by Elle Lewis
Dark Touch
Elle Lewis
© Copyright Elle Lewis 2018
Black Rose Writing | Texas
© 2018 by Elle Lewis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.
First digital version
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Print ISBN: 978-1-68433-176-5
PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING
www.blackrosewriting.com
Print edition produced in the United States of America
Thank you so much for checking out one of our Paranormal Fantasy novels.
If you enjoy this book, please check out our recommended title for your next great read!
The Graveyard Girl and the Boneyard Boy by Martin Matthews
“… a compelling and eminently likable cast of characters.” –Authors Reading
I dedicate this book to Bradley and Grayson, the two greatest loves of my life. Special thanks to Amy and Kevin Morris, for your belief and help in dark times.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Recommended Reading
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE - TOUCH
CHAPTER TWO - KOI
CHAPTER THREE - UNFINISHED BUSINESS
CHAPTER FOUR - THE SIX O’CLOCK NEWS
CHAPTER FIVE - BLOOD WORK
CHAPTER SIX - WIND, RAIN, AND CONCRETE
CHAPTER SEVEN - OLD JOE
CHAPTER EIGHT - AN UNEXPECTED PHONE CALL
CHAPTER NINE - ROMANTICISM
CHAPTER TEN - COFFEE AND RESEARCH
CHAPTER ELEVEN - GREEN TEA
CHAPTER TWELVE - PLOTS
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - APOLOGIES
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - HIS STORY
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - SUNRISE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - ALLIGATORS AND FABRIC SOFTNER
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - GOODBYE
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - HALLOWEEN HORRORS
CHAPTER NINETEEN - THE WARRIORS OF THE GUILD
CHAPTER TWENTY - LOVE AND WOUNDS
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE - NYX
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - WATER FOREST
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - ALEO AND INIGO
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - GENESIS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BRW Info
CHAPTER ONE
TOUCH
My fingers flew over the keyboard, contributing to the small orchestra of key strokes that echoed within the dismal office. The smell of burnt coffee and office paper hung on the air, bright florescent lights making everything appear over exposed. My eyes flicked to the clock on my computer—it was almost 5:15. Why did the last fifteen minutes of work always drag?
Schnakenberg and Associates was a small yet busy Seattle law firm, and I was lucky enough to have snagged the job of assistant to the executive assistant of small time defense attorney, Mark Schnakenberg. I usually left this small detail out when in conversation. It was ridiculous to say I was an assistant to an assistant, but—well, there you have it.
The sound of tinkling rain outside rose to a loud crescendo, thundering noisily over the office chatter. I rolled my chair backward to peek around the dull cubical wall that surrounded my desk to watch the rain through one of the only windows that existed in the building. Wet streams poured down the glass, glistening like liquid silver. The perpetual rain and gloom of Seattle was an adjustment from Los Angeles, where the warm sun coated everything like sticky honey. Here, the deep grey storm clouds always seemed so close. The constant rain created a dark world, filled with delicate strands of emerald grass that swayed beneath a stormy sky. I watched the water pour down, dumbfounded that a year had already passed since I left home. An unwanted rush of memories flooded my mind, tightening my throat.
The overweight form of my boss and his skinny red-haired executive assistant snapped me back into the present. Mark Schnakenberg barreled down the aisle, barking instructions as Penny tittered behind him balancing a huge stack of paperwork. Mark Schnakenberg had greasy dark hair which was combed to the side, and every day without fail, he wore the most disgusting putrid green tie.
I immediately rolled back into my cubicle and began typing frantically, trying to look busy. Mark passed by quickly. Penny on the other hand stopped outside of my cubicle, a tight smile on her face.
“I can’t tell what you accomplish more Sloan,” she said. “Work or day dreaming.” Penny had an annoyingly high voice and typically addressed people as if they were petulant children.
I turned and plastered a smile on my face. “Work of course, Penny.”
She snickered, still holding the gigantic stack of paperwork. Penny Pidanskey was tall and painfully thin, her red hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her business outfits were typically devoid of color, which didn’t help her complexion. She was extremely pale, and not in the good way like when people use the words fair or porcelain. It literally seemed as if she was drained of all color.
“We are doing important work, Miss Stolar,” she chided. “Upholding the law, keeping clients out of jail and here you are, watching the rain.”
She waited, expectant. My eyes flicked to the clock again. Five-twenty. Ten more minutes.
“Is there something I can help with, Penny?” I asked, politely.
“Well, Mark and I just left a very important disposition and I will need you to finish these before the end of the day.” She slapped the stack of paperwork on my desk. “Now, when you are finished kindly place them on my desk and I will review them on Monday.”
