Shadows and Light€¦ · invest, your wonderful insights, and your patience. I’d also like to thank my very supportive friends and family. (Thank goodness my kids like cereal for

Shadows and Light

By Melissa Haag

Shadows and Light Copyright: Melissa Haag Published: May 15, 2014 ISBN: 9781497454743 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without express written permission from the author.

By Melissa Haag

Judgement of the Six series

Hope(less)

(Mis)fortune

(Un)wise

Standalone titles

Touch

Shadows and Light

Acknowledgements

Writing a book is hard work and not just for the author. I’d like to thank the beta readers, critique readers, and editors who all contributed to this effort. I truly appreciate the time you invest, your wonderful insights, and your patience.

I’d also like to thank my very supportive friends and family.

(Thank goodness my kids like cereal for dinner!)

This book is a compilation of three Novellas: one dark and serious; two light and funny. All are paranormal sweet

romances. Enjoy!

Reap the Shadow, Slay the Light

Chapter 1

My name, Phoebe, meant brilliant light. It was a cruel joke. My life held no light.

I swiped at the wet strands of hair that fell into my eyes and pushed myself to run faster through the dark, torrential rain. I ran to Willam. He’d long ago promised to help me, when I needed it, no matter how bad my problem seemed. I didn’t just have a problem. My life was falling apart.

Around me, the wind howled and gusted. My own ragged breathing filled my ears, and an ache grew in my side. I ignored the pain and the rivulets of cold water that continued to stream down my face.

A deep, ominous rumble from above drowned out the noise of my passage. Gasping for air, I rounded a corner of yet another spacious neighborhood. Unlike the last neighborhood, I didn’t try to cut through backyards or climb over fences to confuse my scent trail. Instead, I stuck to the sidewalk where street lights illuminated isolated areas. I dodged those dangerous pools of light and remained hidden in the darkness.

My feet pounded the wet concrete, and my arms swung in time. I didn’t stop or slow for any obstacle even though I didn’t have much energy left. That didn’t matter. I was close.

Some of the house numbers hid in the dim light, but I didn’t pause to try to read them. I knew the house I needed. 1217 Enora Way off Twenty-Seventh Street. I’d run the route in my head repeatedly for the last few days while I waited for the rain to let loose and give me an opportunity to escape.

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Fear ate at me. Would he know which trail was the right one? Had I only wasted time when I’d made the false trail? I imagined him not far behind me with a slow smile curling his lips and a menacing frown on his brow. Fear pushed me to run faster.

A block away, the pain in my side intensified into a twisting cramp. I stumbled and struggled to keep my legs moving. I slowed to a walk. Still, my lungs fought to pull air in fast enough, and without the motion of my arms and legs to distract me, the agony in my side devoured me.

As I turned onto Enora Way, everything tilted dangerously. I plodded on, dragged in slow, deep breaths, and forced my lungs into submission. My limbs trembled—whether with exhaustion or fear, I couldn’t say. I didn’t know if running to Willam would be any safer, but I had to try. It wasn’t just the promise that brought me to Willam. I had nowhere else to go.

A plain, white house touted the numbers twelve seventeen. Very little landscaping decorated the front yard, and a high fence surrounded the back. No lights shone inside.

With forced calm, I walked up the sidewalk and knocked on the door. At some point, I’d started shivering. The overhang above didn’t quite protect me as I waited, so the rain slashed at my back. Tired, scared, and bruised, a wait in the rain didn’t much bother me. It actually felt like a step up in life. Anything was better than staying with Tad.

I listened for movement inside the house. The remaining hope I carried withered the longer I waited. I pressed the doorbell and flinched at the noise. Please let him be home. Yet, there were no signs he was.

The door swung open unexpectedly. It’d been several years since I’d last seen Willam; he had

changed very little. Heavy, dark-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and prevented the longish hair that hung over his forehead from covering his grey eyes. His gaze drifted over me, and without a word, he opened the door wider, a silent


5

gesture of invitation. I entered his home with effort. Now that I’d stopped

moving, nothing wanted to work. My lungs still burned. Water from my clothes pattered onto his entry tiles where I stopped.

“A towel...and a dry place...to rest.” I couldn’t force out anything else. It wasn’t an explanation for why I’d appeared unexpected on his doorstep, but he didn’t ask for more. Instead, he poked his head outside to look around.

Would the rain be enough to hide my scent? What would happen next? A strange numbness started to envelop me. It was an empty, lost feeling that slowly began to hollow me out from the inside.

I watched Willam pull back inside and close the door. He looked me over for a moment, nodded, then left me by the door. In the dark. Dripping water on the tiles.

He returned a few moments later with two towels and, without a word, wrapped the largest one around me. The other towel he placed on a chair. Then he walked away again, moving purposefully.

I lifted the towel to my face and wiped away the moisture. It was more than just raindrops. My legs continued to tremble. I needed to sit but eyed the carpet I’d have to cross to get to the chair. It was an effort to kick off my shoes and peel off my socks. My jeans stuck to my skin as I walked to the chair and collapsed onto the cushion. I took care not to lean back. Using the end of the large towel, I started to blot the water from my hair.

Willam moved around the house to close the blinds and turn on a few dim lights. When he came back, he handed me some folded clothes.

“Bathroom’s yours,” he said. His voice hadn’t changed over the years either; he was still soft spoken. It almost brought me back in time, but I refused to look back. If I did, I’d break. Instead, I looked at the clothes. Flannel pajamas with a drawstring waist. Probably the only thing he owned that might

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fit me. He stood beside me and waited for me to stand. When I

did, he led me down the hall. He moved aside at the bathroom door. I stepped in. The tile felt warm to my cold feet.

He shut the door, closing me into a very clean and ordinary bathroom. It hurt to see something so undamaged when I was barely glued together. I pushed the thought away and leaned against the counter to dry my face again. Water kept dripping down from my scalp.

I looked up, caught sight of myself in the mirror, and stared at my pale reflection. The deep, plum-colored bruise on my cheek complemented the slate wall behind me. I turned away and moved with hollow automation. I dried and changed and refused to let myself feel anything. The pain ran too deep and would swallow me whole if I let it. I knew it’d get me eventually...just, not yet.

With my wet clothes in my arms, I left the bathroom. I stopped at the dryer I’d noticed on the way through and tossed the bundle in. The whirring drone almost broke me. Too normal. Too comforting. It reminded me of my mom.

I stumbled to the living room, sat on the couch, and stared at...nothing. White walls stared back. I was okay with that. I didn’t want to see anything pretty. Not now, when life seemed so ugly.

A blanket fell around my shoulders. Willam didn’t speak, just walked around the couch to sit beside me. My mind, not able to process the present, readily wandered to the past even though I tried to stop it.

After my mom’s fifth marriage, she moved us to this hole-in-the-wall town. She went through men every few years. It wasn’t that she divorced them. No, they all died horrible deaths, accidents that usually left little to bury.

With each new loss, she grew more despondent with the belief those deaths were her fault in some crazy, self-blaming way. But they weren’t. My father met his end while using a


7

wood chipper. Husband two, a farmer, had bad luck tilling the field one day. She tried a sedate businessman, but he had walked into traffic. After him, she went for the athlete. Quick enough on his feet to avoid wood chippers, tills, and buses, he wasn’t fast enough to out run the dog that got him. It had been a mess.

My mind briefly touched on Richard, husband five, and Tad, his son, before I retreated to a happier memory. Isha.

When we’d moved here, Isha had been the first one to approach me as a friend. Tall and dark with a wide smile and warm brown eyes, she attracted everyone...even me, a small girl with large, grey eyes and a tangle of mud-colored curls. She took me under her wing and showed me how someone with confidence could overcome seemingly insurmountable circumstance.

I met Willam, her brother, while at her house after school. She’d been a sophomore in the public school and he a homeschooled senior. She and I had been sitting at the kitchen island while her mom made us a snack. Then, with a careless slouch, Willam had entered the room, and I remembered how he’d pulled my gaze.

His hair had stuck out in disarray, and his glasses had partially concealed his eyes, as they still did. Something about him had called to me, and when he had stopped short at the sight of me, I’d thought he’d felt the same thing. Then, Isha had laughed and stage-whispered that he was homeschooled for his temper, and I was sitting in his spot. Isha’s mother had scolded her and assured me that wasn’t the case. Still, I had moved to the chair on the other side of his sister with a quiet promise that I didn’t mind changing seats. Any time after that, when I came over, he joined us. He never talked much but when he did, he had a soft, calm voice.

Pain reared its vicious head when my memories drifted to the one time he had raised his voice. The day Isha and her mother died. A car accident. I could imagine Isha’s smiling face

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as she laughed with her mother on their way home from the grocery store. They probably never saw what hit them. Willam had been away at school, just like Tad. My mind tried to skitter away from thoughts of him—thoughts of pain—but remembering Isha meant I remembered the pain of losing her, too.

Tremors that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room shook my limbs. The seal around the new pain had a crack, a weakness in the concrete. I needed to stop remembering but didn’t know how.

I remembered the phone ringing at my house then my mom’s voice as it rose in sorrowful denial. Somehow, I’d known something had happened to Isha, and I ran, much like tonight. Willam had been the one to call my mom. He’d known how much Isha meant to me. I’d arrived at their door out of breath and crying. We sat then, much like we sat now, and took comfort in not being alone.

