And Soon Comes the Darkness

by Angelique Archer

  Oh, good one, Damon. What a dick.

  He disappeared into her bedroom, and Cora heard the door shut in the bathroom. She looked at Marisa’s body one last time, wishing she could cover her stunned eyes and bloody mouth with a sheet.

  But she didn’t have the ability or the time. She tugged at her bonds again in agitation, swearing Damon was a fisherman based on the knots. She wouldn’t be escaping them anytime soon.

  Cora twisted around in her seat, hoping to find something useful.

  The only thing even remotely close to her was the bookshelf, laden with rows of books she loved or wrote herself and trinkets she’d collected over the years. The antique ink pen and ink pot caught her eye.

  The pen was the only sharp object she had any hope of reaching. With it, she could cut through the ropes around her wrists. It was her only chance.

  She jumped in her seat as much as she could manage, trying to push off the ground with her feet and propel herself; the chair jerked back several inches.

  Encouraged, Cora’s eyes darted back to the bedroom, then she jumped again.

  Closer.

  Again.

  Almost there.

  She strained her fingers to reach for the ink pen, her teeth clenched in unshakable determination.

  “What are you doing exactly?”

  She stiffened.

  Damon stood at the entrance to the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe, watching her intently.

  He still had the knife in his hand, but the blade had been cleaned.

  “What do you want from me, Damon?”

  When he started walking toward her, she recoiled.

  You’re next.

  Think, Cora! Think!

  “Please. Please. Just give me one more shot. One more story. Just one. I promise you, you’ll like this one.”

  Damon glanced at his sister and sighed heavily. “I guess there’s no rush to get rid of the body. It’s not like anyone is going to find us out here.”

  Truth right there.

  It was a daunting reality, and Cora tried not to let it shake her as she conjured up another tale.

  He waved for her to begin.

  “One more shot, Cora.”

  .

  .

  THE VALLEY OF ASH AND SHADOWS

  Prologue

  THE VALLEY OF ASH AND SHADOWS

  Wichita Springs, San Bordelo Mountain Pass

  G areth Hayes lifted his pickaxe and brought it down hard on the rock face. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he bent forward to take a closer look at his handiwork. He furrowed his brows, confused. There were only slight chips in the rock. The progress he was hoping to see after cutting away at it for the last hour wasn’t there.

  The dim yellow bulbs hanging from the walls of the mine flickered momentarily and then went out entirely, catapulting them into complete darkness. The sound of jack hammers and drills came to an abrupt halt.

  Generators must be out of gas, Gareth thought.

  He stretched his arms out and felt for the wall. A damp chill filled the narrow walkways suddenly, an icy breath against his sweaty skin. This had been happening with greater frequency as of late, inexplicable and random.

  He leaned against the wall and sighed, waiting for the lights to turn on once more. He was getting too old for this.

  When the lights came back on again, the frosty air left with it, and the men exhaled with relief.

  “Hayes! Did I say you could take a break?” Tony Hibbitt, the foreman, barked at him.

  Gareth picked up his pickaxe and turned away so that Hibbitt didn’t see him roll his eyes. Hibbitt was a terrible boss and bullied them into working through their short lunch breaks or staying far past their regular hours. If anyone challenged him in the slightest, he would threaten to fire them or would berate them mercilessly in front of the others, like a military drill sergeant yelling at an unkempt private.

  As Hibbitt retreated, Gareth reached for his flask on the inside of his coveralls. He took a swig of Jack Daniels, pausing to enjoy his delicious moment of peace.

  This wasn’t always my life, Gareth reflected. Before this, he was a father to a beautiful, sweet little girl. And he left it all, like a damned coward.

  He took another swig, this one longer than the first.

  Gareth had been working with this crew for around a decade or so, living in Wichita Springs the whole time. Usually a miner stayed put, unless there were problems with the foreman or work demands fluctuated. Gareth couldn’t afford to be kicked off of this gig. The area wasn’t ideal, but it was quiet, and he liked that. After leaving Indiana the way he did, he had a lot of making up to do with his daughter.

  He pocketed the flask, hating himself for indulging in his addiction. His thoughts went to his junkie ex-wife, the reason he’d started drinking all those years ago. Gareth swung down the pickaxe in anger.

  Still, he was at fault for what had transpired.

  A long day at work, too many drinks after, and a backhand to a crying little girl had been the perfect storm for disaster. Before he could register what had happened, the night had taken a downward spiral, and no amount of apologizing could ever fix what he’d done. Gareth had packed his things that night and didn’t look back, unwilling to face the consequences of his actions. He spent most of his waking hours at the mine, and when he had a day off, he would drown his sorrows with the only friends he had: Jack, Jim, and Jose.

  Years later, his little girl was here, now all grown up, and he finally had the shot at the redemption he’d been hoping for since that fateful night.

  It was his first Christmas with her since she was a child, and Gareth wanted it to be special. His daughter needed him, and this time, he was going to be the father she deserved.

  Gareth lifted the pickaxe and swung again, newfound resolve burning in his veins. A large chunk of the rock face plummeted down, and he felt a momentary sense of relief.

