The Dark Hour

by Erin Lanter

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any reference to a real location or business establishment is used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 Erin Lanter

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-7357188-2-8

  ISBN: 978-1-7357188-3-5 (e-book)

  To my mom, Cindy, for nurturing in me a love of reading and mystery, and to my dad, Larry, who passed on his love of writing and creativity to me. I love you both!

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  62

  63

  64

  65

  66

  67

  68

  69

  70

  71

  72

  73

  74

  75

  76

  77

  78

  79

  80

  81

  82

  83

  84

  85

  86

  87

  88

  89

  90

  91

  92

  93

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Acknowledgements

  1

  Mama taught me monsters are real. They live under the bed, in the closet, and inside your head. They lurk in the darkness, waiting until you’re at your weakest, then like wild animals, they come out to devour you. You can’t stop them, and if you survive one, it’s only a matter of time until the next one overpowers you.

  Tessa James shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she waited for Dr. Raymond to call her back to his office.

  How can I possibly tell that to another human being? Tessa wondered. No one, no one, knew what was hidden in the deepest corners of her mind, and she’d worked a lifetime to make sure it stayed that way.

  She shifted again and glanced around the waiting room. It was meant to be soothing, she supposed, but the music being piped into the room and the water cascading down the tabletop fountain did nothing to calm her anxiety. It just made her have to pee.

  Uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, Tessa noticed her pants clinging to the backs of her thighs. Circles darkened her shirt under her armpits. Shaking her dangling foot, she was certain she smelled of nervous sweat.

  When a small man with heavy eyebrows resting above equally heavy eyeglasses appeared, she drew in a sharp breath, fighting the urge to bolt. Tessa stood and walked through the waiting room, past the fountain, and into a well-decorated office. A large, L-shaped desk dominated the right side of the room. The half dozen framed degrees, licenses, and awards hanging on the wall were a testament that someone thought he was qualified to dig into a person’s most private thoughts. A small grouping of wingback chairs sat to the left. Straight ahead, a fish tank took up half the wall, the focal point from every direction.

  Settling into the chair closest to the door, Tessa deposited her purse on the floor. She was sure Dr. Raymond would have a theory about why she chose that particular seat. Once she was as comfortable as she could ever be in a shrink’s office, Tessa glanced up, realizing he’d been watching her. He sat with his legs crossed, an elbow propped on the arm of the chair, resting his chin on his knuckles. A typical shrink pose.

  What a way to start the week, she thought.

  “Ms. James, tell me what brings you in to see me today.” Dr. Raymond’s voice was soothing, and much deeper than she’d expected considering his slight frame.

  She watched the fish swim to and fro, never making any real progress.

  Just like my life, she thought.

  Without taking her eyes from the fish, Tessa said, “I have a hard time trusting people, I guess.”

  When she turned back to him, Tessa had the feeling he could see right through her.

  “You guess?” he urged. “Don’t you know?”

  She quickly flipped her light brown hair over her shoulder and tore her gaze away from the man who was supposed to help her. “Yes, I do. I have a hard time trusting people.” She exhaled deeply. There, she’d said it.

  “Can you be more specific?”

  Tessa cleared her throat and scooted back in her chair. She hadn’t felt this fidgety since she was a child. “People’s motives for the things they say and do. I don’t trust them. What are they trying to gain by being nice to me? Are they saying one thing but thinking another? I grew up believing a lot of things about people. That they are trustworthy wasn’t one of them.” To be more specific than that, she’d have to bust down her protective wall, something she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to do.

  Dr. Raymond nodded then scribbled a note on the legal pad in his lap. He continued looking at her.

  Tessa let the silence float between them for a few minutes. She wasn’t being deliberately uncooperative; she just had no idea how to open up to someone else.

  Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a slender index finger, Dr. Raymond said, “The first thing we need to do is dig into your beliefs about people. Then we’ll see if they’re really true. Healing can’t truly begin until you’ve faced the root of your mistrust.”

  He made it sound so easy, but he might as well have asked her to climb Mount Everest. She looked at the clock. At least she still had thirty minutes for him to tell her where to begin.

  For the next twenty-five minutes, they began to chip away at the layers, but until she felt comfortable enough to share her own vulnerabilities, she would sacrifice her mother, a woman who wasn’t there to defend herself.

  As the minute hand rolled toward the ten, Dr. Raymond said, “This is good.”

  Not really, Doc, Tessa thought. It’s pretty much screwed up my entire life.

  He went on. “Next time I want us to look at how your mother’s beliefs and behaviors have impacted you and shaped your view of people.” He glanced at his watch. “That’s all the time we have for today. Next week we’ll get into the hard work.”