He’d suffered so much pain, too. It had radiated off him, but I hadn’t wanted to leave. His words when I did finally stand had scared me...and I never forgot my promise.

“I won’t let what happened to them, happen to you. Your youth will protect you for a while, yet. But when it doesn’t, no matter how bad it is, come to me. I won’t fail you. Promise me,” Willam had demanded. When I hadn’t answered, he’d shouted at me. “Promise me.”

I’d been fourteen when I’d made that promise, over three years ago. He’d moved several times, but always managed to let me know where he was. After he’d gotten his degree, he’d come back and bought a house on the other end of town. I’d wanted to come see him, but my mom had been against it.

“I’m sorry I promised,” I whispered, returning to the present.

“I’m not.” “It’s bad.” My voice broke, and the tremors grew worse. He stood and left me for a minute. I heard the tap run in


9

the kitchen, and a cupboard door opened and closed. He returned with a glass of water in one hand and a little, white pill in the other.

“Just for tonight,” he said, holding out the pill. I didn’t hesitate. The tablet slid down easily. Willam set the glass aside and nudged me forward. I didn’t

know what he meant until he pulled a brush out of his back pocket. I slid from the cushion and sat on the carpet. I closed my eyes at his first touch.

He was gentle and patient as he worked the tangles from my still unmanageable hair. Once it was tangle free, he continued to brush it, using long, languid strokes until it dried. My eyelids drooped. I wondered if it was the pill or just the brush. Uncaring, I leaned my head against his leg and gave into the void that waited to claim me.

Peace at last. Just like the concrete shell that contained my pain, I knew

this peace wouldn’t hold long.

* * * *

Music floated with me in the haze between sleep and awake. The steady beat gently tugged at my consciousness. My head rested against something soft. Vibrations in my seat and the patter of rain on the window told me we were driving. I didn’t open my eyes. Instead, I fought to sink back into the peaceful void. The radio shut off, and I knew the pretense was useless.

Sitting up, I glanced out the window. Grey clouds and heavy rain filled the sky. If the sun had risen somewhere behind that mass, it was hard to tell. The clock in the dashboard glowed softly in the gloom. Just after nine in the morning. I cringed away from the time, not wanting to think about how long it had been since I’d run or what had happened before that.

Willam reached into a bag between us and handed me a

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water bottle. My head felt fuzzy and ached, but the water helped.

“Where are we going?” I asked struggling between feelings of concern and indifference. The crack in my emotional armor had grown while I slept. Caring would only make it worse. Yet, indifference was a slippery thing to hold onto.

“Somewhere safe,” he said. “Where trouble won’t find you.”

“Has it stopped raining?” He shook his head, and I almost cried in relief. Maybe I did

have a chance. It’d rained the whole time I’d run. Another crack fractured the surface of my armor. Seeking distraction, I turned to stare out the window again. The rain gathered and flowed in tiny rivers that angled across the glass. The patterns mesmerized me, and my fear abated.

“How long until we get there?” “Tonight.” I nodded and leaned my head back, watching the rain. My

thoughts wandered to relive happier days. Days with a mom who smiled and folded laundry while she talked to me about the vacation they were planning. They. Richard.

The radio started making a weird sound, a crackling groan that I’d never heard before. It stopped as soon as I listened for it. Wait...Willam had turned the radio off. Another sound came. A mewl. It was me, slowly falling apart, a piece at a time, as my barrier cracked further. Tad might just kill me yet.

My insides twisted painfully, and I thought I might throw up.

“Pull over.” I managed to force the words out between the sounds.

“I can’t. We need to keep going while it’s raining. A little longer, then you can let it out.”

He was right; I knew we needed to keep going. He just wanted to get me somewhere safe, somewhere I could break down. We needed to run while it rained. The rain would wash


11

away my scent and make it harder for Tad to follow. Harder, but not impossible.

The tremors started again, and I shook in my seat because I knew it was coming…the memory of their deaths. Another whimper escaped me. I didn’t think I could hold everything in until we got wherever we were going. My screams would make Willam go deaf.

Shifting in his seat, he reached into his front pocket and pulled out a sandwich bag. At first, I thought it empty. Then, I saw the tiny pill inside.

“Your choice. Last one I’ll offer, though.” I barely registered his soft words as I grabbed the baggy.

The little tablet slipped down my throat. Slowly, I slid after it.

* * * *

I floated, and darkness shifted above me. My arms dangled, and cool, damp air kissed my fingertips. A light breeze teased my hair and tickled the cheek not sheltered by Willam’s shirt as he carried me from the car. The grip of the pill he’d given me loosened its hold just long enough for me to look up. I vaguely registered the curve of Willam’s jaw and the trees that surrounded us before I was pulled back into the black.

Chapter 2

At some point in the night, I woke to screaming. My own. I screamed myself hoarse. Blood filled my mind, images of it spattered on the walls in our home. A clump of my mom’s hair, pulled from her scalp, stuck to the lampshade, a vivid red against creamy white. She’d tried to stop him...Tad...the boy she’d called son.

At the end of my incoherent screaming, I cried out a single word, a demand for understanding. For truth. “Why!”

Gradually, I calmed and settled for silent tears since my voice wouldn’t work anymore.

In the quiet, I noticed Willam. He sat in the chair next to the bed. The moonlight filtering in through the window glinted off his eyes. He said nothing. He wasn’t there to comfort me but to keep his promise. He couldn’t take away the pain, and he knew not to tell me everything would be all right. He knew my anguish better than anyone else. I wondered if he ever felt “all right” anymore.

I wasn’t sure how long it took, but eventually I ran out of tears, too. Not because I wasn’t still hurting. No, the pain ran so deep I didn’t think it would ever leave me. Instead, I think I had dehydrated myself.

My voice was raw when I spoke. “Tad killed them both. He’d looked at me then jumped on

Mom. Richard stood there for a minute, frozen...then, he


13

helped his son. There’s nothing left of her.” I took a slow breath. I felt heavy and dead inside. “Afterwards, Tad turned on Richard and killed him, too. The fight…the screaming…” Remembered sounds echoed in my ears so loudly, I couldn’t continue.

Woodenly, I got out of bed. My legs and arms ached, but I barely noticed.

Willam remained seated in his chair as I walked toward him. Dark hair matched his dark glasses. The light on the lenses robbed his eyes of color in an eerie way. He watched me closely.

“Tad’s not human. He’ll come after me,” I said when I stood before him. Willam said nothing, just continued to watch me.

The weight of the emptiness inside me drove me to my knees in front of his chair as if I would beg for something. The pajamas were too big and bagged around me. I continued to look at Willam, the kind person who’d always spoken softly to me. The one who’d promised to protect me. The one who shares Tad’s secret…

“He’s like you, but are you like him?” At my words, surprise stole over his features before he schooled them again.

“When did you know?” “Does it matter?” I remembered the day I had noticed his difference. We had

all sat in their kitchen. During Isha’s recounting of the day, his guise had slipped just for a tiny moment. But I’d noticed. So had his mother who had quickly looked at me. I’d kept quiet and played innocent. It hadn’t bothered me. Richard had slipped once, too.

Willam shook his head, and I waited for him to answer my original question.

“I’m very much like him. But in one way we differ.” He leaned forward and ran the knuckle of his first finger over the bruise that colored my face. “I will never do this.”

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The tears started again. I didn’t know where the liquid came from. I felt dried up and used, as if a strong breeze would blow away my crumbling husk as it did the leaves in fall.

In a single move, he swept me up from the floor and deposited me back under the covers. He encouraged me to drink from the water bottle on the nightstand.

“The darkness makes shadows on our souls. Only by letting the light in do we have a chance,” he said as he pulled the chair close to the bed and sat down again.

I lay there, staring up at the nothingness above me. The darkness I held wasn’t my own, but Tad’s. He put the shadows of my mother’s horrific death on my soul. A stain. There wasn’t a light bright enough to remove it.

“The sun will be up in a few hours. Try to sleep off the pill,” he whispered.

I doubted even the burning light of a new day could help, but shut my eyes anyway. Without the pill to pull me into the void, I dreamed intense memories dyed deep red.

My mom’s muffled screams echoed in the background as

Richard’s breath fanned my face. “Consent and it all stops,” he said. The man who’d once sat

at the dinner table while he told us of his day no longer existed. A madman had taken over.

He had me pinned to the floor in the living room, his chest over mine. Angry furrows ran along his cheek, gouged by my nails before he had trapped my hands. I struggled, still trying to get to my mom.

After putting four husbands in the ground, my mom fought to outlive the fifth. I could hear her using everything she had. Another scream rent the air.

“You can save her. Consent,” Richard panted. He used a leg to trap me further and stopped my struggles for a moment.

I didn’t answer because we both noticed the sudden silence that entombed the house.


15

“Time’s up,” Tad’s disembodied voice growled from the other room.

Richard’s expression changed as he stared at me, and I saw doubt there, for just a moment, before all hell broke loose. Tad pulled his father off me and tossed him across the room. When Richard landed, something snapped. A dry sound. But it didn’t stop Richard from springing to his feet with a furious growl. They focused on each other.

