Just Allen.  That is all.  It is enough for her.” 

While the two men stared at each other Shayna looked around the house.  Marcus heard her muttering.

 “Looks like nothings stolen.  What does he want from her?”  She passed the spare bedroom.  Seeing the undisturbed bedding, she strode quickly over to the master. 

Coming to her brother’s side, she placed a hand on each hip.  “Where are you sleeping?”

“With me, of course.”  Lenore stepped between them.

Marcus looked at Lenore, understanding washing over his face.

“Shayna.” Marcus spoke quietly.  “I have not taken anything your aunt has not wanted to give.  I am not a thief.  You should not trouble your aunt.  I’m not going to take your inheritance.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“You did.”  He walked over and brother and sister stood closer together.  The room grew cold while he read their eyes.  “You do not mean her harm.  She does not know you really care.  Caring does not mean controlling.  She has earned the right to live a life she chooses.  Right now, she has chosen to share some of her life with me.”

“Where did you meet him, the homeless shelter?” Shayna tapped her foot impatiently on the floor.

Marcus, walking to the kitchen, tried not to listen but found he could not drown out their words.

“He was living on the street.”  Lenore sneered.  “Don’t interrupt.  He’s a good man.  I brought him here.  I don’t want to hear another thing about it.  If I want to take a man into my bed, my life, I can.  What did you come for?”

 “We just wanted to see if you needed anything.”  The voice grew bitter.  “I see you have everything you need.”

The door slammed shut, echoing in the quiet of the room.  Marcus walked back to Lenore, who stood staring at the closed door, eyes frowning. “Should I go now?”

“No.”  Lenore looked away.  “Stay as long as you like.  I don’t think you’ll have to do any more playacting.  I shouldn’t have any more visitors.”

“I think you have more friends and Helen will want them to …I think meet me is not what she will want.”

“I… I’m sorry.”  Marcus could see she was not.

“It is because”—he seemed to study the carpet—“I clean up well that you brought me here.  I will stay until I meet your friends.”

“You should stay at least six more days.  I can withdraw money, actually ten thousand dollars every day to get it down to just what I need to pay my bills.  I’ll give it to you. That’s all the easy cash I have.”

 “You should not give it to me.  I have not”—once again he looked at the rug—“earned it.  Your niece and nephew will be upset.”

“It’s mine to spend, to give to anyone I want and I want to give it to you.  I’ve given plenty away.  Donations to the homeless shelter, sanctuaries for abused men, women and children.  Take the money.  You don’t have to earn it.  Even if you don’t love me, I’ll be glad to know you think I’m a good person.”

“You are a good person.”  He smiled and Lenore felt her breath catch.  “It is just that I cannot.  Too much has happened.  In my way, the only way I can, I do love you.  I saw what you did, what I am sure you still do for the homeless.  You never walk past without seeing them.  You see them as people not to be discarded.  No one should be discarded.  I do not want the money but if you desire it, I will keep it.   I will stay, play fiancé and upset your friends.”

She put a hand on his shoulder; the other gently touching his back, feeling the jagged edges of his scars.  “It will make me happy.  I want to piss off my friends and I very much want you to have the money.  I’ll make sure Shayna and Kyle know.  Don’t want them to think you stole it.”

Marcus gently pulled away, going back into the bedroom.  Her kindness had a price he could pay.

Ξ

“Putting out the best I see.”  Allen Rollins had stepped behind his wife, encircling her with his arms.   He’d kissed her neck and she’d begun to giggle.

“Allen stop.  If I laugh any harder I’ll drop the dishes.”

“I don’t know why you do this every time they come.”

“You mean take out my mother’s china.”

“I mean everything you do.  House is always clean yet you’ve vacuumed it at least three times.  I couldn’t find a spec of dust if I went looking, white gloves and all.  You’ve spent half the month’s grocery money on this meal.  I just don’t understand.”

Marcus, sitting quietly by the hearth, badly wanted to hear her answer.  He didn’t understand why his mother had been in a frenzy the last two days.  Usually so even tempered, she grew angry with every mess he made, even angrier when Cathy tried to make dinner.  

“Don’t you remember how they treated you?”

He shrugged.  “It never bothered me.”

