Darkness Of Light (Darkness #1) Page 3

I had hoped he would never learn about what happened there. It was something I tried to block from my mind. On that day, we had been sculpting with iron. I should have tried to get out of the project. Ignoring my intuition, I continued on with the project. I knew better, but I hadn’t wanted to explain why I couldn’t touch the metal. Ever since I was very young, I had this strange allergy to certain forms of iron. My skin would itch and buzz and I would feel really sick. The purer the iron, the more tired and sick I felt. Thankfully, most things nowadays weren’t made with pure iron. I guess I had hoped in Metal Shop it would be different or I could ignore the symptoms.

  The moment the blowtorch got close to the piece of metal I knew I had made a huge mistake. The odd feeling arose in me, and my organs felt like they were vibrating and tearing apart. The torch exploded in my hand, burning a hole in the ceiling. The chunk of iron flew across the room, hitting a kid in the head, knocking him out. It was declared an accident, but I could see the speculation and doubt in every face afterwards. I never had a partner in shop class again.

  “What’s he talking about, Em?”

  I avoided Mark’s gaze, ashamed of the embarrassment and pain I was causing him. It didn’t change the fact I couldn’t tell him anything. The only things I could say to him would send me straight to the funny farm.

  “So, there were other times you didn’t tell me about.” All I could do was nod. “I see,” he said.

  He didn’t see. He didn’t know how far things had progressed and how real my hallucinations had become.

  I limited how much I told Mark about my crazy experiences, and now it was coming back to bite me in the ass. I watched his face as his emotions went from anger toward Weiss and Mitchell, to disbelief, back to anger, and then to disappointment in me. Seeing uncertainty in his eyes tore me apart. Because I hadn’t told him the truth before, he doubted me now.

  The sheriff leaned back in his chair, pulling a file towards him. “Also, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened at a school your daughter attended, right Mr. Hill?” There was a smug glint in his eyes. “I see two similar incidences happened at a school she attended back in California. She was asked to leave after half of the building burned down. It was even recommended she be placed in a psychiatric hospital. Now tell me, Mr. Hill, can you really not see the connection between your daughter and these incidences?”

  An icy sensation trickled down my spine. The truth was right in front of his eyes. Mark could no longer deny that I was crazy.

  “So, what is your plan for me, then?” I whispered.

  “Well, Ember, the Sheriff and I have been talking, and we both agree it would be best if you’re in a different environment for a while,” Principal Mitchell said.

  “You’re kicking me out of school?”

  Principal Mitchell pulled out some pamphlets from the leather briefcase sitting at his feet. “This is what I’m talking about.” He handed the material to Mark.

  “You want my daughter to go to juvie?”

  “That’s not exactly what Silverwood is, Mr. Hill. It is a facility for troubled teens, for those in trouble emotionally or with the law.”

  “We think this is in her best interest and for the other students who go to Olympia High,” Weiss stated firmly.

  My mouth went dry. I was paralyzed and speechless. Observing all of this, I was powerless to do anything about what was unfolding.

  “You can’t do this! You have no proof she did anything. This is wrong!” Mark threw the documents down onto the desk.

  “I was trying to be considerate of Ember, Mr. Hill. I could expel her from my school. I have that right. We have statements from several students, parents, and even a teacher, who all feel their safety is threatened if she continues on there.”

  “What?” I spat.

  My outburst was ignored. “I am providing a compromise. If she attends Silverwood, temporarily, and her marks remain satisfactory, she will graduate in June like planned. On the other hand, you could take her out of school completely. The online GED will take six months. Most colleges won’t bother with her application, if she is planning on going to college, that is. It is really up to you.” He thought for a second and then added, “It’s only for a few weeks, Mr. Hill, and then we will reevaluate Ember’s progress. If everything’s good, she can come back and resume her classes.” Principal Mitchell sat back in his chair, looking like he should get a gold star for being such an agreeable guy. I still wanted to deck him.