I saw Tad still had a clump of my mom’s hair in his hand. He threw it aside as he met his father’s charge. The hair landed on the lampshade with a wet thwack.

Richard fought hard, but Tad’s size—a size that had changed since the attack started—gave him the upper hand. They’d both grown in height and bulk. Their eyes glowed with an eerie light, and a ridge swelled along their spines, becoming noticeable underneath their shirts. Their skin shifted and hardened beneath the surface and formed small edges like plates of armor. Yet, their faces remained very human.

Pulling myself backward, I eased toward the front door while I watched them. Tad drove his fist into his father’s side and used the momentum to push him back. I stood unsteadily. I just needed to make it to the door.

Tad heard me. He turned, clipped me in the face, and sent me spinning back down to the floor. Pain swallowed my cheek from jaw to eye, but I forced myself to look up.

The distraction cost Tad. His father’s hand caught him in the stomach. Whatever hid under his skin, cracked, and Tad’s rage-filled cry echoed in the room. Thunder boomed outside. It rattled the windows and covered most of the noise they made. They’d planned it that way. The storm had drowned out our screams as well.

Tad bent over in pain. Richard pressed his advantage and repeatedly kicked his son in the face. Tad fell to the floor.

My breath came in pants. This couldn’t be real... I retreated into myself and detachedly watched Richard

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step over his son. “Consent,” he said again as he squatted next to me. The

hardened plates under his skin made his speech difficult to understand.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. He dug his hand into my hair and pulled hard enough that he lifted part of my upper body off the floor. Instinctively, I reached up and clung to his arm in an effort to alleviate the pain. My gaze drifted to the lampshade...my mom’s hair.

“Consent,” he growled. I heard an unnatural crunch at the same time Richard’s

hand jerked in my hair. My eyes flew to Richard, and I saw why. Tad stood behind his father. Both of Tad’s hands gripped his father’s lolling head.

Richard’s hold on my hair loosened, and I fell back to the floor. Tad blinked slowly, his breathing uneven. He dropped his father, then collapsed.

For a moment, I did nothing as I stared at them. Richard’s chest didn’t move. Tad had killed him. My eyes drifted to Tad who half-lay on his father, and I watched Tad shrink before my eyes. He whispered the same word his father had just growled.

The storm continued to rage outside. Inside, only my own harsh breathing filled the air. Was I free? I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. Not yet. I need to go check on—

Suddenly, Tad’s bloody misshaped nose clicked back into place, straightening itself. I sprang to my feet in shock.

It wasn’t over. Yet, I didn’t run for the door; I ran toward the bedroom. I had to know. I had to be sure.

My mom, broken and bloody, lay sprawled on the bed. They’d wanted her to scream and beg to influence me. Instead, she’d fought them the whole time. I staggered out of the room and threw up in the hallway. Wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I stumbled stupidly to the front door.

Behind me, Tad’s weak voice rose up from the floor. “Run. It won’t help. I’ll find you. I’ll follow your sweet


17

scent until one of us dies...or you consent.” In my dream, I wanted to turn around, run to the kitchen,

and get a knife to end it. Instead, I watched myself run out the door and into the pouring rain.

* * * *

Daylight didn’t bring relief. Dappled sun streamed into the bedroom from the window

and landed in patches on the bed where I lay curled in a tight ball. I didn’t lift my head or avoid the light, only stared at the rough-planked wall in front of me. The silence inside the cabin isolated me. Outside was a different story.

The tree branches rattled and whispered in the strong wind that lingered after the storm, and something scampered across the roof. The muffled sounds were a balm to my bruised mind.

I would have stayed like that forever, curled protectively under the quilt, but soft footsteps sounded on the floorboards.

Willam moved around the bed to walk the tight space between it and the window. He looked me over then squatted down, eye level with me. He quietly told me we needed to go. I sat up, not questioning him. Tad’s words still echoed in my mind.

Willam handed me clothes—the same clothes I’d thrown in the dryer before taking the pill—and left the room. I looked at the jeans and shirt. The rain had washed away the blood during my run. No, not my blood...their blood. I hated the clothes but put them on anyway.

I pulled open the bedroom door and stepped into the main room that served as both kitchen and living room. A dented metal sink with an old handpump sat on a stand against the back wall of the cabin. On one side of the sink, a Dutch oven and cast iron skillet sat on top a stout, old wood-burning oven. It seemed to be the sole source of heat for the cabin, and it doubled as a cook surface. On the other side, an old icebox

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stood quiet. A well-worn, two-person table sat in the open area before the sink. The electric hanging lamp above the table threw me off. I wasn’t sure how the place could have electricity but not running water.

Next to the bedroom, on the front side of the cabin, a tiny bathroom housed an antique claw tub and an old porcelain toilet. I closed myself in and quickly used the toilet. It required a bucket of water to flush. I moved with little thought and did what was required while I struggled to keep my grief from pulling me under.

When I stepped out again, I knew Willam wasn’t inside the cabin. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. The cabin’s door was propped open, beckoning.

Through the door, I watched the canopy of leaves dance in the light breeze. Then, I heard a soft tread on the narrow porch. I pushed open the wood-framed screen door, and stepped out. The door banged shut behind me. Willam stood on the front porch, checking a pair of fishing poles.

Without a word, he handed me a white plastic bucket. I took it, barely feeling the weight of it. He shouldered the poles, picked up a small tackle box, and stepped off the porch. A narrow trail started at the end of the porch and led into the trees. He turned and waited for me.

When he’d said we needed to go, I’d thought we needed to keep moving. But fishing? I stared at him for a moment. Did it really matter? No. Nothing did.

I followed him through the trees. We walked for close to an hour. My legs ached but not nearly as much as my heart. I couldn’t shake the image of her hair on the lamp. Something about it bothered me more than seeing her torn and vacant on the bed. Maybe because it had been the first glimpse of her death. When I’d run down the hall, I had already known what I would find.

One moment, Willam and I plodded along on a path, and the next, we stood on a muddy ledge overlooking a sun-flecked


19

body of water. Trees surrounded the hidden lake. Willam turned to the right and trudged through the

underbrush, careful to hold branches back for me. We climbed a steep rise and came to a grassy ledge that extended out over the water. He set his things down and took the bucket from me. I watched him turn it upside down and set it on the ground. When he gestured for me to sit, I ignored the bucket, stood close to the edge, and looked down. Tree roots dangled into the shaded water beneath us where the current had worn away the dirt.

He rattled around in the tackle box and produced a small plastic container. He warned me not to go any closer to the edge then walked a short distance into the trees. There he nudged a segment of a rotting log to roll it several inches to the side. He bent, picked up a few things, and set them in the plastic container before he moved the log back into place.

I lost interest in what he did and sat on the bucket. The reflection of the sun on the rippling water mesmerized me. The tiny flashes reminded me of a camera. With each sparkle came an image, clear and brief. A snapshot of the past.

As I sat on the bucket, listening to the birds, the wind, and the gentle splash of water, I saw all the happy moments of my life. Silent tears streamed down my face. My throat clogged. I felt raw inside and out.

Willam rattled around in his tackle box again and produced a travel packet of tissues. He set them on my lap then left me alone as he fished.

Gradually, the happy memories lost clarity as sadder ones moved in; I remembered times when I argued with my mom over foolish things or purposefully ignored her requests for help. I wished I could go back in time and help her carry in groceries or clean up my room or just give her one more hug.

Enough time passed that Willam caught two small fish. He asked for the bucket, filled it with a little water, then asked for the stringer. On the way back, he had me carry the tackle box.

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We stopped at a stream that I hadn’t noticed on the way. The water ran cold. He thrust his hand into it, pulled out some greens, and plopped them into the bucket with the fish.

Back at the cabin, I changed into the flannel pajamas and went to bed. I preferred sleep over thinking. Thankfully, the dream didn’t return.

* * * *

When Willam woke me, the light in the sky had changed. He offered me a plate with the greens he’d picked and a piece of cooked fish. I sat up and accepted it. Not because I wanted to, but because it was there and something to do. He sat on the bed and watched me eat. I didn’t taste anything. He handed me more water. I took a sip, handed it back along with the plate, and lay down again.

I don’t know how long I stayed there crying and staring at the wall before he came back into the room. Outside, the sun had set. He turned on the bedside lamp, and I saw he had another plate of food. I ate it. Like before, he left with the empty plate. This time he turned off the light behind him.

Sleep wasn’t so kind again, and I wished I could wake up. The dreams were cruel and too real. Each one ended the same, my mom dead and me running and alone.

* * * *

The next day mirrored the day before, but with a few less tears. The walk to the lake didn’t bring me peace, but it did lift a tiny bit of the weight that dragged at me. We stopped at the same spot to fish, the water-worn ledge that precariously dangled over the lake.

He handed me a fishing pole to hold while he moved to cast a second one. I sat on the bucket and looked out over the water. As I stared at the reflecting light, the pole in my hands jumped. By reflex, my grip tightened. Willam set his pole down to come help me, but my hands knew what to do.


21

I’d barely begun to reel when his pole gave a sudden lurch. It slid close to the edge.

Willam moved incredibly fast. He turned with agility and dove for the pole, catching it before it slipped into the water. He landed hard—the majority of his torso hung over the edge. Underneath him, a large section of earth splashed into the water. My eyes widened as the ledge started to crumble apart in earnest.