“Well it bothered me.  Treated you like dirt, acted like I was a fool, loving you.  They were supposed to be friends.”

“They were, I mean are.  They want the best for you.”

“You are and always have been the best for me.”

He pulled her closer, pressing his face into her hair.

“That doesn’t explain this, at least not to me.”

“Give me a minute.”  She put the last plates on the table, straightening the already perfectly placed silverware.  “My mother once told me that the best revenge is living well.  We do, but not in a way they understand.  So when they come, I show them with things they understand.  Yes we have plenty of food; tonight we just have a little more expensive food.  My home is beautiful, I have nice things and even better, I have a husband I love and the two best children in the world.  I,” she grinned.

Her husband sucked air into his lungs, interrupting. “You are beautiful.”

“I am living well.”

Ξ

Sitting quietly, Marcus whispered.  “The best revenge is living well.  Lenore, you are trying to live well, at least in a way they understand.  I see.”  For the first time since she came to his door proposing he come to her bed, he genuinely smiled.

They came.  Marcus found his presence needed at odd times.  It was pleasing to him to see how upset they got when he did not tell them his surname.  They did not know he didn’t remember it.  Then there were the smiles Lenore turned his way when he spoke of his feelings.  

The door closed behind a particularly annoying man and Marcus turned to Lenore.  “I do not think he will return.  Does this disturb you?”

“Not really.”  She saw the question he had not asked.  “You want to know why these people are my friends when I like them so little.  They were friends when we had more in common.  They liked my husband.  When he got ill, they were good to him, to me.  It’s just that my husband’s investments have made me a wealthy woman.  It seems old friends expect you to share and new friends try to wheedle it out of you.”  She looked into Marcus’ eyes.  “My niece and nephew aren’t bad.  They mean well.  They just act like I’m getting too old to make my own decisions, like giving you money.” Her smile was sad.  “At least they don’t seem to be hoping that I die. Sometimes it’s strangers who don’t ask for anything that become your best friends.  I care about you.”

He raised an eyebrow.

 “I know I came on strong”—she shrugged—“just got the wrong idea.  I guess I’m lonelier than I thought.  You’ve been good to me.  Thanks for going along with my craziness.”

“I care for you also.  I am sorry I cannot be more to you.”  He looked at the growing night, darkening the edges of the curtains. “I do not believe I will ever be close to another.  I will be leaving soon.  My presence here is dangerous to you.  I feel I have been here too long.  He will find me.”

“I’ll get the rest of the money tomorrow.  You can leave tomorrow night.  Will you”—tears gathered in her eyes— “will you be okay?” 

“Maybe someday.  Wherever I go, I will always remember this time with you.”  He turned without explanation, heading to the door, grateful that she did not ask where he went.

It was the last morning.  He could hear Lenore, preparing breakfast, humming as usual.  It had been a long night.  The hunt had not gone well.  There was so much blood but none he would willingly take.  The morgue provided, but he was weak.  Only the blood of the living gave him the strength he needed to confront Gregor.  Tonight he would run.

Lenore was gone when Marcus opened the door.  He could not read the note she left him. Marcus turned to the television.  He’d watched Lenore and knew what to do.  Bored, he turned on the news.  He was walking in circles when he heard it.  Gregor was here.  Two brutal murders and Lenore was still not home.  Staring at the curtains, he waited for the light to fade.  

The little sunshine burned his skin, but he ran, staying in the shadows.  He followed the scent of her blood, his dread growing.  Just beyond the bar, in the alley he knew what he would find. 

He could see in her eyes that she’d suffered.  That Gregor had not come to the house told him she had not spoken of him.  He cradled her, brushing the hair off her forehead.  Even now, Marcus found he couldn’t cry. 

Pain crawled from deep inside, his moans filling the ally, spilling out into the street. 

 “I should have told you not to step into the dark.” Her blood, what Gregor left behind, had pooled by the side of the alley.  Marcus drank.

How long he sat there, holding her in his arms he did not know.  He could see the night quickly passing.  The bar was dark, the last patrons stumbling down the sidewalk.  It was the face that stirred him.  The man fumbling with his keys as he went back into the bar told Marcus it was time to go.

Her home seemed so cold. Marcus ran his hands gently over the things that had filled her life.

