The Fifth: Darkness series

by K. D Rawlingson

  The Fifth.

  Darkness series

  By K.D Rawlingson

  Hi guys,

  I am so pleased to be releasing my first book and I truly hope you enjoy reading it, as much as I did writing it. I would like to say a few thank yous to all the people that helped me along this journey. Firstly, and most importantly is to my wonderful husband Tony Rawlingson and my two beautiful children, Tjay and Demi. Without their love, support and encouragement, I wouldn’t have had the courage to start, let alone finishing, and putting it out in the world to be judged by every reader.

  Secondly my mum Debbie Small, sister in law Stephanie Rawlingson, best friend Charmaine Geering and good friend Faith Willamson. Over the last eighteen months they have listen to hours of reading, to ideas and plot twists.

  My mother and father in-law Debbie and Tony Rawlingson for showering me with love and support from the day I entered their family all those many years ago.

  Lastly to YOU, the reader, for picking up a new book by an unknown author and giving me a try. Love to you all XX

  Contents

  Prologue:

  Chapter 1:

  Chapter 2:

  Chapter 3:

  Chapter 4:

  Chapter 5:

  Chapter 6:

  Chapter 7:

  Chapter 8:

  Chapter 9:

  Chapter 10:

  Chapter 11:

  Chapter 12:

  Chapter 13:

  Chapter 14:

  Chapter 15:

  Chapter 16:

  Chapter 17:

  Chapter 18:

  Chapter 19:

  Chapter 20:

  Legend has it that the world was created in 7 days. I don`t know if that`s true or not but what I do know is that it only took 7 days for everything to go to shit and the world to end as we know it!

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Prologue:

  Life for me growing up wasn't easy, I mean don`t get me wrong I didn't have it as bad as some of the other kids in my neighborhood… no, they had it really bad, but life was still pretty rough. I lived in a two bedroom flat with my parents and older brother on an estate in the south of London, an estate filled with drugs and crime. My parents were only 18 when they had my brother and I followed less than a year later, this flat was what the council had given them at the time and they had never left. My mum Sarah and dad Joe had met years earlier in a foster home, both coming from a crappy background with no real family to call their own. They said they instantly fell in love, and over the years I can honestly say for all their faults they did truly love each other.

  Most people grow up when they have children regardless of how old they are. The fact you're now responsible for the wellbeing of another life will do that to you, mine, however, didn't. Mum and dad were the hippy type: out till all hours partying, taking whatever drug was available, never knowing when to stop. Eventually, and unsurprisingly, it led to a drug habit. A real nasty one. I think one of my first memories was of my dad being so off his face he was running around the kitchen screaming that spiders were coming out of his body. I sat cuddling my brother under the kitchen table, both of us scared shitless of what was going on while mum was blissfully passed out on the sofa, completely unaware of the drama unfolding. That was to be the first of many memories I have of them being so out of there head that it left me and my big brother pretty much looking after ourselves. My bother Sol is only 11 months and one day older than me, if mum had gone to full term with me our birthdays would have been within days of each other. As it was, I ended up being born nearly five weeks early. On November the 16th in a car on the way to the hospital.

  Sol and I were so close growing up and looked so similar. We were a perfect blend of our parents not looking like either individually, but more like a blend of the better bits from both: our dad's beautiful olive skin, but thankfully without his rather large nose. Like our mum, both of us were skinny and not particularly tall. The main difference between us—other than the obvious fact that he was a boy and I was a girl—is that Sol has our mother's brown eyes and mine are blue with golden specs, like our dad. I also have a star birthmark on my neck which neither mum, dad nor Sol have. Other than that, though, we were like two peas in a pod. We look so much like one another growing up we often got mistaken for twins. Though when Sol reached 14 years old, he shot up to nearly 6 feet and beefed out while I stayed at 5.5ft and was still as skinny as a twig. We would go everywhere together, tell each other everything. We had the same friends at school, ate the same foods in the cafeteria, listened to the same music… we were basically sown at the hip! Neither one of us had an after-school activity or club that we attended so we had to make our own fun for the most part. But, that was more to do with our mum and dads parenting skills than mine or Sol's decision to avoid them… I knew Sol would have loved to play football with a proper team on a proper field rather than a game of one-touch across the road in between oncoming cars.

