From dusk a dark stalker.., p.7
From Dusk: A Dark Stalker Romance, page 7
We stay for a moment more, dropping her off at a tent the others said was hers. “Adelaide,” She doesn’t budge as he snaps in her face. “Adelaide, hun… wake up.” Her eyes open to reveal crisp, honey-colored eyes. As she looks at Christian, finally she speaks, “Do I know you?” Her voice is raspier than one who smoked their whole life.
He gives her one good look-over, then replies, “Not anymore.” As he turns to walk away, he kicks something hidden beneath the sleeping bag in the tent, causing him to almost face plant to the stone floor. “My father’s Louisville?” Leaning down, he picks up the baseball bat.
“Why does she have your father’s baseball bat?” I inquire.
Without even looking at me, he answers, “That is a question for another day.” He examines the object a little longer before he brushes past me to leave. “Come on.”
“Where are we headed, anyway?” I try to break the silence that fell between us. “You didn’t disclose that earlier.”
“Don’t worry about that, sugar.” He says with a sharp tone, “I’ve got a plan.”
A bit of frustration slips as I try to push for more information. “Don’t be sus now, Christy. Where-” I am cut off by some crack head looking for a fix, but I’m not scared, Christian won't let anything happen to me. Right?
Christian
“Fuck you, man!” I throw my arm up in front of Evelyn, “We ain’t got your fucking shit!” Evelyn is watching me with her dazzling baby blue eyes, boring holes into the side of my head—she is scared, and I know it. It may have been cold, which doesn't help, but a shiver from the frost and trembling with fear are distinctively different. If the Marines and an abusive father taught me anything, it was that.
The vibration of her horror soaked deep, rattling my bones and awaking an anger that had long since been caged. The bat in my hand was getting heavier as my urge to swing grew. It’s been a long time since this bat and I felt as one, and it wouldn’t be the first time it helped to make a problem disappear.
In a flash, the tweaker lunges at her like a rabid animal, and I couldn't stop myself. I shoulder Evelyn. Propelling her out of the way, taking her spot in front of the doped-out addict, as he grabs the length of the bat. We push and shove in a life-or-death tug of war, before I sweep my leg forward, and my foot meets his calf. With a quick jerk, his feet leave the pavement, making room for his ass.
His backside collides with the cement as I raise the ligneous object above my head like I'm calling down the power of Grey Skull. Then, yanking my arms back down, the weapon meets his head. Simultaneously, he drops his hand hard, and laughter erupts like the barking of multiple seals. My heart moves to my throat, but I swallow it back, relieving it from its failed attempt to flee.
The horror that plagues my eyes, as I turn my gaze, broke me. I follow his dark, empty stare. A barbed grin smears over his face, and I see he has plunged a needle so deep into her ankle that it dimples in her skin.
His eyes dart back to mine as I stay focused on the syringe clutched in his cracked-out hand. I watch as he slowly pushes down on the plunger, the liquid leaving the vial and invading her body—poisoning her. “No!” I roar, turning to face the monster—the bastard that just signed his death certificate. He doesn't even care that he is about to get his brains smashed in. He erupts in laughter again and I kick him square in the jaw.
Choking on his blood as it pools in the back of his throat, he leans forward, spitting on my shoe. He would have already been a dead man, but her groaning catches my attention, “Sugar!” I shout, diving after her, catching her as she collapses.
“Christy,” her eyes roll to the back of her head. “Christy, is that you?”
I check her pulse, it’s quick, but something I must allot more time to, for the purpose of allowing the drug to rear its ugly face. I prop her up against the brick wall, then turn to oppose the victim about to be consumed by my wrath. “What did you give her?” I stalk toward my prey—a predator on the prowl.
“You will tell me.” I smack the bat against my hand. “I will not. Ask. Again.” His laughter quickly turns to panic. His words start to pour from his lips.
It begins like a stutter, then a bout of diarrhea from the mouth. “It was a... please no... Are you going to kill me?” I look down my nose at him—the tip of the bat pressed hard into his bony chest.