  He shook his head,  “I do not have time for this.  She will be found.”

Quickly gathering the money she’d given him, he took her satchel, tying it around his waist.

He did not make it out the door.

The detective standing just outside the door had drawn his weapon.  Two uniformed officers stood behind him.

“Please step back into the apartment.”  

There was a wolfish grin on the man’s face, and Marcus felt his hackles rise.

“I’m Lieutenant Buford and that”—he pointed to the dark brown stains on Marcus’ shirt—“is blood.”

There was no reply. 

“Guess you didn’t expect to see us so soon.”  His lips curled.  “Didn’t even clean up.  What did you think? Were you just gonna walk out of town, blood all over your shirt.  Pretty stupid, really.”

Remaining silent, Marcus assessed the situation.  He could leave, they could not stop him but there would be more blood and he had seen enough.

“Okay.” The grin slowly slipped from the detective’s face.  “You don’t want to talk, that’s fine. You are Allen, Mrs. Smyth’s supposed fiancé.  I’d like to know your full name.”

Marcus stared past him.

The detective’s hand curled into a fist.  “I’m pretty sure you already know that Lenore was the third victim of what seems to be random killings.  We had”—he pushed his index finger into Marcus’ chest—“no suspects until now.  I think you’d better come with us.”

 “I think not.  I did not kill her.”

“If you didn’t kill her then why don’t you come with us?  Make it easy.  Though”—the wolfish grin reappeared—”how you’re gonna explain the blood on your shirt would certainly make an interesting story.”

The officers standing by the door chuckled.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I am not afraid.”

“Look scared to me.” 

Marcus felt the monster rising in his chest.  “Look closer.”

The two officers drew their weapons, and Marcus backed up a step, forcing his anger away.  

“While trying to reach Ms. Smyth’s niece and nephew, we spoke to a Ms. Helen Simpson.  She told us about the supposed fiancé.  She doesn’t think much of you.  Was pretty sure you were taking advantage of Ms. Smyth’s kind heart.”  He turned to the officer standing behind him.  “You alright?”

“He doesn’t look scared to me.” Looking into Marcus’ eyes, the gun had begun to shake.

“Get yourself under control for Gods sake.  I don’t want to get shot.”  His face was angry.  “Back me up. Both of you stay by the door in case he tries to make a run for it.”  He waited. His voice grew quiet.  “I’m pretty sure she gave you money. Ten thousand will buy you enough time to make a clean getaway.  Won’t have to get shot that way.  Whatever you think of yourself, we will stop you.  There are another ten officers downstairs.  Building’s surrounded.  You give me the money.  I take you out in cuffs.  Unlocked cuffs.  You run.  My shot misses.  After that I don’t care where you go.  Don’t accept the offer, we take you in; I’ll make sure there’s enough evidence to put you away for a very long time.”

“Do you not care to know if I am guilty?”

“I don’t. You have a decision to make.  Think carefully, prisoners just love good looking men like yourself.”

 “You cannot take me where I do not want to go.” Marcus looked at the other officers.  It was obvious they had not heard the offer. “I do not want to hurt them.”

 “You won’t hurt me.”  The lead detective grinned seeing his back up looking nervously around.  

Marcus returned the grin, and the smile slid from the detective’s face.  “You, I would not mind hurting, perhaps some other time.  I do not want, have never wanted the money.  It is in the bedroom.”

“I don’t think so.   You were ready to leave.  I believe the money is with you.”

Marcus reached inside the satchel, grabbing a handful of hundreds.  “Whatever is there is yours.”

It disappeared.  “I’m glad you decided to cooperate.  Put out your wrists.”

A look of pain crossed Marcus’ face as he was cuffed.  The feeling was too familiar and he fought to keep his hands steady.

 “Big bad dangerous guy.”  There was laughter in the tone.  “Let’s go.  You first.”

Marcus walked slowly, surrounded by the police. He watched the sky grow lighter.  

The cuffs were secure.  The money was not enough, not when there was more.  Arriving at the car, Marcus twisted his hands the chains breaking.  A quick move and the detective lay bleeding on the ground.  Guns were turned his way, but he was already gone.

Its Apple picking time

Because both Marcus and I love apples, I’ve posted my delicious High Rise Apple pancake recipe on my debradarknight facebook page. If you like the recipe be sure to like the page.