Willam slid forward, pulled by the weight of the pole, the tugging fish, and the crumbling earth. And just that fast, he dropped from sight into the water below.

I sat in shock, staring at the empty space for a moment before I sprang to my feet and carefully looked down. Willam stood in waist-deep water, calmly reeling in his fish. Some of the green that had floated on top of the lake now decorated his wet hair, and I realized he had gone all the way under.

The pole I still clutched in my hands jerked again, and I quickly started to reel. Once both fish were close, I passed down the bucket. He got our fish into the pail and carefully passed up his pole. He then began his swim along the shoreline to find a suitable place to climb out. I stayed by our things, waiting for him.

When he returned, dirt still streaked his shirt from where he’d balanced on the ledge. Lake water ran in tiny streams from the cuffs of his jeans, and he sported a smear of mud on his face like blush. As he pushed back his drenched hair, I saw he’d also lost his glasses.

His slightly disgruntled look put me over the edge. I laughed. It sounded as sharp and painful as it felt, and I hated myself for laughing at all. How could I enjoy the humor of the moment when I didn’t even know if my mom had been discovered yet? I imagined her still lying on the bed with flies swarming, despite the cool weather.

Willam didn’t comment on my crazy laugh or the torrential tears that followed. He shouldered the bulk of the supplies and

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led us back to the cabin. As we walked, my sobs turned to sniffles. We stopped for greens again but in a different spot. The walk seemed to take forever, and my legs hurt by the time we got back.

This time, Willam didn’t let me escape to the bedroom. Instead, he asked if I would pump water so he could take a bath. I looked at the clump of green slim still in his hair and couldn’t refuse. Besides, the crying had created a new numbness in me. It didn’t hurt as much to…well, exist.

He stoked the stove, and I pumped water into the pans. It took a long time, but I didn’t mind. I watched the water start to steam and purposefully forced my thoughts away. Why did this happen to me? Breathe in and let it out. Don’t think. How was I going to keep going without Mom? Don’t think about it. There were harder questions waiting, but I couldn’t move beyond the pain of losing her. Not yet.

After cleaning the fish, Willam sat on the porch and waited, not wanting to drip lake water all over the cabin. Every now and again, he would call in to see if I needed help. Each time, his voice jarred me back to the present, and I would let him know I had everything under control. But I didn’t. Not really. I kept going, anyway.

The stove heated the room as I worked to fill the tub. When five inches of mildly warm water sat in the bottom, I called to him.

Willam closed himself in the bathroom. At a loss for what to do next, I blinked stupidly at the closed door for a moment. Having a purpose felt good. Better than swimming around in my own head. I needed to do something. Keep busy.

I went in search of the fish. He had the fillets covered on a plate on the porch. I brought them inside then searched the cabinets. Empty, except for a few seasonings. No flour or cornmeal for any kind of breading. It explained why the fish had been plain with the greens as a side. I went to the old icebox and leaned over to look inside. Empty racks stared back at me.


23

Nothing. “I didn’t want to leave you to get supplies,” Willam said

from behind me. I jumped at the sound of his voice and spun around. Heart

hammering, it took me a moment to gather my thoughts. He didn’t look like Willam without his glasses. I hadn’t paid much attention to it on the way back. His sad eyes watched me.

An odd sound escaped me when I tried to answer, and I realized I hadn’t spoken since waking. No, that wasn’t right. I hadn’t said anything since telling him I knew about him. I’d laughed though...laughed at him after he pulled himself from the lake. Pain ate at me from the inside. With effort, I cleared my throat and tried again.

“That’s okay. I just thought I’d make something different, but what we had before is fine.” It came out rough and too quiet, but he heard.

He reached over to pick up a duffel bag. “I’ll change quick and help.” He walked away holding the towel around his waist.

I sat down at the table. Up until he walked away, I hadn’t noticed the towel or the fact that it had been the only thing he wore. Not noticing bothered me.

Something tickled my face. I wiped at it and looked at my hand. Tears again. Losing my mom hurt so much. Even when I tried not thinking about it, her death crept into my mind and sawed at my thoughts. But she wouldn’t want to see me like this. She’d want to hug me and tell me everything would be okay. But, I doubted anything would ever be okay again and didn’t know how I’d manage on my own.

I looked up as Willam walked back into the room. No, I thought. Not on my own. Willam had been helping me from the moment I knocked on his door.

“Thank you,” I said using my sleeve to dry my face. He nodded without asking for clarification. “I don’t think

you’re ready to go for supplies, and I’m not willing to leave you alone, yet. We’ll be eating fish for a while.”

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I stayed at the table and watched him move around the room. He was right. I wasn’t ready to leave this place. It felt safe here. The hard questions that I knew I couldn’t ignore forever didn’t press me here. I could ignore them for a little longer.

Chapter 3

By the fourth day, I didn’t know myself anymore. It felt like something took possession of me. Everything made me angry. First, it was the walk to the lake. Willam must have circled it twice because it took twice as long as usual to find. Then, when we got there, he started whistling a jaunty tune that grated at me. I asked him to stop, taking care not to let my annoyance show. And he did stop…for a while.

Even at the lake, where everything was supposed to be peaceful, I found myself irritated by the birds chirping, the splash of the lake water against the shore, and the zing-whir of his continuous casting. I thought I would go crazy as I sat and waited for a fish to jump onto his hook. Finally, he caught his fill, and we headed back.

He walked in front of me, and the fish dangled from the stringer he had tossed over his shoulder. Their clouded eyes and loose bodies disgusted me. I hated the sight of them and was beyond tired of the taste of them. Fish...two to three times a day, for four days, nothing new to change it up. After I unwillingly stared at them for over forty minutes, Willam finally found a spot to collect the greens. The mild spicy taste had been refreshing at first. Now, all I wanted to do was pull the weeds from his grasp and chuck them at his head.

The whistle came back before we reached the cabin. I felt my eye twitch. I’d thought that only happened in cartoons.

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As soon as I spotted the cabin, I rushed around him, tossed the fishing supplies on the porch, and ran for my room. He called to me and asked for help with the food, but I ignored him and slammed the door shut. I needed quiet. I sat on the bed and dug my fingers into my hair in frustration.

I didn’t know he’d entered the room until he tried to say something to me. I didn’t wait to hear what. Instead, with hands curled into fists, I came up swinging. I wanted to punch him in the face to knock the whistle right out of him, but my right hand landed solidly against his chest. I almost stopped, surprised at my misjudgment. My swing had been really off. I’d never noticed we weren’t the same size. It just made me angrier that he was taller…by a lot. So, instead of stopping, I continued to rain blows on his chest.

He stood still, taking it all with silence. Then, like a burst balloon, the rage left me. For several

moments, I just stood there staring at my fists still rested against his chest. Neither of us moved as my breathing slowed. Drained and shaking, I lifted my tear-streaked face to his.

“I will hate them until I die. Someday, I might hate you too...but not today.”

His face held no judgment. He opened his arms and pulled me against the chest I’d just pummeled.

“I know,” he whispered against my hair. After four days of soul wrenching pain, something in me

shifted. Thoughts of my mom still hurt. The hate for Richard and Tad continued to smolder. But inside, I felt as though I’d just woken up. My head hurt and seemed a little fuzzy, but I didn’t want to hide and sleep anymore.

I rested my cheek against his white t-shirt, curled into his protective arms, and allowed myself a moment of desperately needed comfort. His chin rested on the top of my head.

“Smothered in my sleep is a bit harsh, don’t you think?” he said. His softly spoken words held a note of humor.

“Huh?” I didn’t move and couldn’t articulate any further.


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No energy. “If I try feeding you another bite of fish, you said you’d

smother me.” I ducked my head a little to hide a pained smile. My fists

hadn’t been the only thing raining down on him. I’d liberally showered him with threats and insults, too. I recalled something about ripping his lips off if he whistled again and shoving the greens somewhere.

“I think I can manage fish today,” I said. “Barely. But we should make plans for something else tomorrow.”

His heart beat under my ear—the sound comforted me—and his hands rested on my back. He made a noncommittal noise that I took for agreement, and the moment stretched. In all the time we’d known each other, we’d never hugged like this. The realization made the moment awkward for me, and I pulled back. He let me go but watched me close.

I wiped my face on my sleeve, unable to meet his eyes. “I can cook dinner.” He gave me a look as if he contemplated something. Then

he sighed. “No. Let’s take another walk. No whistling. I promise.” I nodded, unconcerned about his whistling. He made me

wait while he cleaned the fish and packed them in a plastic bag with ice—the only thing actually in the old icebox. The fillets were a decent size. Six of them. I hadn’t even noticed he’d caught so many fish.

He carried the bag out the door and motioned for me to follow him. We took a different path this time. The birds jumped around in the branches and chirped at me as if scolding me for my outburst. I sighed and started to hum softly—mostly pieces of songs from the radio—to drown them out. Unexpectedly, the birds quieted. Not just as I passed, but all around us. I kept humming anyway, liking the way the trees muffled the sound.

After a while, I noticed the animals...a squirrel perched on

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his branch, a chipmunk peeking out from under a log, a rabbit under a stubby barren bush. Their eyes followed us. Their ears twitched.