  “This is bullshit and you know it. Ember is not a threat to anyone.” Mark looked like he wanted to punch Principal Mitchell as well.

  “Think what you like, but I have to consider everyone at the school, not just Ember,” Mitchell shot back. “I’m sorry, but Ember is no longer welcome at my school, at least for the time being.”

  No one breathed; the air was ripped from the room, holding the room in tense silence.

  “Ember, why don’t you go get some coffee,” Mark’s taut voice shattered the silence.

  “What? No—not if this has to do with me.”

  “Ember,” his voice warned. “Let me talk to the sheriff and Mr. Mitchell alone for a moment, okay?”

  I bit my lip to keep me from vocalizing any more protests, and nodded. I pulled myself off the wall and headed out the room, not caring if the door shut harder than it should have.

  Five

  The waiting room held a generic coffee vending machine. I absently plopped quarters into the slot, my mind reeling with what had just happened. A few people mingled or sat around the room, but my attention immediately fell on a guy sitting in the corner. A hoodie covered his head, and a beat-up paperback book in his hand blocked his face from view.

  My skin started to tingle and the hair on my arms stood on end. My body went on high alert as if it was warning me of danger. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I got my coffee from the machine. He continued to read his book, seemingly oblivious to me. But for some reason, I felt he was aware of every inch of space around him, including me. This strangely intrigued me, but of course, it had been well proven that I wasn’t right in the head.

  I sat down on a chair near him and picked up a magazine. I tried to focus on the scalding, cheap coffee in my hand and the gossip magazine in my lap, but my attention and my eyes wandered back to him. Not seeing anything but his fingers, which were curled around the well-worn book, I couldn’t tell how old he was. From his body language and his form, I guessed he was in his early twenties.

  There was something about him that felt familiar, which was odd. I was pretty certain our paths had never crossed. I would remember meeting him; his presence was not something I’d forget. He didn’t seem to fit in the room. Even though he had to be well over six feet tall, he seemed to take up even more space than just his physical form.

  He shifted in his seat, making some instinct in me kick in. I jumped up defensively, spilling half my coffee. Every head turned my way—every head except his. He didn’t even flinch. The entire room watched me with curiosity and apprehension while his attention stayed locked on his book. My face flamed as I realized he had just shifted in his seat and was not springing up to attack me.

  Babbling out a lame excuse, I wiped up the coffee I’d spilled. Eventually, everyone went back to their own business. I sat back down, watching him cautiously through my lashes. It felt similar to being in a cage with a wild animal, which was testing its limits before it would bite me. It was normal to react during sudden movements or a commotion, but he didn’t. He seemed to be making a point of not looking at me, and it aggravated me more than it should have.

  Returning my focus back onto my reading material, I couldn’t stop my eyes from continuously slipping over the top of the magazine. My relentless desire to see his face sent my eyes slinking back to him over and over again. The more I watched him, the more he seemed to stir in his seat. He knew he was being watched, and part of me wanted him to look up and catch me, just so I could see his face.

 
“Look up,” I mumbled.

  His head shook slightly underneath his hood as if he was saying, “Not a chance girlie.”

  Chagrin flushed into my cheeks. There was no way he could have heard me. No one could have heard me. I was being silly. Shaking his head had nothing to do with me. It was probably something he was responding to in his book. I still felt flustered, unnerved, and oddly hurt.

  A police officer entered the room and approached the hooded mystery guy. “Okay, you’re free to go, Mr. Dragen. You know the drill. Sign the forms and you can leave.”

  The officer’s familiarity with the guy should have been a red flag. It was clear he had been here before, probably more than once. But if that didn’t send a warning flag, the clank of metal on metal as the officer leaned down and unlatched his wrist cuffed to the chair, certainly did. Why was he handcuffed to the chair in the public area of the jail? What did he do? This is what they call public safety?