A DARKNESS DESCENDING

He saw her watching him. She came to the alley almost every day. Sometimes she gave out food; sometimes clothes and often she handed out blankets.  She always spoke kindly, not ignoring the homeless like so many did.  Her eyes were kind, but there was something more, he just couldn’t figure out what it was. 

Marcus noticed that she stayed away from the drunks. Paying more attention to the young, she seemed to be searching. When she caught his eye, he had quickly backed away. It was better for him, for anyone he met, if he didn’t get close. Leaving was painful and he’d left too many.  When he closed his eyes, he still saw them, though their faces grew more distant with each mile.  There was Jason, Newbie and Teddy the tree boy who had been so kind.  There were many others.  Even those who came into his life briefly held a place in his heart.  

He was tired.  The destination that brought him here was still many miles away.  Food on the road had not been plentiful.  He’d hunted, but nocturnal animals were more wary, harder to catch. The city offered more possibilities, so here he rested. It was not difficult to find food in a city so full of sinners.  The hospital was always busy. Blood was too easily spilled here.  But tonight he wanted more than blood.  

The liquor store was closed.  Inside, he smelled the contents of every bottle.  He wanted one so strong its fragrance couldn’t be ignored.

Returning to the alley, Marcus splashed himself with the liquor, careful to save some for another night.  

The smell made his stomach twist, but he managed to ignore it.  The day was bright when the blankets were ripped from him.  Pain surged through him, eyes on fire.  She stood before him, angrily pouting.

“You’re much too young to be drunk, living like this.  Come with me.  You can sober up at my place.”

The car door was open and with no other choice, Marcus jumped inside. 

She unlocked the door to an apartment that was flooded with light and Marcus backed away.

“Come on, you need to clean up.”

“I cannot come with you.”  His voice must have been menacing, for she dropped the arm she had been tugging.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“The light, is it the light?” She sounded surprised.  “Too many drunken nights, I guess.”

 “Disease.”  He replied backing further away.

“Wait.  I’ll shut the curtains.”  

When it was dark, Marcus entered.   “I will come, but not stay.  When it grows dark I will leave.”

“You don’t have to.”  There was real concern in her voice.  “I don’t mind the dark and you look like you could use the rest.”  She pointed to an open door.  “Spare bedroom.  I’ll get it ready while you shower.”

She moved quickly, putting out towels.  “I don’t have anything you can wear.  Just leave your things outside the door.  I’ll wash them for you.  You can wear my robe while they dry.”

She saw his hesitation, eyes frowning.  “What is it, surely you’d like a shower.”

“Last time, I found myself not alone.  It was not what I wanted.”

“I’ll go.  You can lock the door.”  She turned abruptly and he realized he’d hurt her feelings.

Marcus didn’t know how long he stood in the shower.  The hot water scalded his cold skin.  It felt good.  The water swirling around the drain was dark, dirt running between his toes.  He found the robe and was glad it fit well enough to cover his nakedness.  Coming out of the bathroom, he saw her waiting.

“I made some sandwiches.  You hungry?”

He was, but she could not feed him. “I…” he tried to keep the hunger out of his eyes, feeling them darken.  “I can’t eat.  Too many missed meals.”  He turned away from her disappointment.  “Why are you helping me?”

“Looked like you could use a friend.”

“I don’t deserve your help.”

“Everyone deserves help.  You can stay here as long as you like.  I made a place for you to sleep.”

“I hope it is not too early, but I am very tired.”

Her smile was sad.  “No problem.  You get some sleep.  I’ll leave your clothes by the bed.”

He turned to the room, found pillows, blankets and a sheet, carefully placed on the floor by the bed.  He did not question the arrangement, but lay down, pulling the pillow close.

Ξ

He remembered the camp.  The smell of the lake, grilling burgers and hotdogs had made his stomach growl.  It had been the first and the only time he’d gone to camp.  Only his sister’s entreaties had made him go.  Having helped her, he’d been glad.