“Christy,” the state of her voice grinds like a key stroking against the lock that hinders my demons. Their bonds loosening with every falter of her speech. “Chri-” She falls quiet, my sugar... my drug—is silent.
Evelyn
The pain shot through my body like poorly done acupuncture. Spreading, stabbing, like venom crawling through my veins. He is drifting further away from me. I reach for him… for Christian.
The ground?
How did I get to the ground?
My hands come into view, and I am distracted by my fingers as they distort and elongate before my eyes. Crying out his name, fighting. “Christian!” His name is sweet like caramel on my tongue… sticky and hot.
Why isn’t he listening to me?
I’ve been screaming for him, I don’t know how long—time feels irrelevant.
The colors around me begin to sing. As they grow brighter and more vivid, their songs reach octaves that put tinnitus to shame. The ringing in my ears and vibration in my skull—caused by the many voices that all speak at once—morph together until the words become an incoherent rambling.
Churning in my stomach aids the sudden onset of dizziness. While the crawling under my skin... the tingling… makes it feel like it's moving molecule by molecule, barely holding the door shut from the nausea that’s been rapping at it like the police with suspicion of foul play. My chest and throat start to burn with the acidic intrusion of vomit and stomach bile while the feeling of my airway closing triggers an all too familiar sensation.
Sweating, panting, struggling, drowning, freezing… free.
Christian
One glance in her direction, her eyes have closed, and her breathing is shallow. It takes every fiber of my being not to run to her and hold her, to kiss away her pain. To be there when she comes to and tell her, “Everything will be alright”. My eyes burn with the lashings my tears are giving, threatening to pour out. Her pain. I can feel it.
How did I let this happen?
Where did he come from?
I stand there staring at her, lost in the guilt of my failure. It's only when the pleas slowly, meticulously, fade to a chuckle, soft at first, then steadily transcending into a vile fit of laughter.
It was that moment my demons laughed back, “You dare laugh in my presence after what you did?” Still facing Evelyn, I raise my head to the sky silently apologizing to God for the ultimate sin I am about to commit. The shackles that thwart my past ghosts in the shadows of my soul, shatter—the behemoth has been unleashed. I take a long-drawn-out turn back to the miscreant that caused her suffering, and with the most sinister tone, my dybbuk snarls in response, “Now. We. Play.”
Chapter 10
Oliver
"True beauty is revealed in moments of vulnerability."
My Heart stops the moment she does. She stands there perched at the top of the stairs, and instantaneously, I forget how to breathe. The green from her gown is radiant against her ivory skin as she walks down the stairs with such elegance and grace, presenting a bout of confidence I've only seen in her once—when their dad left, that moment made the rest of her life such a challenge. She had to step in, step up and be the strength.
She had to pick her mother up off the floor and keep her sister from slitting her wrists. The thought of rejection was too much for Evelyn to bear. That spoiled brat—Evelyn had always been envious of the connection Emory had with their father. She would always act out in hopes of attention. It didn’t matter what kind. Evelyn often exhibited attention-seeking behavior, which was observed in various aspects of her interactions with others.
She tended to dominate conversations, frequently interrupting others to ensure that the focus remained on her. Evelyn often shared exaggerated stories or personal achievements, seeking validation and admiration from those around her. One would assume her behavior called for constant reassurance and approval, which stemmed from her underlying insecurities.
While her actions would be engaging and entertaining, they can also overshadow the contributions of others. This led to potential frustration boiling down to numerous arguments with Emory and their mother. Evelyn was selfish, always trying to outshine Emory but not this time. Evelyn’s antics would never be enough to divert the attention from the beauty Emory has stepped into, especially in this moment.
She waltzes down the steps like a queen entertaining her people. The intensity of her presence is like a temptress, drawing me closer with every step she takes. Her every movement resonating with an elegance that discredits the history her chaotic bloodline carries in the secrets of past lives. She stops between us with a short, sweet greeting. I can barely hear it over the thumping in my chest. For years, I have walked this earth, but this feeling is new to me.