I looked at the huge mound of paperwork. My heart fell. It would easily take several hours. “Penny, it’s Friday night.” Not that I had any plans. I was just going to make the long drive home and spend the night working on art like usual, but still. Was she serious?
“Well then, you had better get started!” She began walking away and then stopped. “Oh, and one last thing, Sloan. Mark drinks a VENTI CAPPUCCINO. Not a latte. Not a mocha. CAP-PU-CCINO.” She enunciated every syllable. “I always have a tall black coffee. That cold blended thing you brought me this morning was just awful.”
We already had this discussion this morning—in front of the entire office. But of course, she wanted to go over it again—because the only thing she loved more than ugly clothes was to boss me around. “Okay, Penny. No problem.”
“So, you will get it right on Monday? Or do I need to write it down for you?”
It took herculean effort to keep my face neutral. “No, I got it.”
A smile popped on her face. “Great! See you Monday!”
I scooted back up to my desk and rested my chin in my hand, brooding. It was 5:30. I could hear everyone in the office heading for the elevators. Leaving to meet friends at a bar, maybe go on a date, or simply go home to their families. I grabbed a hair tie from my bag and pulled my
long black hair into a bun, and then reached for the mountain of paperwork. I didn’t mind working in an empty office. I liked being alone. It was familiar and oddly comforting. Being around a lot of people made me feel out of place. They always seemed to pester me with personal questions, which I in no way wanted to answer. Not that I was anti-social or anything.
*
It was still raining when I got to my car, an old white Jeep Wrangler. The Jeep was beat-up but ran great. I lived in Issaquah, a picturesque mountain town to the east of Seattle. The drive to and from the city was a little long, especially with traffic, but Issaquah was much more affordable than living in the city. Besides, there was something about the small town that caught my attention when I first moved here.
Despite the rain, the city brimmed with people. Wet droplets glistened off colorful umbrellas and galoshes that boldly poked through the gloom. The tall buildings stretched into the stormy night sky, city lights reflecting in the big black puddles that filled the slick roads. The traffic light up ahead flicked to red. I eased onto the breaks.
I looked at the city as I waited, noting how all the colors and lights mingled on the wet concrete like melted crayons.
That’s when I saw him.
He stood to my left, at the corner of Marion and 5th, a homeless man soaked in the pouring rain. He held a limp cardboard sign, the words nearly washed away. He wore ragged clothes that hung loosely off his emaciated body.
I usually never did this. Maybe it was because Penny had been such a bitch to me today and I felt inspired to be a good person. I reached in my bag and fished for spare cash. I finally found a five hiding at the bottom, and I rolled down my window. I held it out to him, the cold rain splashing on my skin. He headed towards my car, walking slowly and with a limp. As he approached, I noticed that he had the strangest shade of white hair. It was cut close to his head, but the color was icy and pale, like snow.
He stood next to my window for a few moments, staring at me. His features were strange, his bone structure sharp and angular.
I shook the money. “Take it.”
The man smiled slowly. Rain slithered down his face, pooling at the corners of his lips. He reached out but instead of simply taking the money, his entire hand wrapped around mine. I felt uncomfortable and quickly regretted my decision to help a stranger. I tried to slide my hand out of his, but his fingers tightened with a surprising amount of strength. And then, before I could do anything else, an electric current raced into my hand. It felt as if an invisible fire had left his fingers and entered my own. I gasped, jerking my arm back in an instinctive reaction to the pain. But the stranger held on, his grip unwavering. And the pain began to intensify.
A strangled little scream escaped my lips. “Stop! Let go of me! What are you doing?” I pulled my hand in earnest, using all my strength, desperate to unlock my hand from his. And then, the man began to laugh. The sound was coated with sinister intent. It was as if darkness had awoken and then crawled out of his mouth. One thought sprang to my mind—evil.
Chills went down my spine and my heartbeat increased to an alarming rate. I stopped trying to break his grip and looked up into his eyes. What I saw made my stomach warm with fear. The man’s eyes were now utterly black. The whites of his eyes, even his irises, were pitch dark. I stared into two fathomless pits.
I froze, my breath coming out in quick panicked gasps. And then, quickly and suddenly, he let me go. As he drew away, he trailed a finger down the back of my hand. I watched as he walked away from my car, eventually fading into the rainy night.
I sat in shock, my breathing and heart rate still much too fast. My left hand continued to burn. I cradled it to my chest, tears springing into my eyes. What the fuck just happened?
The blare of a car horn from behind made me jump. I realized that the light had finally turned green. I eased the car forward and made myself grip the wheel with both hands. My entire body trembled. I could feel a cold spot of sweat on my lower back.
“Shit, what the hell?” I said aloud.