His sister was too pretty.  Almost thirteen, she was already beginning to look like a woman.  The girls saw that the boys noticed and their cruelty grew.  It was easy to ridicule a girl with only three dresses, who frequently wore her brother’s hand me downs. They knew her shoes had been purchased at the second hand store. Though they fit well and were not too worn, they were still yesterday’s style.  Boys didn’t care, not even when Marcus wore the same sneakers until his toes began to poke through the sides.  The girls noticed everything.

“You’d better take that back.”  Cathy had the girl almost twice her size, pressed against the wall.  The hand holding tightly onto the milky neck was unforgiving and the look in his sister’s eyes made Marcus step back.  

 “I’ll get you sent home for this.”

Her lips curled.  “Do you really think I care?  At least I’ll be walking home.”

The older girl began to cry.  Marcus came back around the corner.  “You have to let her go.”

“Not really.”  There was real menace in his sister’s voice.  “Not until she takes it back.  The boys look at me because I’m pretty not because I put out and brother, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”  She turned back to her prisoner.  “They look at me, not you, cause you’re an ugly cow.  I know cows.  I work on a farm.”

Marcus turned away, hiding his smile.  It was not the right time to laugh.  His sister’s eyes blazed.

 “What would father say?”   It was the only thing Marcus could think of to say.

 “He’d say she’s not as good looking as the cows.”  Finally she laughed.  Once again her attention returned to her prisoner.  “Do you want to die here?”

 “I didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t fu…”

“Cathy!”

“Don’t lie to me.  You meant it.”

 “I’m sorry.”

“That’s better.”  She released the girl, who crumbled to the floor.  

 “You are in so much trouble.”  She stood quickly, lip curling, though she kept some distance between them.

“No, I don’t think so.”  Marcus came to stand between them.  “You’re not going to say a thing.  The red mark on your neck, well you should have tied the scarf tighter.  I can see the hickey.”

“What…”

“You know what I’m saying.  Peter brags.  I wondered if he told the truth.  I do believe he has.  Would the good doctor like to know his daughter was studying anatomy with Peter.”

She turned away.  “I won’t say anything, but I won’t forget it either.”

“That’s a good thing.”  His sister called to the retreating girl.  “It might help you remember your manners.  I have a pretty good memory too.”

 “Jesus, Cathy, you could have killed her.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.  I believe you’ve had your fair share of fights.”

“The last one was to protect you.”  He hopped up on his toes.  “And even then I didn’t try to kill anyone.”

 “Wasn’t going to kill her.  Know when to stop.”  She smiled.  “Thanks big brother.  I’m happy I talked you into coming, be even happier when we go home.”

 “Glad I came too.  Hate to have to see you only during visiting hours.”  She punched him and he doubled over, laughing.  “Hit like a girl.”

“Didn’t try to hurt you.”

“That’s a good thing, cause I believe you could.  Let’s go to supper.  I want to hear the buzz.  I’m pretty certain she’ll tell her friends.”

“She might not want to admit that a skinny farm girl almost killed her.”

“Be careful or they’ll call you a skinny farm ghoul.”

“As long as the boys don’t.”

He shook his head.  “Don’t say things like that to your big brother.  I don’t feel like dueling.  Might get shot.”

“I’ll do the shooting.  You do the punching.  The deadly dueling Rollins’.”

 “Dad would be angry.”

 “Dad would be angrier if we let them walk all over us.  Now mom would be mad at me, my unladylike behavior.  I’m okay with that.  Long as I have my brothers support.”

“You will always have your brothers support.” He’d been smiling at his sister.

Ξ

Marcus woke. His head hurt.  Was Rollins his last name?  He’d heard his sister say it.  He could not recall her name.  Even now, with the dream memory fading, the name he had wondered was his own slipped from his mind.

He began to shiver when he realized he was naked, then the room came into focus and he remembered.  His clothes must be dry.  They were folded outside the bedroom door. 

He quickly dressed, listening to the quiet.  Her keys were on the stand beside the door.  Letting himself out, he found his way to the street, to the hospital.  Drinking his full, he was heading back before a hint of the day to come brightened the sky.

He was sitting on the floor; blanket spread around him, when she woke.  

“You there?” She spoke to the closed door.

“Yes.  Thank you for cleaning the clothes.  They feel much better.”

 “Your welcome.  I’ll take my robe back any time.”

When he opened the door, she was standing before him, the nightdress barely hiding her ample breasts.  