  I noticed several things when he got up. When he stood, his movements were so smooth and quick that I almost didn’t see the transition. Also I had been wrong about his height. He had to be at least six-four, if not taller. The extraordinary strength and confidence that exuded off of him eclipsed everything else in the room.

  He shifted his head further back into his hood, making it impossible to see his face clearly. That, of course, made me want to see him even more. My hands balled into fists; the desire to reach under his hood and lift up his face overwhelmed me.

  As he passed, he cocked his head enough so I could see a hint of his chin and lips. His lips twisted, curving into a terrifying, malicious smile that I knew somehow was meant for me. A chill crept over me, and I didn’t move until he and the officer disappeared from the room. When he was gone, I sighed and dropped my face into my hands.

  “Ember?”

  Mark’s voice made my heart leap up into my throat. The last few days had left me even more jumpy than normal. From the stony look on his face, I knew this day would not be improving.

  “Let’s go home,” he said, and he started walking before I even got up from the chair.

  It was dark by the time I stepped out to the parking lot, only a few dimly-lit streetlamps guided me to the car. Mark was already in the truck, with the engine on, waiting for me. I picked up my pace, knowing the trouble that lay ahead of me.

  Half way across the lot, my skin prickled again, and an eerie feeling of being watched whispered at the back of my neck. I scanned the parking lot and stopped dead in my tracks. A gasp caught in my throat.

  Across the poorly lit lot, leaning against a motorcycle, a pair of electric-green eyes looked back into mine. Even though he was hidden by the shadows, I knew it was the guy from the waiting room. The way his eyes glowed reminded me of my own. I had never seen anyone else with eyes like mine who wasn’t somebody I had dreamed up or hallucinated. To see another breathing person whose eyes illuminated like that was a bit startling.

  I quickly turned away, running for the truck, feeling his eyes burn into me. Shivers ran through my body. I didn’t know why he was in the police station cuffed to a chair. It could’ve been for something minor, but for some reason fear filled me knowing he knew my face.

  Six

  Mark and I were silent on the way home. I sat back, letting some of the tension in my shoulders leave, glad to be out of there. The night was exceptionally dark. Only a sliver of light from the waning crescent moon broke the darkness along Delphi Road. The country road didn’t have street lamps and the truck’s headlights did little to keep the shadows at bay. Mark slowed down at the approaching stop sign. A strange feeling came over me. The hair on my arms began to stand on end. Chills skirted down the back of my neck as I checked out the dark, murky forest around the truck.

  Loud, piercing roars came from behind us. My heart jumped into my throat. About half a dozen motorcycles surrounded the truck. The unlit street kept me from seeing the detail of the bikes or the riders, but I knew from the deep rumble of the engines vibrating around the truck that they were classic Harleys. This was a long, dark road. It would be difficult for a group of motorcyclists to be behind us without us seeing their headlights or hearing them before they were on us. So why hadn’t we seen or heard them approach? This question was forgotten as one of the riders pulled up on the passenger’s side and turned his head to me. I sucked in a gulp of air. Electric green eyes locked onto mine.

  Something deep in my gut stirred as we held each other’s gaze. Finally, he turned away. The black, gleaming motorcycles shot off, leaving me with cold chills blanketing my flesh. I couldn’t explain what I felt, but fear didn’t seem to cover it.

  “Jeez, that startled me. They came out of nowhere,” Mark mumbled. All I could do was nod.

  Ten minutes later, Mark pulled the truck into the driveway, turning off the ignition. He sighed heavily, and sat back.

  Uh-oh . . . here it comes.

  “Sheriff Weiss is convinced you had something to do with the electrical explosion.”

  “I kind of got that.” I looked down, playing with the zipper on my coat. “What do you believe?”