I ran through the songs I could remember then fell silent. The woods around us erupted with noise. It scared me so badly I let out a startled screech.

Willam stopped walking, met my worried gaze, and put an arm around me.

“It’s okay. They’re just upset.” He looked up and studied the immediate area. The pleasant woods seemed to grow a bit darker, and everything quieted.

“All better,” he said. He nudged me forward again. I followed him but remained

quiet. I heard an occasional rustle of dead leaves behind us, but I didn’t turn around. I felt watched. The unsettled feeling remained with me as I eyed the trees. The animals here acted weird.

The trees ended abruptly, and we stood at the edge of an old pasture. The grass grew green and tall interspersed by protruding lumps, lumps I knew to avoid. I wondered where all the cows had gone.

We tromped through the grass and avoided the small mounds. Ahead, a faded, single-story farmhouse squatted in the middle of a cluttered, fenced in yard. Chickens and several goats roamed the enclosure.

With ease, Willam swung a leg over the fence. While I eyed it, trying to decide if I needed to climb it or if I could manage the same graceful move he had, he picked me up and lifted me over. His strength surprised me. I stared at him. He gave me a slight smile and let me go. The feel of his hands on my sides remained.

“’Bout time you dropped by,” a voice called. I looked away from Willam and saw an old man on the

porch of the house. He slowly rocked himself forward and used the momentum to stand with effort. His gnarled hands gripped


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the porch supports as he fought to balance his bent form. Willam moved forward, and I followed him. “What’d ya bring there?” the man said. I thought the man meant the fillets Willam held, but Willam

introduced me instead. The man studied me for a time before he nodded to himself.

“Saw yer smoke and started setting aside some eggs. You can milk the girls yourself, though.”

Willam nodded, handed me the fish, and gave me a slight nudge in the man’s direction. I started a slow shuffle across the yard toward the porch. Chickens squawked at me as I moved. Most of my attention stayed on my feet and the land mines in the yard, but I did glance up when the old man turned away to resume his seat. I almost missed the small thin ridge in his back.

Planting my feet, I tossed the bag the rest of the way to the porch. At the sound of the bag hitting the wood, his head snapped up in surprise. His eyes found mine, and a slow grin split his face. No more than ten steps separated us. Was it enough?

“Smart girl. Don’t trust easy.” His eyes drifted to Willam. “How’d he earn your trust?”

“Not sure if he has, yet,” I said. He barked out a laugh as he nodded to himself again. Then he grew serious as he studied me once more.

“You don’t look old enough,” he mumbled. I had no idea what he meant by that. “He answer all your questions?” The man nodded his head

in the direction behind me, and I risked a glance back at Willam who’d just stepped out of a milking shed with a clean wet plastic bucket.

I watched Willam disappear into the barn. He hadn’t answered my questions, but then I hadn’t asked any. I didn’t want to. Not yet. I still hurt too much to listen. I wondered why the old man cared, though. I turned back to study him as he’d studied me. Other than the small ridge on his back,

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nothing about him appeared threatening. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Call me Abel. It’s a joke. Since I’m not able to do much

anymore. Had fifty head of cattle two years ago. Got to be too much. Thought goats would be better. Damn things just bleat at me and eat my pants off the line.”

He lifted a leg slightly to show me a ragged cuff. Obviously gnawed. I felt a smile tug my lips and quickly suppressed it. Abel didn’t seem too amused by the goats.

“Willam’s answered everything I’ve asked,” I said to his original question.

Abel grunted in disbelief. “You haven’t asked anything, have you girl?”

I shook my head slowly, and he made a sound of disgust. “Well, what’re you waiting for?” “For it to stop hurting so much. I won’t hear anything over

the pain.” He grunted sadly and nodded heavily. “Will you sit and sing to me?” The question was so unexpected that I didn’t answer

immediately. A goat bleated behind me, breaking the silence. “No, Abel,” Willam said, causing me to jump for a second

time that day. “Why?” Abel demanded indignantly. “I ain’t got nothing

left in me!” He tapped his chest for emphasis. I didn’t really understand their conversation and wasn’t

sure I wanted to. “It doesn’t matter. It would be worse for you afterward,”

Willam said as he walked around me with the bucket full of milk. He skipped the two shallow steps and nimbly moved right up on the porch.

Abel’s belligerent gaze followed Willam’s progress, but softened when Willam stopped to lay a hand on his shoulder. Willam leaned down and whispered something to Abel, who again focused on me. Abel nodded with a sigh. Willam


31

straightened and held out a hand. Abel accepted the help up. “Come on, girl. The goat’ll be after you if you stay standing

there.” Abel walked into his small home. Willam waited for me to

climb the steps and pick up the bag of fish. Then, he followed me in.

The inside didn’t look as old or run down as the owner. Age-yellowed Linoleum covered the kitchen floor. It matched the buttercup yellow cabinets. Abel had running water and semi-modern appliances. The kitchen table even rested on a warm, autumn-colored braided rug. A black and white picture of a young woman hung on the wall by the clock. We didn’t go any further into Abel’s home, but I had the feeling the rest would be as welcoming.

Willam lifted the pail onto the counter while Abel opened the refrigerator. Abel pulled out a full ice-cream pail of milk and set it on the table.

“You can take this one. I won’t drink it all anyway, and I’m tired of the cheese.” He stacked a small container on top the pail’s lid. I could see green flecks in what looked like a soft cheese. Finally, he pulled out two dozen eggs.

“Have fun carrying it all.” Without saying goodbye, he walked out of the kitchen to the dimly lit back of the house.

“Thank you, Abel,” I said hoping he’d hear me. My mouth watered at the thought of the eggs we’d have for breakfast.

Once Willam placed the fresh milk in the fridge along with the fish, we left as quietly as we’d arrived—this time, laden down. I willingly carried the precious eggs while Willam carried the milk and the cheese. He set an aggressive pace, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t want any of our food to spoil before we reached the cabin.

As soon as we returned and stashed the food away, Willam had the pan out on the stove. We cracked six eggs into a bowl and mixed in a little milk. Scrambled eggs for dinner. I was so glad we didn’t have to wait until breakfast. We plated the eggs,

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and Willam got creative and added healthy portion of the soft goat cheese to each pile. It was heaven. The salty cheese complimented the eggs perfectly. I washed a mouthful down with a glass of cool milk and was so happy I cried.

Willam cleaned up while I struggled with my emotions. I still didn’t know how to be okay with my moments of happiness. Every time joy bubbled up, guilt weighed me back down.

“Are you up for helping me find more wood?” Over the last few days, we’d used most of the small wood

for cooking and the larger wood for heating the oven side of the stove at night. The temperature dipped enough at dusk that I didn’t think we wanted to skip using a fire.

I agreed, and we spent the next few hours picking up deadfall around the cabin and stacking it neatly where the old pile had been. Sweat coated my skin. I thought back to my last shower and cringed. Gross.

For the rest of the evening, I slowly filled the bathtub. Since I didn’t want to freeze in four inches, I didn’t stop until the water reached the halfway point. The inside of the cabin felt like a live furnace from the blazing oven, but the heat helped keep the water in the tub warm throughout the long process.

With relief, I finally sank into the steamy water. I scrubbed longer than necessary and washed my hair twice with the shampoo Willam had packed in his duffle. Then, I did an extra rinse with clean water I’d thought to have ready.

Once I finished, I stepped out of the bath, wrapped myself in a towel, and threw all my clothes into the tub. I washed those, as well. The water turned dingy, and I wrinkled my nose. We needed to add a bigger kettle to the supply list along with a spare pair of underclothes so I could wash more frequently.

I wrung out the clothes and drained the tub. My lower back ached, so I stood and stretched for a minute then used the remaining rinse-water on the clothes. Satisfied they were as clean as I could get them by hand, I twisted the clothes again to remove as much liquid as possible and draped them over the


33

edge of the tub. I placed my towel on the floor, underneath the clothes to catch any drips.

The flannel pajamas still needed a wash, but I put them on instead. I wanted something to wear while everything dried.

The sun had set by the time I opened the bathroom door. Another portion of eggs waited on the table, and Willam and I ate in companionable silence.

As we washed the dishes, he said he might go for supplies while I slept. He assured me he’d be gone for less than thirty minutes. I hadn’t thought I had a problem with being alone until he brought it up. Fear penetrated the fragile world in which I existed. There wasn’t anything to be afraid of though. Only Abel knew where I hid. Still, the image of Tad creeping around in the dark outside the cabin unnerved me.

I went to bed, but it took a long time to fall asleep.

* * * *

A light, yeasty smell drifted in the air when I woke. Still half asleep, I inhaled deeply, trying to identify it. Bread. I jumped out of bed, almost tripping over the cuffs of the loose pajama bottoms.

Willam sat on the old recliner when I burst out of the bedroom. He lifted his gaze from the book in his hands, eyed me for a moment, then set the book down. I rushed to the oven, pulled open the door, and breathed deeply. The bread still needed to brown, but its pale dome looked promising. Anticipating warm, fresh bread for breakfast, I gently closed the door.