“Are you hungry?”  Her voice was hungry.

Backing up a step, he quickly closed the door.  He called out to her.  “I am sorry.  I will leave.”

“Even old women have needs.”

“I cannot fill yours.”  He desperately looked for an excuse.  “I have been hurt.”

She pushed open the door.  “There are still things we could do.”

“What is your name?”  She seemed surprised by the question.

“I’m Lenore Smythe.  What do they call you?”

“Many things.  Toy, slave, boy, monster, string bean, I rather liked that one.  Once I was” he paused, the name was familiar, though he did not know why. 

 “Allen.  I don’t remember him very well.  He died a long time ago.  I killed him to survive.  I do not know what you think of me, of what I am, but I am not this.  I cannot be what you are asking. There is so little of Allen now.  I must keep what I have.  Please understand.”

Her eyes softened, a slow red creeping up her cheeks.  “I am sorry.  It was wrong of me.  I have been alone for a long time now.  You are a good-looking man, especially now that you’re clean.  You said slave, is that why you’re running?”

“Yes my father,” his eyes narrowed as if in sudden pain, “I still call him that.  He follows me. I run.  Then I follow him.  He hunts me, and I haunt him.  It is a terrible game.  It has lasted far too long, but I have no choice.”  His eyes darkened, and Lenore felt the room grow cold.  “No, that is not true.” 

She frowned

“I will explain as best I can.  I met a man,” he looked confused, “or was it my mother, I cannot remember who told me.  They explained that what we do, no matter the …  I do not know the word.”

“I think you mean, circumstances.”

“Yes, our response is a choice we make.  I have chosen to continue this life.  I do not know if it’s the right choice.  My choice is to kill him.”

She shivered.

“I am sorry, this isn’t something you want to know.  The alley, I slept there to hide.  Once,” he made a face, “my father would have said I was hiding in plain sight.   I do not drink.  The smell, I wore it.”

“Why would you do that?”

 “Because you were coming around but always avoided the drunks.  I thought if you believed I was one, you would leave me alone, but then you brought me into the sun and I had no choice.  I am sick.  The sun hurts.  I have no medicine, so I stay in the dark.”

 “That is not a good way to live.”

 “The disease I did not choose. I do with it what I can.  I am not; I do not know what to say.  I do not sell what I am.”

“If you don’t mind very much, I would like to tell my friends, the bitches that we are…”

 “I believe I understand what we are supposed to be.”

“I may not have to pay you, but you’re still going to be expensive,” her eyebrows rode high on her pale forehead, a wicked grin circling her thin lips.  “Gotta get you some clothes.  You have to look good.”  He remained silent.  “They have been so cruel, my friends.  My niece and nephew, they’ll be okay after a bit.  They’re inheriting everything so they won’t complain.”

“I,” he waved her words away, “will take the clothes.  I have need and I will be what you want me to be but only for a short time.  I won’t be staying.  It will come and I must find him.”  

He looked around the room.  “If I could have just a few nights.”

“As many as you need.  The room’s empty, as empty as my bed.  If you change your mind, just walk in.”  

He thought then to ask why she wanted him to sleep on the floor, but it was far more comfortable than most of the places he’d slept so he swallowed the question.  

 “Is it the disease that makes you so pale?”

“Yes.  I burn so easily, you see.”

 “You’re not an albino, not with those dark eyes, that sandy hair.”

 “An albino?”

“There are some people, not many, born without natural pigments.  They have problems with light too.”

“Almost fits.”  He smiled sadly.  “I do not know what I am called.”

“I was wondering,” she turned suddenly serious, “where did you go last night?”

Marcus’ eyes narrowed, frowning,  “I thought I was quiet, I am sorry if I woke you.”

 “You were quiet.  You didn’t wake me either, it’s just that I don’t sleep very well anymore.”

 “I have family.  Because of the man I hunt, we do not meet.  I send money when I can.  Yesterday, I got some.  You do not want to know.”

“Actually I think I do.”

Marcus thought for a moment. “The man, he stays on the street corner.  I do not know the name, but he is always there.  He sells things that are not his to sell.  I borrowed some of his money.  One day,” he smiled, doing his best to look innocent, “I will pay him back.”