  He sighed again and rubbed his face. “I want to believe you, Em. But I’d have to be blind and a fool to continue to ignore what is really going on.” He sat quietly for a moment before he spoke again, his voice softer. “I’m really trying here. I really am. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I wish your mother was here. Then again, if she was I don’t think we’d be in this situation.” His voice broke, but he quickly cleared his throat, covering the escaped emotion. “I can’t imagine you having anything to do with something like this, but we have been here before.”

  I saw the blocks begin to stack against me. The first time your daughter is accused of trying to burn a school down may be easier to ignore. This second time . . . not so much. I bit my lip and looked out the window into the dark forest next to the house. He was right. We had been here before.

  I was asked to leave after a part of my junior high school in Monterey burned down. They had accused me of having something to do with its demise. Between this and my mom, Mark felt it was time to leave. He had wanted to get back into field research for the Forestry Service for a long time. Mark had gotten a job in Olympia right after I had been kicked out of the school in Monterey. It was a great opportunity for him and an even better reason to depart. Moving up here gave us a fresh start, leaving the rumors, gossip, and bad memories behind.

  “I thought moving here would help. I thought things were better here, but they aren’t, are they? You’ve been lying to me this whole time.” Mark stared out the windshield. “With what happened with your mother . . . we stopped your medication and therapy too soon.”

  Therapist, shrink, counselor, whatever you wanted to call them, I had seen them all. Teachers, doctors, and family friends thought I might have some psychological problems after finding my mother’s dead body. She had died a little over five years ago now.

  Died . . .

  That word always made it sound as if she had just simply passed away. The word murdered got caught in my throat, making me want to throw up. To think of my mom being murdered was just too much, and the visual of her shredded beyond recognition still haunted me. I woke up screaming from night terrors on a regular basis. Her killers still hadn’t been caught.

  Since that day, I just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until I no longer felt the emptiness inside me, letting my attachment to reality disappear altogether. However, those options were just an express ride to another therapist, another diagnosis, and more medication . . . and me being institutionalized. This was something I was trying to avoid at all costs. Mark had sent me to a dozen therapists and counseling groups right after my mom’s death. None of it helped. I still heard voices and still saw things that weren’t there. Schizophrenic was one term many doctors used. I became really good at hiding the truth and making a show of taking my meds, before secretly flushing them down the toilet. They all patted themselves on the back at m
y miraculous recovery. As good as I got covering the truth, in reality, I was only getting worse.

  “What?” I looked at Mark. He pressed his lips together. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Seriously? Is that what you think?” My voice raised an octave. “That I blew up my school because I missed a therapy session? You really think I did these things? I hate school, but I didn’t blow it up!”

  “Ember . . .”

  “No!” My face heated with anger. “I can’t believe you’re using Mom’s murder and my therapy against me,” I burst out. “There was a time when you were on my side and believed me. I guess I can no longer count on that either.” I threw open the truck door and slammed it behind me. I stomped up the porch and into the house, thankful I had my keys in my pocket. Nothing ruins a good exit more than when it’s locked.

  As I slammed the front door, I saw Mark still in the truck with his head on the steering wheel. Guilt and remorse tugged at my gut, but my pride made me continue to the safety of my bedroom. I slammed that door too. Even if he didn’t hear it, it made me feel better.

  Hearing Mark enter the house as I changed into my sweats. I quickly turned off my lights, hoping he’d think I went to bed, even if it was only six in the evening. I just didn’t want to deal with him right now. I didn’t want to deal with anyone right now, including myself, though I couldn’t seem to get away from me so easily.

  Sleep seemed highly unlikely. What sounded good was a kickboxing class. That not being possible, I grabbed my iPod, shoved the earbuds into my ears, and turned it on full blast. I walked over to my desk, turning on the small desk lamp. Messy piles of half-finished sketches covered the top of my desk. Drawing, painting, sculpting, and writing poetry always helped release any pent-up emotions. Something I needed right then. Grabbing my sketchpad, I sat down and started to draw, the pencil moving swiftly across the paper.

  About an hour later, I heard a knock on the door. I plucked one earpiece from my ear.