I pranced to the refrigerator and opened it to see what other new things he’d brought back. A lump of fresh butter sat on a plate on the top shelf along with a wrapped package of meat. The milk, eggs, and soft cheese waited on the second shelf. Not much, but butter with the bread and some eggs would be perfect. My mouth watered.

Straightening, I closed the door and glanced at the oven

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again. “It’ll be another thirty minutes before we eat,” Willam said

from his chair. “Would you like to see what else I brought?” His question successfully distracted me from the bread. I

turned in time to see him pick up a crumpled brown paper grocery bag from beside his chair. Filled with curiosity, I quickly sat in the other chair. He didn’t smile, but I could tell he was amused. He stood with the bag, set it in my lap, and squatted in front of me to watch me open it. He still looked different without his glasses. Older.

I unrolled the top of the bag, peeked inside, and pulled out two pairs of warm, white calf length socks. They looked like sturdy men’s socks, but I didn’t mind. I looked back in the bag. Next, I found a flannel, button-down shirt. I held it up and eyed its size. It would reach my knees. I could wear it to bed and wash Willam’s pajamas.

Setting the socks and shirt aside, I dug further into the still lumpy bag and pulled out a wide-toothed comb, hair tie, and a pair of cut off jean-shorts.

“There’s a woman a few miles away that I’ve traded with before,” Willam said, still couched in front of me. “She had some spare clothes and a few other things she sent along with me.”

I held up the jean-shorts. They might work once it grew warmer outside. The last snow melted a month ago, but the chill remained. I thanked Willam, and he stood to show me more. We also had flour, sugar, baking powder, yeast, apples, potatoes, and carrots.

“What did you trade?” I asked looking at it all. “Woodcutting services.” “Only thirty minutes, huh?” I didn’t really care and had no

idea why I said it. But then the image of Tad walking down a quiet road in the middle of the night with his nose lifted to the breeze popped into my head, and I shivered.

“I came back and checked on you twice.”


35

I nodded and grabbed my new things. He stood aside and watched me close myself into the bathroom.

That day we worked on wood again. I walked the area around the cabin, gathered anything I found, and tossed it on a pile for Willam to cut or stack as needed. He worked fast, constantly running out of wood. It made my job harder.

Wood became scarce in the immediate area, and I had to roam further away. While listening to the muted thump of his axe, I came across a tree struck by lightning. A main large limb, thicker than my waist, drooped to the ground. It dangled from the rest of the tree by its blackened, jagged edges. Last year’s dried leaves still cling to the branch in places. Too big to move, I ran back to get Willam and his axe.

I left him at the tree and continued my search. The rhythm of his axe rang out, echoing off the trees as I walked a new area. Since he had plenty to work on, I didn’t stay focused on gathering wood and let my mind drift.

Of course, it went back to that night, and the questions I wanted to avoid began to surface. What were Tad and Richard? How did my mom and I fit into their freakshow? Why had they killed her? What did they want me to consent to?

I pushed the questions back inside. I wasn’t ready for answers that would make me face the truth: There was an unnatural space carved out inside of me filled with darkness. My mother’s death hadn’t created the well that held it—the well had always been there—but her death had fractured the tight hold I had on the darkness that dwelled within the well.

My angry outburst at Willam had vented some of it. But like a deep well fed from underground, the darkness had seeped back in. Now, it festered within me, and I feared what it meant. It would only be a matter of time before the dam broke again, and I wasn’t sure if it would be tears or fists.

Chapter 4

Three days passed, and boredom pulled at me. The butter and lamb ran out. We were back to fish, and I refused to go with him to catch it. But I didn’t want to stay in the cabin either; its wood-smoke smell annoyed me. So I paced outside the cabin, walking circles. My anger grew with each lap. I kept it up for hours until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I opened my mouth and screamed my frustration at the trees. Long and loud, I held the note and let it echo. Animals ran or flew in fear.

When the sound stopped, the complete silence of the woods wrapped around me. Drained, I plodded into the cabin, changed into the oversized flannel shirt, and fell into bed. My eyes drifted closed. I’d vented the well again and hoped it meant I would find a few days peace.

* * * *

A light touch on the bare skin of my back woke me. Lying on my stomach, I opened my eyes. The plank wall greeted me. I let go of the pillow I hugged and lifted my head to turn and look at Willam. His hand hovered over my lower back. My shirt had gathered up in my sleep.

“I’m sorry,” he said stepping away. The lamp next to the bed glowed in the day’s late light.

I quickly sat up and pulled down the shirt. “What were you doing?” I demanded. Again, I’d capped


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the well before it ran dry. The rawness of it lingered and made me irritable.

“Sometimes, you seem so much like me…I had to check.” He sat in the chair by the bed.

I understood what he meant and slumped. The ridge. He’d been checking to see if I had one, too.

“And?” I said, afraid of the answer. “We’re not that alike after all.” I felt profound relief. I didn’t want to be anything like my

mother’s killer. Yet, I remembered my recent scream at the world. Sighing, I hung my head. I had nowhere else to run. If I wasn’t like him…

“What am I?” “You are light,” he said quietly. “Or should be... You were

when I saw you that first time with Isha.” He tilted his head thoughtfully and studied me.

“But you’re different now. Darker. Not just from what happened. There’s a darkness in you that I never saw before in anyone who carried the light.”

His words worried me. “I wish I had a clue what you are talking about,” I mumbled

as I twisted hands. I did know what he meant...just a little. A memory surfaced. My mom breathed stale air into my face as she hugged me close. I was very young. I pushed the memory back under.

“What are you?” I asked instead. “Rage, pain, and hatred, everything the light tries to keep

from the world.” “I don’t understand,” I said in angry frustration. A soft sigh escaped him. “We are not human.” My head snapped up, and I studied his face. He looked

human. But, so had Tad until he had turned into a monster and killed my mother. What exactly did that make me? Was I a monster, too?

“Our races are old. Two races bound together by a will not

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our own. My race would conquer the world and subjugate humans. Your race would save everyone, even us. You are peace, comfort, and forgiveness. The light you carry within you draws us like moths to a flame. You’re everything we hate, yet crave. When you choose to help one of us, you bind yourself to us with a breath of light. The taste of your light is more captivating than any thoughts of darkness we may have. With your light, we contain our shadows and become more human.”

While he spoke, I concentrated on what I’d felt in him all along, a dark sickness twisting his soul, the same darkness twisting in me. I wanted to be what he said: peaceful, comforting, and forgiving. But I couldn’t feel any of that. Instead, I felt what his kind should feel.

“Where is my light?” “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head slowly. Did I really want to know where my light had gone? If it

called to his kind, wasn’t I better off without it? After all, I saw what they had done to my mom.

“Why did Tad kill her?” I whispered, not sure I wanted to hear more.

“Her light grew too bright. It happens sometimes. A brightness that calls to the worst of us. We want more than just a taste. We want all of it, but only with your consent. To take it all means your death.”

“Wouldn’t you be better people, then? No more shadows or killing?” My voice broke on the last word.

“It doesn’t work that way. The light will try to burn through the darkness until it sputters and dies. All that’s left behind is a swelling cold sphere of rage, hatred, and pain, and the knowledge that no amount of light will ever burn the darkness out. You must never consent. If you do, the shadow you give yourself to will grow into a creature this world cannot hope to survive.

“Your mom married many of my kind, and each time she shared a little of her light. None of them were strong enough or


39

gave her enough of their shadow in return to keep her safe. Her light called others, stronger than the one she was with, and each husband died to make room for a new one.”

I made a small sound. All of those men…like Tad? “My father?” He nodded sadly. “Like me. Like Tad. When we have

children, the gender determines the race.” My mouth popped open at the complete absurdity of his

statement, and I shook my head in a slow denial. “Your mother hid you from the truth and maybe more. She

should have told you this long ago so you would know.” I thought of Isha. “So Isha knew?” He nodded. “What

happened to them? A shadow?” “No. They gave their light to the world. When we die, our

energies are released.” When he exhaled, his breath hitched slightly. “I think my mom was tired. She needed to choose again. Her light was drawing attention to Isha. Isha’s own light had begun to shine bright. I think mom decided to give up her light, and Isha didn’t want to face the shadows without her.”

He kept his gaze on me, and I saw the pain writhing just below the surface. Anger boiled it, and rage fueled it. So much pain…I remembered my mom’s eyes looking the same, and another memory snagged me and pulled me into the past.

“Sweetie, your glow will be seen from miles away when you come of age,” my mom whispered, hugging me close as she lay on top the covers of my twin bed.

Almost nose to nose, I watched her expression as she spoke. My stepfather hadn’t yet come home from work. She worried about him; I could see it in her eyes, and that worried me, too.

“I loved your father so much. Only you keep me here,” she leaned forward to kiss the nose of eight-year-old me. “Our lives will change soon. I’m so sorry, baby, but I need you to close your eyes and breathe deep.”

I did as she told me and inhaled stale warm air that reminded me of my stepfather’s sweat. An involuntary cough

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stopped my inhale as something inside me shifted to make room for whatever I’d just breathed. It made me feel uncomfortable and achy. My mom encouraged me to try again. I didn’t want to but did anyway. Nose to nose, I breathed in all the shadow she could exhale.