 “Sure you will,” she snorted almost spilling her tea.  “I have some money, lots of money.  I’ll give you some.”  She smiled, but the smile was bitter.  “Actually I think I’ll give you a lot if you promise to spend it well.  No drink, no drugs for you or anyone else.” 

 “You do not have to do this.”

“If I had to, I wouldn’t.  That’s how people like me work.  Call it an advance.  I hope you might actually find your way through my bedroom door.”

She looked his way.  He understood.  “Your family, wife, son, daughter?”

“Fatherless sister, husbandless mother.  The son, the brother unable to support them.”  He hung his head. 

“I’ll write some checks, get money out of the account.  Seventy thousand ought to support you, them for some time.  Am I to guess that the man you hunt, run from is the one who killed the father, the husband?”

“Yes.  My father.  I saw it.  He took me then.  I do not talk about it.”

“The scars on your back, he give you those?”  She saw his surprise.  “Sorry.  I watched you take off your clothes.”

He turned, seeing the glass blocks that added light to the bath.

 “It lets in a little light. You can’t see very well through it.  It’s called privacy glass, but I could see those scars, they’re hard to miss.”

 “I would blush, but my coloring does not allow for it.”  Once again the room seemed to grow cold and Lenore hugged herself, shivering. 

Marcus ignored it.  “Yes. The scars are…”  He turned away, the words dying in his throat. Walking quietly into the room that was his for this short respite, he crossed his legs, sitting as still as the bedpost he leaned upon.

Ξ

 “Criss-cross applesauce.”  The teacher had demonstrated how they were supposed to sit and Marcus had laughed.

 “Something funny, Master Rollins.”  

This was accompanied by a fit of giggles from the other kindergarten students.  Hatchet, the boy with the weird name and even weirder hair, laughed the hardest.  Red freckles melted into his reddening cheeks.  Milk bubbled from his nose and Marcus rolled over on the floor. Mrs. Michaels waited for the laughter to die down.  “Master Rollins,” her eyes dared anyone to laugh.  

The children remained silent.  “That is what we call this way of sitting.  It keeps your legs out of the way.  You have a problem with that?”

“No ma’am.” Remembering his mother’s words about respecting the teacher, he fought to keep the laughter  inside him.  He did not look over to his new friend.  He liked the name and he liked the boy.  He liked hanging out with him at recess, even better.  They’d looked into each other’s eyes, eyes that could not be more different, knowing they would be friends forever. 

Ξ

“Forever was not long for us.”  He whispered.  “I had thought to be there when you married.  Have you married?  Perhaps one day, I will find you.”  Marcus shook his head.  “That is not something I should do.  I do not want you to see what I have become.”

“I’m going to the bank, got a few other chores to do.   I’ll be back before dark.”  She called out, bringing him out of the past and the names slipped away. 

“Help yourself to anything.  There’s food in the kitchen.”

Long after she was gone, Marcus stared at the closed door.  Walking around the apartment, he took in all the things she had collected.  There were pictures of her at different ages.  In many she was with a man, who must surely have been her husband.  “You had a good life.  How did he die?”

He spoke to the photographs.  “No children.  There are so many lovely things.”

He carefully picked up some of the porcelain jars that had been placed on shelves and scattered about the house.

“My mother,” he tried to remember but still could not see her face. He only heard that one last cry, calling for her husband, her son.  

“I think she had things she collected, she called them.” He shook his head.  “I don’t remember.”

He returned to the bedroom, straightening the blankets, making it look as much like a bed as he could.  Having spent much of the night looking for food, Marcus crawled beneath the blankets, curling into a ball and let his mind wander.  The opening door woke him.

“I’m back.  I brought my friend.”  She looked to the closed door, calling a little louder.  “You up?”

Marcus stood.  Straightening his clothes, he did his best to look like the young man he was supposed to be.  His pallor was in stark contrast to the black of his shirt and pants.  Tucking his hands into his pockets, a habit that seemed to have started long before Gregor found him, he walked to where the women stood.

“Allen, this is Helen.”

Helen towered over her friend, dark brown eyes staring.  She looked him over.  Eyes narrow slits surrounded by too much eyeliner made her serious face comical. Blush was painted on, two dark red spots mid cheek, beside bright pink overlarge lips. Her lips curled as her eyes traveled down to his shoes.  Inspection complete she turned back to Louise. 