The rain thundered in a steady torrent as I turned onto the interstate. I felt extremely shaken and couldn’t seem to calm down. All I wanted was to get home. I pushed the car to nearly a hundred mph, which wasn’t smart considering the weather, but fuck it. The rain thundered loudly on my roof, the windshield wipers scraping continuously against the glass. The night had morphed into something menacing. The forest that lined the interstate even appeared ominous, with its dark shadows and gnarled branches that looked like hands, reaching for me.
To distract myself, I turned on the radio. Music flooded the silent car. My hand hurt, but even stranger, the pain was moving. It began at my fingertips and was steadily creeping up my arm. It was almost to my shoulder now.
I took in a deep breath and let it out, trying to calm down. Get a grip, Sloan. Slowly, I released my death grip on the steering wheel and let up off the gas, easing the car down to the speed limit. I flicked on the overhead light and unbuckled my seatbelt so that I could take off my rain coat. I rolled up my left sleeve and looked at my hand and arm. There was nothing visibly wrong. My pale skin was smooth. Normal. No marks, no bruises, nothing. It made me feel a little better, but my heart didn’t want to slow down. It beat violently, like a sledgehammer rhythmically pounding inside my chest.
I turned off the overhead light and focused on the road, trying to think about something else. Maybe if I did, my heartrate would return to normal. Happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts. There wasn’t much to pull from. My mind typically orbited planet morbid. I took in another deep breath, let it out slowly, and thought about my house in Issaquah. It was the one thing that could usually cheer me up.
It was a small house, at the end of a very long road in the mountains. At night, little lights peeked out from all different spots on the mountain side, giving away the locations of other homes that were nestled among the trees. Mine wasn’t much to look at. The outside was a faded gray color, and it only had one bedroom and one bathroom. Every room in the house was small, except for the garage, which was wide and spacious. I had turned it into an art room, always parking the Jeep outside on the long driveway.
Yellow tulips grew everywhere around it. There was a graceful cherry tree to the left of the driveway that sprouted bright pink blossoms in the spring. The kitchen was also very small, with barely any room to cook. But it had a window that faced the woods like a picture frame. All my furniture was mismatched, purchased at a few different garage sales.
As soon as I got home, I would go into the garage and work on some art, just like any other night, and everything would be fine. Everything will be fine. I repeated this over and over in my mind for the rest of the drive, desperately trying not to think about how his eyes had turned into pure, black, nothingness.
*
I parked the car and cut the engine, listening. The rain had finally stopped, the trees softly swaying in the night air. It took all my self-control not to run to the door. My eyes watched the shadows as I walked up the driveway, my heart still beating abnormally fast. I unlocked the front door with shaky hands, and then immediately locked it behind me. The house was completely dark. I hurriedly turned on all the lights and then went to the bathroom and undressed in front of the mirror.
My skin was creamy white, and no matter how I turned and twisted, I couldn’t find anything wrong. I leaned in closer, gently prodding the skin on my left arm and shoulder. The burning pain remained constant. It seemed to be radiating from beneath my skin, as if my blood had caught fire.
I yanked my jet-black hair out of the bun, letting it fall. It tumbled in waves down my back. My eyes were a vibrant hazel. I had full shapely pink lips, which right now were nearly quivering. I didn’t know what to think and felt extremely scared.
I pulle
d on some sweats and an oversized T-shirt, grabbed my cell phone and went into the garage. There were two shelves pressed against each wall, lined with art supplies. A worn old red couch was tucked in one corner, where I usually sat and outlined my next project. My favorite way to work was to open the garage door and listen to the rain, but tonight it would stay closed. There was an overhead light, plus two extra standing work lamps. I turned on all three and then sat on the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest.
I stared at my art project that lay in the center of the room. Lately I had been experimenting with gluing broken pieces of glass together to make a colorful mural. Off to the side was an easel and canvas, with a painting for art class half finished. I had planned to work on the painting all weekend, including tonight, as it was due next week. But I was too freaked out to paint.
I turned my cell phone over and over in my hand, debating on calling Millie, my one and only friend in Seattle. I moved here exactly one year ago, last October. Once I was settled, I signed up for the spring art class at Seattle University. Millie and I met in class during that first semester. It was the only subject I was enrolled in, but we had taken another class together over the summer and were currently enrolled in advanced art for the fall. Millie and her boyfriend Donovan were both full time students.
It was a little after eleven. She was most likely still awake, but at the moment I really didn’t feel like talking. Millie would immediately know something was wrong and would ask a million questions. There was no point worrying her. Especially over something I wasn’t even sure of myself.
I shuddered as I thought of the way his eyes had turned completely black. There had to be a way to reason through it. I racked my brain for a logical answer but came up with nothing. It was impossible for a person’s eyes to suddenly melt into black nothingness.