Blinking away the memory, I felt Willam’s curious look. “What is it?” he said. “Nothing.” But now, I knew the truth. My mom had

passed the shadows—the shadows she took from her husbands to keep her safe—on to me, and it was all still there in the well.

“So, if I’m too much like you and Tad, why’d he come after me?”

“Remember when you sang in the woods?” I nodded. “You have moments when your light shines so bright, it’s

stunning. And it’s dangerous. We sense light. Bursts are hard to track. Your light unleashed would be a beacon to us all.”

I heard his message. Every shadow, every Tad in the world, would come to these woods, and I would have no hope.

“I’m tired,” I whispered. I withdrew into myself, holding close my rage, pain, and hatred. I now understood why those emotions felt so unnatural and why they were so necessary.

* * * *

Willam left me alone the next day without a word of farewell. When I got up, I found the remaining eggs and milk in the refrigerator and helped myself. As I cooked, I probed inside myself, looking for the well that held the shadows, the well that I’d now vented twice. I’d held it in for years never knowing what I did. It’d been easy because of Isha and my mom. Being around their light, what I’d mistaken for happy, carefree personalities, made it bearable. Now that they’d both left me, the well couldn’t contain it all, but I didn’t fully understand why. So I searched inside myself for the answer and hummed while I stirred the eggs.


41

When I found it, I dropped the spoon, stunned by what I saw inside myself. The well, vast in its capacity of shadow, also stored an ember of white-hot light. The small glimpse I’d allowed myself flooded me with peace and comfort so pure and profound it terrified me. I tightly wrapped the shadows around the ember and pushed it deeper into the well. It fought me, exerting me until I physically panted for breath. The well felt too full again, and now I understood. It was the light, not the shadows, that filled me. So much light struggling to get free. As it grew, it took up room within the well, and pushed the shadows out. My mom had already known when I’d been eight: My light would be bright, and it would bring danger.

Unsure what, if anything, I could do about it, I scraped my dried eggs from the pan and ate them in contemplative silence. My mother had fed me the shadows of the men she’d bound herself to, giving up her own protection to protect me. I understood now that she had prolonged my freedom. But where did that leave me? Was my only choice to bind myself to a shadow? One strong enough—dark enough—to survive any who would attempt to remove him?

I finished eating and started warming water to bathe and wash clothes, again. It kept me busy but gave me no answers.

After the water half-filled the tub, I sank into the heat with a sigh. Then, I felt it. A small burst of light, of peace and contentment. As soon as I focused and found the spark of light rising out of the well, shadows leapt forth and pulled it back into their depths.

I took my time washing my hair and tried not to enjoy it. If I was a creature of light, why did the light scare me so much? Because light attracted cruelty and pain. I’d had enough of that. Then another thought almost brought me to tears. If I wanted to hide the light, I’d need more shadow to replace what I’d vented.

When I finished bathing, I wrapped myself in my flannel shirt and started washing the clothes. I scrubbed long after the

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water turned dark, dark like the well. In the cabin, I heard the door bang and knew that Willam had returned. Before long, the smell of dinner drifted to me. I hurried to rinse and twist the clothes then joined him at the table.

I didn’t ask where he’d gone; we had fresh watercress on our plates and fish. Instead, I said what had been eating at me.

“My mom gave me her shadow to protect me,” I said, looking down at my plate. “But it wasn’t enough. The bursts of light are coming more often. They’ll come for me soon, won’t they?”

He didn’t answer right away, so I looked up. Something moved behind the surface of his skin. His face started to change, and I stopped breathing. I knew if I were to feel his back, I would find the ridge.

He didn’t move to attack me. Instead, he breathed in and out in a slow pattern until the anger left his eyes.

“The bursts are coming more often because the light is devouring what your mother gave you. Just as my shadows are devouring the light my family gave me.”

His revelation stunned me. “Before they?” I couldn’t finish the question, but he

understood and nodded. “Why did you make me promise to come to you?” I asked.

“You were the only light left that I cared about. I didn’t want to lose you, too.” He brought his empty plate to the sink. “I’ll brush your hair for you before bed,” he said with his back still to me.

I nodded though he couldn’t see me. His words had robbed me of speech.

* * * *

Whenever the brush got stuck, his fingers worked through the knots in my slightly damp hair. I liked that feeling the best and twice more felt the light appear.

“Does it bother you when that happens?” I asked.


43

“No and yes. It’s the best thing to witness, to be near, but I struggled to contain what I want to do.”

I twisted to look at him, worried. His smooth features reassured me.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised. “How can you be sure?” I asked, turning forward. I relaxed

again as the brush stroked through my hair. “Because of Isha,” he said. “Because you’re you.” A big burst of light, the biggest so far, erupted. Panic

swelled, and I struggled to swallow as I realized what I’d done. Shadow wrapped around the light once more, and it sank back into its depths.

“We’re down to fish and watercress again. We’ll need to trade, tomorrow,” Willam said calmly though I knew he’d witnessed what had just happened.

“I think I should stay here,” I whispered, afraid he might refuse me.

“I think you’re right,” he agreed. I stood, thanked him for his help, and quickly went to bed. Because of the nap, I had trouble sleeping. Long after I

went to bed, I heard slight sounds coming from the living room. If I breathed too loudly, I drowned out the soft noise. Curious, I rose from the bed and eased the door open just a crack.

Willam paced the length of the main room from kitchen to door. I watched his graceful profile, and it took a moment before I saw the movement under his skin...the hardening of plates. On the next turn, I caught sight of the ridge along his spine.

Before I could panic, he ran a hand through his hair. The move conveyed his frustration and pulled the hair back from his eyes. Sad eyes. Tormented eyes. I understood that, too well. Something shifted in me, and I felt a…softening. My heart grew suddenly very heavy and very light at the same time. It took me a moment to understand he had made me feel something other than the pain. I’d felt compassion and maybe just a hint of

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awareness...of him. I eased the door closed and crawled back under the covers.

Chapter 5

As soon as Willam left the next morning, I emerged from my room and went to the bathroom to dress in the stiff clothes I’d previously washed.

After watching Willam struggle the night before, I knew I needed to do something. According to his explanation, if I consented to give all of my light to a shadow, it would create a monster. Yet, I could choose a shadow to do some kind of exchange and live in peace for a while. Maybe.

I didn’t think another shadow and light swap would be enough. Based on the past, I would need more than a single exchange. My mom had gone through so many husbands so she could give me a part of their shadows to help me maintain a balance I never understood. I didn’t want to follow in her footsteps. I didn’t want to go through men and never really feel a lasting love. I didn’t just want to hide the light; I wanted to get rid of the light forever.

I put on my shoes and quietly eased out the door, unsure how far Willam had gone. The normal sounds of the woods surrounded me as I started on the path to Abel’s house. This time I didn’t sing. I kept the remaining shadows within the well tightly wrapped around the light.

* * * *

I heard Abel before I saw him. He stood in his yard with a

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raised fist as he yelled at his goat for eating his pant cuff. When I gingerly eased over his fence, he looked up and appeared pleased to see me again.

“I thought you’d be back,” he said, shuffling to his porch. He plopped into his rocker with a grunt.

I stood on the lawn and kept a wary eye on the goat and Abel.

“Why did you think I’d come back?” “Did he talk to you?” I nodded. “Did you listen?” he asked still not answering my question. I nodded again. He sat back with a sigh and started rocking. “Having that

much shadow just isn’t natural for you. You need to let it go somewhere. A light, like you, wouldn’t let it out into the world. It would bring too much pain to others. No, you wouldn’t want that.”

He thought I wanted to let the shadow go? I frowned. Was that what I’d done? Twice now?

“And that boy has too much already,” he continued. “I’m the only one you could turn to.”

Willam had too much shadow? He didn’t seem like one of them to me. Except for the ridge...and the way the woods had grown dark after I’d sung. However, Abel knew more about Willam than I did.

I studied Abel for a moment as the hens clucked around me. Abel’s place was peaceful, and I wished I could feel that peace while I stood there.

“When we were here, what did Willam whisper to you?” Abel gave a small smile and sighed. “He said you’re beautiful to behold.” Willam thought me beautiful? I wanted to smile but

contained my happiness. I couldn’t let any of the light out. Not yet.

“You’re right. You’re the only one I could turn to, but not

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in the way you think,” I said softly. Abel’s rocking slowed. “I don’t want to let my shadow go. I don’t want your kind to find me. I want more shadow. Only, I’m not willing to share my light, either.”

He continued to watch me closely. I wasn’t sure how to ask for his consent. Tad had just screamed his demands at me. I didn’t want to repeat that horrible experience.

“Abel, will you consent to give me your shadow?” I asked, softly.

Abel hooted a rough laugh and slapped his knee. He leaned back and resumed his rocking, but his grin faded when I didn’t share his humor.

“It don’t work that way,” he said with growing anger. “Light consents to shadow, not the other way. It just inna done.”

“Are you saying it’s not possible?” “It just inna done,” he repeated. “Why not, Abel? What’s holding you here?” Desperation

made my words sharp, so I took a calming breath. “I saw her picture, you know. The pretty woman in the black and white portrait,” I said softly. “You could join her.”

He suddenly looked as tired and worn as his pants. His shoulders slumped and his eyes shone wetly. Pity welled up within me and swallowed any elation I might have felt. Could I accept his shadow if he did consent, even knowing what it would do?