“Not bad.”  She turned to Lenore.  “How much does he cost?”

“It’s not like that.”  Lenore did her best to sound offended, but Marcus felt she had wanted the question asked.

“I am here, because I want to be.”  He filled the momentary void.  “I do not need payment.”  He walked over to Lenore, carefully placing an arm over her shoulders.  “She is beautiful, is she not?”

Helen snorted, trying to sound disdainful but instead sounding jealous.  “You must pay him well.

Marcus knew the part he was meant to play.  He drew up to his full height and walked closer to the woman he was rapidly growing to dislike.  “I don’t lie.  She pays me nothing.” 

Putting Lenore’s hand in his, he pulled her close, whispering loud enough for Helen to hear.  “I do not like your friend.  She doesn’t appreciate you.  I have missed you.  Must she stay?”

 “Well, I have never been so…”

“I imagine you have.”  Marcus interrupted, letting a scowl cross his face.  He turned away, once again giving his attention to Lenore. 

 “I think I’ll go home.”  Helen grabbed her coat from the couch, where she had thrown it.  

 “Good bye.  It was not nice meeting you.”  The last thing Helen saw was Marcus pulling Lenore into his arms.

The door slammed shut, Marcus stepped back.  Lenore began to clap.  “You should have been an actor. That was perfect.”

He turned away from her smile, his voice a whisper.  “I have had practice being someone, something I’m not.” To Lenore, he spoke more loudly. “Is that what you wanted from me?”

“Yes, pretty much.”  Her grin grew.  “But I would like it to be true.  Did you find something to eat?”

“Don’t eat much.”

“I guess that tells me how you got the name string bean.”

 “It was on the crate that was my temporary home.  The old woman thought it fit.”

He looked down at his tight stomach, strong but thin legs and arms.  “I think she was right.”

 “Yes it fits.  But I happen to like string beans.”

He turned from her.  “Nothing has changed.”

“I.” She blushed.  “I won’t speak of it again.  Thank you for that, I mean with Helen.  She’s such an ass, been taunting me for years.  My husband,” Marcus heard the catch in her voice.  “He died a long time ago.  Helen thought I never remarried because I couldn’t get another man.”  She bit her lip.  “I don’t know if that’s true.  I never tried.  No one could replace Nick and I felt it wouldn’t be fair to do that to someone, especially if he was a nice someone.”  She stood back appraising him.  “Have you never had a woman, girl friend?”

He looked away, putting more distance between them.  “No, I have…” Marcus walked back to his bedroom.  There was nothing he could say.

“Wait.”  She handed him a bag. “New clothes.”  

“They’re black,” she responded to his scowl.

Sitting once again with crossed legs, he stared at the closed curtains, waiting for the aura to fade.  He heard the door open.  An envelope was dropped in his lap.  “Here is some of the money I promised you.  You earned it.”

Her retreating footsteps were angry.  

 “What can I do?  I cannot explain.  I do not know what I would do to her, being what I am.  Has she not seen the darkness in my eyes, felt the cold of my anger?  She should fear me.”

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Where There Was Darkness ends with Marcus using his heightened senses, to see into a person’s eyes, recognizing the evil some hide within.  Recruited  by FBI agents Yother and Greyson, he is able to use the abilities he thinks of as both a gift and a curse.  The shade of Gregor, the monster who captured him so many years ago, walks in the shadows beside him and Marcus must find a way to tame him.  As Marcus’ successes mount, so does the danger to the life he’s trying to live.  The terrorist attack on the President’s family forces Marcus to make a terrible choice.  Let them die, or do what he can to save them.  Saving them brings him to the attention of the government where skills like his are more than needed.  A new chapter in his too often changing life begins and his never ending hunt for monsters crosses into other countries where he faces dangers to both the life he’s leading and to life itself.  Now more than ever he must hide some of what he is and his nemesis, Detecive Brian Hawkins, is always watching.  With Maddy by his side and the friendship of Chief Raymond Daniels, Marcus struggles to walk in the light while still being welcomed into the darkness.   I’m very happy with my first review, please review it on Amazon when you finish reading the book. The next Book in the installment, Vampires will be out soon.