We stand there, our eyes locked, and an unspoken bond forming a silent agreement that transcends words. The air around us seems to hum with a shared anticipation—the promise of a destiny intertwined. I bow to kiss her hand, and the world narrows to just the two of us. Emotions swirl inside me as they connect with her energy—an intimate dance of souls lost then found again. Her skin is soft, and the air around is staticky as I catch a slight breeze of honeysuckle and vanilla—intoxicating.
I never want to be free of this scent.
I extend my elbow in hopes she will take it, and with the utmost heart-melting smile, she does. I look back at Niven and smile at her, accompanied by a gentle nod. “You two enjoy and behave yourselves.” With a twinkle of her fingers, she waves goodbye, like she is Angela Lansbury herself, then she prances away as though the bed is about to leave without her.
Emory's pulse is subtle on my arm, a steady bump-ba-bump. Then, as Niven fades further away, disappearing in the distance, it finally hits her—the realization that we are alone, and I can sense her heart rate quicken. “Shall we?” I question, and she answers with a grin. Her desire for a deeper understanding boiled deep within her, seeping from her eyes, while the energetic atmosphere radiating from her was almost seamless in hiding her false aura of bashfulness. I gesture towards the exit, and once I receive her consent in the form of a shallow dip from her chin, I lead her out the door.
I start by showing off all the glorious shops her family has built throughout the decades. At the far left of the gates, there is a barber shop with a worn sign that reads ‘Selby Barber Shop’. It is the second building added to the manor after the Selby family bought it. “This shop was built for your grandfather.”
I swing my arms from back to front, clapping my hands together as they meet before me. “After escaping to America, your great-grandmother wanted to make a name here.” We stop at the store front as I continue, “She wanted to leave something behind that would last through the ages.”
She peers in the window, then asks, “Why isn’t it in use now?” The look in her eyes is the same look I’d expect if she were to see me and my truths... pity. The state of these shops isn’t too far from the condition of my soul—aged and hollow, and having no words worthy of using to answer her—I shrug.
I lead her inside the old barber shop. My sight converges with my mind, bringing pictures frozen in time back to the moments in the past when it was once bustling with activity.
Where lively banter would fill the air, now it stands in silence—echoing back the void within my own heart. I, too, was once lively, but now I roam alone—a guardian of this ghost town. The scent of aged leather and aftershave lingers, a wraithlike reminder of days when the chairs spun with stories and laughter. Moving along, her curiosity piques around every corner we turn, as she investigates every piece as if peeling back layers of history intricately woven into the fabric of existence. It was only recently that the shops shut down for business, but longer than that, they have sat empty.
Much like me, the stores were abandoned, languishing for any nod at life. The antique equipment sits idle, clean, and perfect. Straight from the 1930s, as though we have leapt back in time, and I can’t help but watch her. Being this close to her, with her acknowledgement and acceptance, is a feeling so surreal to me.
If only I could stop the world in this moment forever, even though I know that is too much to ask for. Soon, she will have to make a choice. She will either choose to spend a lifetime and thereafter... with me, or she will disappear as swiftly as she arrived. Never again will I be allowed to lay eyes upon her beauty, forever a memory stamped on the pages of past time.
Once she is done surveying the barber shop, we move on to the tailor, where the most lavish dresses and suits hang—A display of true talent. As we walk through the shop, the elegance of the garments matching the grace with which she moves. I admire her expressions as I am sure, she is envisioning herself in each beautiful piece, mostly because I am doing the same. Her eyes sparkle with curiosity and intrigue, drawing her deeper into the stories of her family's past.
Each item we encounter is like a hidden chapter of her lineage, awakening a connection she never knew existed. She listens intently as I recount tales of her grandmother's mastery with a needle and thread, her eyes wide with wonder and excitement. Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I feel a swell of pride in being the one to guide her through this journey of discovery.