“There ain’t much left in me. She took so much of it in our time together, and I took her light. We were good together.” His pain floated around him like a dark cloud.

The goat bumped into me, and I absently patted its head. “Take it,” he said finally. “It’s yours. And when you come

to your senses and let it out, this world can go to hell for it.” “I won’t release it. My light can just chew on it for a while.”

He gave a laugh in response to my confident words—words that masked the nervousness I felt. I still wasn’t sure how to take his

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shadow. My mom had always breathed it into me. I wasn’t sure if that was how it was done.

I slowly stepped onto the porch, and any trace of humor left his lined face. Fear crawled into his eyes with each step I took, and I couldn’t help the flood of pity and compassion. My light burst out, and he closed his eyes with a sigh. A tear leaked from the corner of one, and a small smile lifted his wrinkled cheek.

“Find peace, Abel.” I bent over him, pressed my lips to his forehead, and closed my eyes.

I could see it then, his well. The dark waters barely stirred. I dipped my hands into it and brought it to my mouth, breathing it in. My insides expanded until the light finally shrank and made room. I sipped from the well again and again until there was nothing left. It took mere seconds.

When I opened my eyes and pulled back, Abel looked ashen. I felt for a pulse but knew I’d find none. I wanted to feel sorry for what I’d done, but I was too full of shadow for that.

The light within me was small but not gone as I’d hoped. Regardless, I smiled and felt a moment of satisfaction. I’d done what no other light had; I’d claimed a shadow.

My moment of triumph didn’t last long. Inside me, something shifted. The well heaved. The walls bent, reshaped, and grew bigger to make room for my suddenly expanding light.

“No!” I cried. Stumbling down the steps, I gathered the shadow around

the light in an attempt to squeeze it tight. To my horror, the light began to consume the layer of shadow around it, and I realized the new shadow wouldn’t last long.

I glanced at Abel’s peaceful death mask and wanted to cry. His gift wouldn’t help me. But, it wouldn’t hurt the world either, I tried to console myself. His shadow would never be released like he’d thought. My light would devour it. I thought of my stepfathers and their random deaths. Had their remaining shadows been released into the world?

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I wiped the tears from my eyes and turned away from Abel’s still form. I couldn’t just leave him there. Yet, what would happen if I called the police? We weren’t really human. What would they find when they took him to a funeral home? I couldn’t remember what my mom had done for her husbands. What happened when a shadow died?

I needed Willam’s help.

* * * *

Willam didn’t ask questions when I told him Abel had died. He simply studied my tear-streaked face for a moment, told me to stay in the cabin, then left.

Dazed, I turned away from the door. The expanded well hurt my insides as the light struggled to free itself from the shadows wrapped around it. The memory of what I’d done just added to the pain.

Something on the table caught my eye. The fish Willam had caught, cleaned and ready for a pan, remained on the table. I moved around the room, stoked the fire, and cooked the fish. The sizzle sounded alien and the smell nauseating. When it finished, I couldn’t eat any.

I stood in the kitchen and looked for something else to distract me. My eyes fell on Willam’s book. I picked it up and read the title, A Collection of Romantic Tales. It was a side of him I’d never seen before. He had bookmarked Jeanne-Marie Le Prince de Beaumont's Beauty and the Beast. I gently set the book back on his chair and went outside to sit on the porch.

What would Willam think of me when he came back? I’d killed Abel...and for what? His shadow wouldn’t hold back my light. Would Willam hate me? Would I lose the only friend I had left?

I sat there for hours so lost in regret and pain that I didn’t hear Willam return. He just suddenly stood before me. He looked as weary as Abel had been.

I jumped up with a sob and flung myself at him. His arms

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immediately wrapped around me, though I could feel his surprise.

“I took his shadow,” I cried against his shoulder. His hand smoothed over my hair from the crown of my head down to my back.

“Did he hurt you?” Willam asked quietly. I shook my head, inadvertently wiping my tears on his shirt. “No, Willam, he didn’t hurt me,” I said, pulling back. “I

asked him to consent. I took it all. My light was growing. I was afraid...”

His dark eyes reflected his shock. I wanted to hide from it but then his look softened. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

“It will be okay,” he breathed. He moved to my other cheek and kissed that one as well. I forgot to breathe. When he kissed it a third time, I knew what he was doing. Kissing away my tears.

I drew back slightly, and our eyes met. I couldn’t hide the hope in mine. He reached up and stroked a finger along my cheek.

“I’ve wanted you forever,” he said in a husky voice. “I watched you when you came over to talk to my sister, and waited for you to notice me.”

Excited disbelief coursed through me. Notice him? I’d noticed him right away. I’d thought he hadn’t noticed me.

“But you only noticed the boy the world was meant to see, not the real me.”

He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, darkness filled them. His expression lost its tenderness. He leaned in close, and I couldn’t help but feel a little menace in the gesture.

“Do you see me now?” he partially growled. I nodded slowly. I saw him. All of him. The real Willam.

And he didn’t scare me as much as he should have. “That’s all I ever wanted,” he breathed.

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His admission stunned and scared me. A residual tear trailed down to the corner of my mouth. He held my gaze as he leaned forward and kissed it away.

My breath hitched as feelings of love and need slipped from me before I could stop them. I gave into the need to touch him and raised my hands to his chest. My heart beat heavily, and my skin tingled where his lips touched me.

Willam pulled back fractionally and moved to kiss the other corner of my mouth. I didn’t let him. I turned my head slightly and caught his lips with my own. He groaned, and his arms tightened around me. The well within me strained to contain the shadows and light as I responded. My hands drifted to his back, and my fingers caressed his shoulder blades. I pressed myself closer.

Willam didn’t hesitate. He deepened the kiss. His tight hold pinned me to his chest.

The kiss ignited the light within my well. Pain-filled pleasure engulfed me as the walls began to crack. The shadows within me tried to reclaim the light, but I’d gone too far and felt too much. There was no going back.

Within the kiss, something shifted. It became a battle we both fought to win. His mouth slanted over mine, and his shadow dove for my light as the ridge on his back grew more pronounced. My fingers traced the protrusion as my light expanded against his shadow. A burst of excitement, of happiness, danced along my skin. He tried to coax the light from me, but it wouldn’t yield. Instead, it glowed impossibly bright. Only my own shadows held it back.

I tore my mouth from his as I realized what we’d done. My breath heaved while I struggled to contain my feelings and the light.

Though he’d let me pull back from the kiss, his arms remained locked around me as he struggled too. His face had grown hard with the plates shifting just below the surface, and the darkness was back in his eyes.

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“Are you okay?” I whispered afraid to hear the answer. He leaned forward, kissed my forehead, then released me.

I took a step back and watched him warily. Shadows swirled over his features.

He inhaled deeply, and I saw his control tighten. The shadows receded back into his well as he exhaled. He repeated the process twice more until everything was once again contained. The whole time he kept his gaze on mine.

“Let’s get something to eat,” he said softly. “Willam...about Abel.” “Don’t. If he would have been strong enough, he would

have been just like Tad. We all are.” “You’re not.” He briefly looked away. “I wanted to be. Just now.” “But you weren’t.” “No, I wasn’t,” he agreed with a sad smile. “I’d rather give

up all that I am than hurt you.” He stepped close again and clasped both of my hands. “You’re the last thing holding me here,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead on mine. “Don’t let go.”

* * * *

The reheated fish didn’t taste bad but it didn’t exactly taste good, either. In fact, it didn’t taste like anything at all because the drain of emotion over Abel’s death and Willam’s kiss left me numb to reality.

The events of the past few weeks had left me fractured in a way I’d never experienced before. Was it any wonder that there were cracks in the well? I needed to find a way to fix myself. Adding more shadow didn’t seem to be the answer. Yet, I didn’t think I could let enough of the light out to fix the well and still remain hidden.

Willam watched me closely, his expression once again closed off.

“What happens next?” I asked. I didn’t look up at him but

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watched the food on my plate. “We’ll stay here as long as we can. When your light starts

shining through, we’ll move and try to stay ahead of the shadows.”

I nodded and finally met his gaze. It hurt to look at him. I wanted to kiss him again, which created an ache in my chest, but I held myself back because I didn’t know how far we could push ourselves. I didn’t want any more light to shine through so soon. And kissing him would definitely bring out the light. I wanted to stay here. Just the two of us...forever.

“What about us?” He didn’t pretend not to understand. He smiled, but it

seemed a little sad. “I will be whatever you need me to be,” he promised. What I needed and what I wanted were two different

things. I needed him to protect me...even from myself, which meant he needed to keep his distance. Yet, I wanted him to kiss me again. I wanted to feel alive, wanted, and loved. I wanted him to make me forget everything. I wanted him to make the bad things in life go away.

I wouldn’t get what I wanted, though. END EXCERPT Are you interested in reading more of my books?

Hope(less), the first book in a YA Paranormal Romance Series, is now free. Give it a try! For more information regarding other titles, please visit my website http://melissahaag.com and don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter for discounts and exclusive content.

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Shadows and Light€¦ · invest, your wonderful insights, and your patience. I’d also like to thank my very supportive friends and family. (Thank goodness my kids like cereal for