  But when the rock continued to collapse, Gareth stepped back in alarm.

  All at once, the generators shut off again, plunging the men into darkness. A hazy red glow peeked through the crevices of rock.

  Gareth’s skin prickled. There was no way they’d be seeing a light source this far beneath the surface.

  Before he could say anything further, the rock face gave way to a large hole. Gareth took a few tentative steps forward, fear and curiosity pumping adrenaline through his body.

  “Hayes! What the hell did you do?” Hibbitt yelled.

  Gareth turned to him and shrugged.

  Hibbitt glared at him, but his frown disappeared.

  Before he could see what had stunned Hibbitt, Gareth felt a sharp sensation in the small of his back, and then nothing at all. His blood splattered across Hibbitt’s face as he fell to the ground, slamming his knees on the rocks. Looking back toward the hole he created, Gareth could only see a white blur of who or what had wounded him. He could feel his blood pouring down his abdomen and legs and knew he only had a few moments left before he bled out.

  Chilling screams and pleas for mercy echoed all around.

  As his life faded from him, all he could think about was one thing.

  Olive.

  Chapter I

  THE VALLEY OF ASH AND SHADOWS

  December 24th, Christmas Eve

  T he bell on the front door jingled cheerfully, causing Mitch Connor to look up from restocking the cigarette cartons.

  A pretty blonde walked in, her green eyes wide.

  He rested his hands against the counter and gave her a charming grin.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  She blushed and looked about hurriedly. “Merry Christmas. Where’s the restroom, please?”

  Mitch pointed to the back.

  “Thank you!” she said and rushed off.

  Mitch shook his head and smiled, rolling up the sleeves of his red and black flannel shirt. What a woman like that, clearly from the city, was doing in these parts was a mystery to him. He glanced out the window, seei
ng a single car by the gas pumps. A man stood in front of the credit card reader, blowing into his hands before punching his PIN into the machine.

  Mitch scratched his head. The gas station sat on a desolate two-lane road that was sprinkled with the occasional pocket of civilization. The couple was clearly out of their element, poorly dressed with light winter jackets not suitable for the freezing temperatures and shoes that didn’t stand a chance against the ice and snow.

  Presumably, they were headed to Cherryton which was rumored to be a whimsical Christmas town that drew tourists in droves. Mitch had never been to Cherryton and had no intention to set foot in that tourist trap. He’d lived his entire life in Wichita Springs, a mining town comprised mostly of trailer parks in a valley flanked by mountains.

  He heard the bathroom door swing shut. The blonde meandered down the aisle and came to a stop in front of the candy before selecting a couple Reese’s peanut butter cups.

  She looked down shyly as she paid for the chocolate, long, dark lashes skimming her cheeks.

  “Thank you,” she told him and quickly grabbed the treats. The bell above the door jingled again as she left.

  “Merry Christmas,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. Mitch had almost forgotten that tomorrow was Christmas. It wasn’t like he’d put up a tree this year or spent his free time baking Christmas cookies. The holidays were blurred together these days, and he had stopped celebrating them a long time ago.

  Mitch watched the blonde walk out to her car. He rapped his knuckles against the counter before brushing his fingertips across his back pocket. He pulled at the corner of something cold and metallic, but slid it back in just as quickly.

  He longed for a better life, a life filled with purpose and love and happiness, but Mitch doubted he would see that dream come to fruition as long as he stayed in Wichita Springs.

  A few minutes later, an old man slowly sauntered into the store. His eyebrows were bushy and white, and tufts of gray hair popped out around his woolen flat cap. He waved at Mitch, his cheeks rosy as he dusted snow off of his coat. “Merry Christmas, young man!”

  Mitch nodded to him. The old man made his way to the coffee pot next to the fountain drink dispenser. When he arrived at the cash register, he saw something that caught his eye and reached down to grab it. “Might as well get this, too!” he added, sliding a Snickers bar along the counter.

  “Headed anywhere for the holidays?” Mitch asked him. It was a stupid question feigning familiarity and interest since most everyone who came to the gas station was just passing through. Mitch didn’t really care, and he had no plans himself, but he felt like it was the polite question to ask this time of year.

  “Going to the Cherryton train station to visit my son and his family for Christmas in Piedmont.” He pulled out his wallet. “Twenty on pump two, and whatever all this mess is.”

  Mitch wavered for the briefest of seconds, then ran up the items while the old man watched the snow fall outside. “It’s mighty fine out there, all that snow. Like a snow globe or somethin’, don’t ya think?”

  “Sure,” Mitch replied. “That’ll be twenty-four dollars and forty cents.”

  The old man’s eyebrows lifted suddenly, his mouth forming a perfect “o” in surprise. “Prices are goin’ up, eh?” He grabbed the Snickers and his coffee, then held the candy bar up triumphantly. “My son has been telling me for ten years to stop eating this garbage seein’ as I’m a diabetic,” he said, leaning in to confide in Mitch. “But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He grinned jovially and chuckled to himself.

  “Hey, you only live once,” Mitch responded, mirroring the man’s chuckle a bit awkwardly.

  The old man paused at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. “Hey, I didn’t ask you about your plans for Christmas.”