  Tessa collected her purse and stood. As she turned to leave, she muttered, “Thank you.”

  This was going to be a long, bumpy road.

  Nodding briefly at the receptionist on her way through the waiting room, Tessa was relieved. She’d ripped off the Band-Aide. It felt good to hear from someone else that the things she’d learned from Mama might be lies.

  Even so, Tessa couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d betrayed her mother. Despite her problems, she’d raised Tessa to be a fully functionin
g, albeit mistrusting, adult.

  Once she was out of the building, Tessa stood on the sidewalk inhaling the scent of sunshine and car exhaust, wondering what Mama would think if she knew Tessa was planning to go looking for the monsters she’d always been warned about.

  2

  Laying the notes he’d taken during his session with Tessa James aside, Dr. Harold Raymond leaned forward, massaged his lower back, then settled back into his top-of-the-line, ergonomic chair. Even though the living room environment of his office made client sessions feel more relaxed, he hated sitting in the wingback chairs. Each session aggravated an old skiing injury, sending his lower back into spasm.

  At sixty-eight years old, it had been years since he went down the slopes. He always felt larger than life whizzing down the snow-covered mountains, but since his injury, the adrenaline rush was just a memory.

  He picked up his legal pad and read his notes from the last fifty minutes.

  The first session was always the hardest. Many new clients were hesitant to share their deeply personal problems. Others didn’t even know where to start.

  Tessa James had both things working against her.

  As a practicing clinical psychologist for more than forty years, he’d become exceptionally skilled at nudging clients past their barriers. Tessa would require more than a nudge.

  He glanced up at his fish tank, watching his finned friends swim back and forth, turning back only when they ran out of room to move forward.

  How very much like life, Dr. Raymond thought, shaking his head. People only came to him when they could no longer move forward on their own.

  He pulled the keyboard tray from under his desk, his fingers flew across the keys as he typed his case notes about Tessa James.

  Client is a thirty-four-year-old Caucasian female. She states she’s been struggling with trust issues her whole life. Her goal is to evaluate the belief that people are untrustworthy and work toward allowing herself to trust others. Client stated her mother taught her that others were dangerous and would hurt her if given the opportunity. Client deflected many personal questions, choosing mostly to speak about her mother…

  Something about Tessa James troubled him. It wasn’t just that she didn’t trust him - why would she, considering her upbringing?

  Again, he watched the fish. His eyes tracked them back and forth, the movement sparking something deep in his memory.

  She seemed so familiar. Had he seen her somewhere before? He definitely remembered those eyes – an unusual shade of blue, almost turquoise like the Caribbean Sea. Even the way she narrowed them and tilted her head to the side when she listened… He was sure they’d met before.

  But when?

  Before the memory could fully form, his secretary buzzed him, letting him know his next client was waiting. He’d be working late. Again.

  Gathering his notepad and pen, his curiosity about Tessa James faded into the background as he prepared himself for his next session.

  Looking into her psychological history would have to wait.

  3

  The bus wheezed to a stop. Tessa pressed her purse to her side with an elbow and inched her way forward up the steps. Three days and the mechanic still didn’t know what was wrong with her car. Until he figured it out, Tessa was at the mercy of the city bus system.

  As she ascended the last step, the pungent smell of public transportation filled her nose. Hot, sweaty bodies crowded together, vying for a seat near the air vent. The fatigue on the other passengers’ faces made it clear they just wanted to go home and forget about the day.

  After the day she’d had, that was Tessa’s plan, too.

  The bus lurched forward, full of sweaty sardines trying not to make eye contact with each other. That was fine by Tessa. She wasn’t in the mood.

  Finally, the bus reached her stop. As the door hissed open, she broke free from the crowd and began the half-mile walk from the bus stop to her front door. As she trudged down the sidewalk, her slick feet slid around in her high heels. She could already feel a blister forming on the ball of her foot. Mid-July in Kentucky wasn’t the time to have to hoof it in heels.

  Drenched in sweat, she finally turned up her sidewalk and slid the key into the doorknob of the small ranch-style bungalow she’d been renting for the past year. Stepping over the threshold, she kicked off her shoes, certain if she listened hard enough, she could hear them singing the “Hallelujah” chorus.

  The house wasn’t much to look at, but it signified her independence. After she and Drew split a year ago, her lifestyle had changed drastically. Used to living on two incomes for the better part of a decade and, rarely wanting for anything, she hadn’t been prepared for the radical difference of living on her own modest salary. A news assistant didn’t make much, and the money she made was all there was. It was terrifying, even if oddly liberating. Built in the 1950’s, the house with its shabby decor, dated kitchen, and warped floors served as a gentle reminder that things could only get better.