  Over the years we would refer to my parents as functioning heroin addicts. We had good days of course, but most were spent struggling for money and food. Our living conditions were basic. Sol and I had shared a room for years, but as we had got older, around nine or ten, mum and dad moved into the front room and we got a bedroom each. At first, we thought it was great but soon realised it just meant we were never allowed in the front room. It became where mum and dad had friends over, and where they did their drugs. So not only did it feel like we saw very little of them, but we couldn't have friends over to play ourselves. It was always just me and Sol. I don't know what I would have done if I didn't have him by my side growing up…

  Then, everything changed six months after my 16th birthday. The day had started out like most, with me getting up and going to school. Sol had already left for college and I had left my parents asleep on the sofa in the living room. I was in the 3rd lesson of the day not really paying much attention, it was my last few weeks in my last year of school and I had completed half of my exams and all my coursework. These lessons were just revision classes really… and I had been in a complete bubble imagining what I was going to do when I was free of school and could do whatever I wanted. I hadn't noticed the knock on the classroom door, or the head teacher Mr. Blang enter the room, it was only when I heard my name being called that I looked up and saw everyone was looking at me. There had been times at school when I had rebelled and been a proper pain in the arse, I bunked off school, smoked in the girl's toilets, had fights, was never incorrect uniform, never completed homework, just to name a few. So, once upon a time, it was not uncommon for the head to be calling me out, but I had seriously sorted my head out over the last 6-12 months. Something just clicked and I realised I was fucking up my future. There was no way I was ending up like my parents and I really started knuckling down and sorting my shit out. Don't get me wrong, I could still be a little cow but my homework was done, I attended my lessons and so far, I had completed four of nine exams. So, when I noticed that not only Mr. Blang was stood at the front of the class calling my name but he was stood with a police officer right next to him, I finally realised I was in some serious trouble. I got up from my seat, collected my stuff, and left not saying a word. I was taken into Mr. Blang's office, one I had seen many times and parked my bum on the same chair that all the naughty kids sat on waiting to hear what I had done, racking my brain for anything that would cause the police to be called. I was told that there had been a drugs-related accident at home and that my father had passed away. I knew that meant he'd overdosed on heroin or whatever else he had concocted up in that hit of the day and his body had finally given up.

  The funeral was going to be small with only a few friends attending alongside
mum, Sol and I. With no other family, Sol and I were left alone to look after mum and by no means was that going to be an easy task. To our surprise, though, mum worked with doctors to get off drugs and get on a prescription for methadone. By the time of the funeral, she was clean of heroin for the first time in over fifteen years. I completed the last of my exams and we moved from the City to a smaller town called Ashbane. Sol and I were so pleased finally we might have a chance of having a proper mum and a real life… And for a short while, we did. Sol got a job back in the City while he applied for the local college. We celebrated Sol's 18th birthday and had a lovely Christmas. Then, I look back, and I think that's where the problem started. All was going well, and then, as so often happens, she just swapped one addiction for another. She started to drink, something she had never done while she'd been taking drugs. It began with just a few glasses of wine over the Christmas period, then it turned to shots at the New Year's Eve party the neighbours were throwing. Before the following year was out it turned into litre bottles of vodka (or whatever she could get her hand on). She would claim it was because she had no friends, or because Joe had killed himself leaving her alone to look after us. Alone. Alone. That's all we ever heard. She changed into a completely different person. I tried to help and reason it with her. It was grief, of course, it must have been, but as time wore on it was more than grief. She was spiralling out of control and I had no way of stopping her. Some days I hated myself but I almost (almost) wished she was back on the drugs. Drink made my mum violent, loud, swear and lash out, she doesn`t mean any of it the next day of course! Until halfway through the bottle of the next day and the abuse started all over again. Sol was working later and later into the night and spent more and more time crashing on work friend's couches. It was easier than travelling back and forth which made sense, but it left me alone a lot with mum. I had started an accounts course at a local college which helped, but I missed Sol. I missed the camaraderie and the support. I was just as alone as mum and she was at her lowest.