  Mitch shrugged. “Nothing special. I’ll probably just spend it with my mom in Wichita Springs.”

  The man nodded. “That sounds special to me. What I wouldn’t give to enjoy Christmas with my mother again. Don’t ever take your parents for granted, son. They won’t be around forever.” Tipping his hat at him, he hobbled out the door to a Caprice Classic parked in the front.

  Mitch closed the cash register and pulled a lottery ticket from the roll in front of him.

  “Thank you, Grandpa Christmas,” he said, taking a coin from a plastic bowl of pennies to scratch at the ticket. The old man was the first person who might have noticed the extra dollar tacked onto his bill. Mitch should have known better; older folks were notorious for being penny pinchers.

  Mitch had never been caught, but he figured he had nothing to lose even if he did. What was the worst that could happen? He would get fired?

  While he’d never had any big plans to be a doctor or a lawyer, he definitely hadn’t imagined his future working as a gas station attendant on a desolate mountain pass. Maybe one day he’d hit the jackpot, and when he did, he and his mother would be on the first train out.

  ***

  Mitch wasn’t scheduled to get off the clock until later that evening, but he decided to close the store early as the snow was accumulating quickly on the roads, and he had a perilous drive ahead of him to get to Wichita Springs. He grabbed his jacket and threw the unlucky lottery ticket in the trash can to join the other crumpled up tickets in the bin. Slipping on his gloves, he took the keychain from the counter and turned the OPEN sign hanging on the door to CLOSED.

  Outside it was windy and bitterly cold. He hastily got into his old Ford pick-up truck and turned the key in the ignition. Christmas music blared from the speakers, and he cursed loudly and instantly shut off the radio. He held his hands against the vents until the icy air blowing through finally changed to heat, then drove the car out of the tiny parking lot and onto the two-lane road toward home.

  It was nearly impossible to see anything through the windshield. The snow was heavy and thick, giant snowflakes piling onto the glass faster than he could wipe them off. Mitch found himself going less than thirty miles an hour, which meant getting home would take even longer than he’d first anticipated.

  He didn’t know why he was in such a hurry to get home; there was nothing exciting waiting for him, no Christmas feast spread out on the dining room table, no presents under a tree.

  Sounded like a downright miserable holiday to add to the countless ones he’d been having for years.

  But maybe it was something the old man had said.

  He was coming down the mountain just as Wichita Springs came into view, tiny trailers dotting the valley. It was then that he noticed it.

  It was almost five, and normally the sun would be setting, shades of amber splashed across the sky as it disappeared on the horizon, giving way to darkness.

  But there was no sun.

  The sky was an angry, fiery, blood red.

  The Ford sputtered suddenly, and Mitch felt the wheel tighten as he lost power steering.

  “What the hell?”

  The truck was old, but she’d never let him down once.

  He pulled off to the side of the road, agitated to his core. Who was going to come get him on Christmas Eve? Taking his cell phone from his jacket pocket, he tried to think of someone who could give him a lift. He made it to the bottom of his contacts list before realizing he didn’t have reception anyways.

  Snowflakes landed on his face, and he removed his gloves to wipe off the flakes. His fingers felt dry when he pulled them away. When he looked down at his hands, his heart stopped for the briefest of moments.

  It wasn’t snow that was falling anymore.

  His fingertips were dark with smeared ashes.

  Chapter II

  THE VALLEY OF ASH AND SHADOWS

  December 23rd, two days before Christmas

  “C helsea Whitman, come on down!” the announcer boomed as the “Price is Right” theme song played from the television speakers.

  The image of the ecstatic guest running onto the stage was blurry at best, white static occasionally
obscuring her face. The raucous applause from the audience was unbearable.

  Luella gave an exasperated sigh and reached for the remote, her arthritic fingers grasping for the device. She was tired of watching television and needed a nap.

  Most of the day was spent in the living room which had been transformed into a miniature hospital set-up, with a special incline bed, heart rate and other vital sign monitors… everything to keep her alive a little longer.

  Her fingertips brushed along the edge of the remote, but she couldn’t quite get a grip on it. The height of the medical bed mixed with her larger than average size was an accident waiting to happen, and before she could stop it, the bed was precariously balanced on two legs and immediately toppled onto her. Her right side crashed into the corner of the coffee table that held the remote, and a burst of pain shot through her entire body.

  “Heeelp” she wailed pitifully, coughing and wheezing over the sound of the television program. She tried to lift herself up, but stabbing pain kept her frozen in place.

  Finally, Luella gave up and lay motionless, frustrated tears streaming down her weathered cheeks.

  A few moments later, she opened her eyes wide, startled by the slam of the trailer door opening.

  Her son bounded through the living room in a panic. His eyes frantically scanned the room until they settled on Luella prone across the carpet.

  “Mom!” he cried out, running to her side to help her.

  “Mitch,” she whispered feebly.

  He gently leveraged her until she was upright. “I heard you scream,” he told her, breathless. “I thought someone had broken in.” Still holding her with one arm, he pushed the overturned bed to its rightful position. “Are you hurt?” His hands searched her face, her arms. She flinched when he touched her hip.