  Things will get better. Won’t they? she’d wondered dozens of times since she moved in.

  Tessa dropped her keys on the kitchen table and walked through the living room toward the bedroom, flexing her toes into the carpet with each step. Whoever designed business clothes didn’t consider public transportation, she thought as she peeled off her slacks and the button-down shirt that had become plastered to her back. She grabbed a tank top and cotton shorts from her dresser and quickly put them on.

  Her stomach growled, a reminder that she’d skipped lunch. Since she hadn’t been to the grocery store in over a week, the refrigerator and pantry were bare. Staring at the almost empty shelves, she grimaced at the meager offerings, wishing the dry cereal and canned beans into a steak.

  She’d resigned herself to a pack of instant oatmeal and an apple when a knock at the door stopped her hand mid-reach.

  Tessa groaned.

  She walked the twelve feet from the kitchen to the front door and pasted a smile on her face, ready for forced pleasantry.

  Tessa bit the inside of her lip and thought, I just hope it’s not Lois. The last thing she needed was a nosy neighbor talking her ear off for the next forty-five minutes about how well her rosebushes were doing despite the heat.

  Why is she trying so hard to get to know me, anyway?

  A glance through the peephole made her stomach clench, and the hunger pangs were quickly replaced by nausea.

  4

  Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Tessa unlocked the deadbolt and allowed the door to swing inward.

  “What do you want?” she asked, turning on her heel and stalking back to the kitchen.

  Following her into the kitchen, Drew said, “I thought you might be hungry. I brought Mexican food.” He held up the bag of take-out like a trophy, beaming from ear to ear.

  Tessa stopped mid-step. He certainly knew what she liked. Why shouldn’t he? They’d been married almost ten years.

  She turned to face him. His jet-black hair with flecks of gray at the temples, crystal blue eyes, and crooked smile hadn’t lost their charm, even after all these years. If anything, missing him for the past year had made her appreciate them even more.

  I guess it’s true what they say about absence and the heart, Tessa thought.

  But the pain of his abandonment was still raw.

  “Is this supposed to be some kind of peace offering, Drew? Because you’re a little late for that. A couple enchiladas won’t make up for you walking out on me.”

  “What about enchiladas and salsa and guacamole?” Her anger had done nothing to dampen his megawatt smile and boyish charm.

  “It’s nothing to joke about,” Tessa snapped.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” he said, looking around the small house. “I just thought you might want dinner.”

  It occurred to Tessa that this was the first time Drew had seen her new place. She couldn’t imagine what he must have been thinking – only that it was a huge step down from what she had b
een used to.

  “I know how strapped you’ve been since we split…” Drew continued.

  “Since you split. I’ve been strapped since you split. I didn’t split, remember?” Venom laced her words. It was true, though. She’d gotten used to living on a tight budget. Take-out was a rare treat.

  Drew dropped the bag to his side and looked at the faded mauve carpet. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. I’ll go now.” He took a few steps forward and placed the bag on the kitchen table, then turned and began walking toward the door.

  Tessa bit her tongue until it hurt. True, Drew had broken her heart and left her financially strapped, but he’d also tried to make the divorce as easy on her as possible. Through the entire process, he’d never said an unkind word, just wished her a lifetime of happiness. He’d also sent money for birthdays and holidays because, determined to make it without him, she’d refused alimony.

  As he placed his hand on the doorknob, Tessa finally found her voice – barely above a whisper. “Please stay.”

  They soon fell into the routine that had become second nature during their decade long marriage. As they worked side by side – Tessa putting the food on plates and Drew getting the drinks – any observer would have thought they were still a couple.

  Settling into opposite chairs at the small dining table, they clinked their forks together, a ritual they’d begun when they started dating during their first year of college.

  Drew dipped a tortilla chip into the salsa and Tessa cut off a bite of enchilada. She closed her eyes and smiled as she chewed. It was delicious, a luxury she rarely allowed herself.

  In two minutes, she’d devoured half the food on her plate. When she looked up, Drew was eying her curiously.

  “Hungry?”

  “I skipped lunch,” she answered simply. He didn’t need to know she’d spent her lunch break at a shrink’s office.

  “Do you need money for food?”

  “I’m fine, really,” she assured. “My car is at the mechanic, and as soon as I have transportation again, I’m going shopping.”

  As long as the mechanic doesn’t bleed me dry, she mused.

  “If you’re sure…”

  “Yes. Now, can you pass the guacamole?” she said, trying not to sound like a charity case.

  He half smiled and slid the Styrofoam container across the table. She spooned a glob of it onto her remaining enchilada and relished the last few bites.