We travel deeper, passing fitting rooms and registers, as her questions grow more eager with each revelation. “Your grandmother was very skilled with a pair of scissors, needles, and thread.” Stopping short, she glares up at me.
Then her gaze switches back to a stunning flapper dress—navy blue with silver glitter that sparkle like stars. “I never knew her, never even knew her name.” Desire encompasses her, “Just that she was beautiful.”
“She was beautiful and still is.” Without thought, the words are out before I can stop them. “I believe she is even more admirable now than ever.”
Just like that, as if nothing else in the world mattered, she begins bombarding me with questions, “You know her?” Her eyes are like saucers as the excitement surges through her veins. “Does she live here?”
I stagger a little, trying to appear frightened, pausing to give myself a moment to recover a response. “Yes, your family has been a big part of my existence.” Don’t ramble. I tell myself in thought. “Yes, I know her. As for her being here, not currently, but she does live here.”
“Well, when will she be back? Does she know about my sister and I?” My brows furrow as I try to hide my sorrow. There is so much I wish I could tell her, but it just isn't the right time. No, there is so much she still needs to know before questions can be answered. She must have noticed my hesitation, as she responds, “I... I’m sorry.” I use the padded side of my fingers, moving her chin to guide her gaze to mine, while stroking my thumb over her bottom lip.
“The time will come when all your questions will have an answer.” With a long face, she nods, releasing a small sigh. I press on, “For now, I will be able to sleep better just knowing you are familiar with the grounds.”
Suddenly, an idea sparks. One I know will get her mind off the subject at hand. “I have something I need to show you.” I flatten my hand in front of her as I give her a semi-bow.
This can go one of two ways: It can strike a match of anger or open the flood gates of sorrow.
“For me?” She raises an eyebrow. A small smirk, like a shy little mouse in search of some cheese, creeps across her face.
“Are you going to take my hand?” A dark tone vines its way up my throat, “Or am I going to have to make you?” Then, the moment we shared in the alley comes into focus, occupying all the space in my brain. I struggle to fight back the intrusive thoughts, that only get stronger as she takes my hand with no further questions.
I lead her to the next shop, and warmth floods my heart as I hear her gasp. Turning to face her, I see her hands clasped over her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes. “For real... can we enter?” She focuses on my face, waiting for my response.
“Of course, dove. It’s your family's shop.” I pause before I say my next words, “Your father’s shop.”
She looks up at me as I open the door, then barrels past me. It is nice to see her childish side, even if it is only the flicker of a moment. Closing the door to the toy store, I chuckle as she runs straight for the little wooden dolls.
“Lolli, oh my Sweet Lolli.” She picks one up with blonde curly hair and a teal dress adorned with daisies and accessorized with white bloomers. “My Father made my sister and me matching dolls like this.” She starts her story, but what she doesn't know is that I am already aware of this tale. She continues, “It was funny. Evelyn and I fought over their names at first, wanting to name them the same thing. So, our father, being the smartest man I have ever known, split the name in two. Lolli and Poppy.”
I knew every bit of her life, and still, I drag a stool over, and rest one leg over it while the other touches the floor. With my elbow on my knee, I canted forward, illustrating my interest and eagerness for her to continue.
Chapter 11
Emory
"Childhood memories are the roots that anchor us, even as we grow into storms."
It feels like a dream to hold this doll in my arms again. My face starts to burn with sadness. I remember how the garage used to smell of cedar and herbs, while my father hunched over his table. His whittling tools are displayed before him, while a sage aroma fills the room from the incense burner, riddled with ashes, that sat perched beside him. The memory of the day he laid the dolls in our lap materializing before me.
Evelyn and I were five, I think. I’m not too sure. Our mother told us when we were older that she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with us. If I remember right, with us being so young, it’s not a direct memory. Later in life, she told us that while our dad was working, we wouldn’t eat and we would sleep all day. He rushed home from work, quickly putting us in the car, no care for buckling us in.