  Eleven months after dad died Sol got offered an amazing opportunity to transfer to New York for an apprenticeship in a big law firm, and of course, he jumped at the chance. I should have seen it coming. He was so smart. I should have been happy for him… who wouldn't want to get as far away from all this shit if they could? But I was selfish, I was beside myself at first, how could he leave me on my own and with mum to look after! It wasn't fair. After he told me, I thought life couldn't get any worse. I had to reason with myself though, and after a lot of time and sulking, I felt at peace with his decision. I understood and was happy for him; he was trying to make a better life for himself and why shouldn't he?

  So, on June 6th, Sol left for New York. We had a very teary goodbye at the airport and spent many nights after on the phone or skyping, but it wasn't the same.

  Mum got worse following his leaving. She was out to all hours drunk. I never knew when she would be in or sober. It was getting to a point where I hated going home as I never knew who I would find there. The number of times I'd been hit on by some slimy drunken guy my mother had brought home sickened me. I told Sol a little bit of what was going on but didn't want him to worry or fuck up his amazing opportunity because of her crazy shit. I missed him like mad… he came home for Christmas for three days but that was all I'd seen of him in over a year. It was the loneliest time of my life really. Then, in the beginning of August, and three months before my eighteenth birthday, I came home to find my mother had taken her own life. Finally, Sol and I had been left as orphans. It was official now, even though a part of me felt as though we had been orphaned years ago.

  Yet, no matter how I tried to avoid it… guilt-riddled through me. I hadn't seen her in about four days as I had flown out to New York to see Sol in his new job. He had been saving up since he got there and his firm had given him three days off so we could spend some time together.

  As usual, mum fucked it up by getting drunk.

  We had arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare so were sitting, eating, waiting for the plane, I was so excited that when she ordered the cocktail at half seven in the morning I didn't say anything. After the second one though I tried to tell her to stop but she wouldn't listen. 2 drinks became 4 which turned into 6, until an hour and a half later and she was slumped in the corner. In hindsight, I shouldn't have left her there, but I needed the toilet and she wasn't waking. We still had a while until our flight so, I thought I would only be a minute and she could just sleep the drink off. Leaving her asleep in the corner of the restaurant I went to the toilet. I was becoming more and more frustrated with mum. Every day there was something else, she had promised me she would behave and keep the drinking to a minimum, but the moment we got to the airport her attitude changed to "I'm on holiday and can do what I want". I walked out of the toilets to hear shouting and knew straight away it was my mother. I walked towards where the noise was coming from and I was right, there was mum swaying side to side arguing with a waitress. The waitress at the bar was trying to tell her that it was not a good idea for her to have any more to drink, next thing I saw was mum flying across the bar to attack the unsuspecting woman. Within minute's airport security was pulling mum off the poor lady and carting her off to the station. Needless to say, she wasn't allowed to board the plane. I had had enough of her shit, I was fuming. I didn't want to let her win, though. So, I tried not to let it spoil my trip. It had been ages since I'd seen Sol, I missed him like crazy. If she wanted to throw away seeing her son then so be it, but I wasn't missing out. I left her in the police cell to sober up and went to catch my plane alone.

  We had had the best time, he took me to see and do all the touristy stuff. We had a picnic in central park, saw the Empire State Building, and walked through Harlem at 9 o'clock at night. Which, I will add, was pretty scary shit… and all because I had insisted on getting my hair braided telling him it would only be an hour or so. We had sat in a tiny room with about 20 black women weaving hair, mine had taken nearly six hours and by the time we got out it had turned to evening, Sol humped all the way back to the hotel not saying a word to me. His mood only lasted until I fell over in the hotel room while prancing about with my new hair. I slipped, spilt my lip and he was at my side in seconds making sure I was ok. When he realised I was ok and the blood was mostly superficial he started howling with laughter. Mood forgotten.

  Saying goodbye was horrific, I hadn't heard from mum the whole time I'd been away even though I'd tried calling her loads of times. By the end of the second night, Sol had said fuck her. I thought she was just mad I'd left without her and agreed with Sol. Fuck her it was her own fault she hadn't made the plane.

  My flight home had been a nightmare, my plane had some mechanical problem or another and we had to switch airlines. It had been delayed by four and half hours, only to board the next plane, twenty minutes into the flight and the child in front of me was sick everywhere. I had to smell and listen to an unwell child for over ten hours. By the time we landed, it was gone 11 pm. All I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. I got home, opened the door and this smell just hit me. Something like really bad mold or rotten rubbish. It was disgusting. I called for mum but was greeted with silence, so I dropped my suitcase in the hall and went to investigate the smell, covering my nose with my hand I followed it upstairs. I checked the bathroom, logical place to check when funky smells are coming from upstairs… nothing! Next door was my mother's room so I walked in, only to find her sprawled on the bed, there were no covers on the mattress, it was littered with alcohol… and there was a bottle of pills in one of her pale hands, almost blue now, and a note in the other with hardly readable writing.

  Fuck the lot of ya! That was it, nothing else.

  I called an ambulance straight away and tried to do CPR but it was too late she must have died some time ago. Life after mum was my worse and I think I hit rock bottom. I blamed myself for leaving her, hated her for leaving me, in the space of 2 years I had lost both my mum and
dad. Sol had moved away. I was so close to being 18 that I was given the option to stay at my house and didn't have to move but who would want to live in a house where their mother had killed herself, so I refused their offer and the council found me a small flat in the country about half an hour's drive from Ashbane in a little village called Applewood so I could start over. I missed my parents so much and was so sad, even though they could be complete arseholes like leave me and Sol alone for days to go partying round friends or locking us in our room for nothing at all just because they wanted time away from us to get high in the front room. There were times when we hardly had any food but money for drugs. Somehow though, all the bad things either do one of two things when someone close to you dies. You either hate them, never forgiving them for the crimes they committed against you when they were alive or you do what I did and let the horrid things bleed in the background and try to remember the small things that showed their love for you. You remember the good times like the Christmas dad took us to pick out a real Christmas tree: it was snowing and he found, well ok stole, some sleighs lying next to the road. We spent the whole day sledging, he’d had found the biggest hill and lead me and Sol to the top. We had so much fun, we forgot all about the tree and by the time we remembered the three of us were too wet to go tree hunting so my dad had to go back out the next day on his own.

  There were the times they would take us the beach. I now know it was to score drugs but I didn't know that back then. For me, it was just a chance to enjoy the sand, my ice cream, splashing Sol in the sea. But then it was back to reality. So much had to be done for the funeral and it took nearly a month before we could bury her. Sol came home to help with sorting everything out and he offered to stay for good but I couldn't take his big chance away from him and after a few weeks he returned to New York. I tried not to be, I wanted to be strong, but I was so upset. Bone crushingly sad. I thought my world had ended. (How wrong was I). I pushed everyone away that tried to help me and it wasn't long before I became part recluse, part depressive mess. Doctors put me on antidepressants but when I'd read that the side effect could cause suicidal thoughts there was no way in hell I was taking them. For my 18th birthday and in a bid to get me out my sad, depressive mood, Sol surprised me for a visit to celebrate my birthday and help cheer me up but could only take 2 days off due to the amount he’d already had off. Besides, he could only afford so much. It’s amazing how a few days can change your life. On the night of my birthday after much badgering from Sol to actually go out and celebrate, we headed to a club in Ashbane and to my surprise it turned out to be a wicked night.