Sharing the Darkness

by Marilyn Tracy

  But did they have any alternatives now? Chris’s energies were spent; the men in the helmets were blocked to her, and if Chris could understand them, he wasn’t letting on. And Teo was still miles away, and the closer he got, the worse it would be for him.

  She turned her head to look at the other three men, standing in front of their cars now, each holding a weapon of some kind. Unlike their cohort, they apparently weren’t willing to risk another stroll across the highway, another attempt to remove them from the car.

  She felt Teo in her mind, not vibrantly like before, just a touch, nothing more. His touch. But in it she could feel the emotion he carried for her, the depth of desire, a measure of sorrow, a surge of joy. Love.

  How strange, she thought as she slowly unfastened her seatbelt, that both of them would come to know they loved the other just when things were at their worst. All her life she had believed that when love came, everything would simply fall into place. Life would pulsate with happiness, and all would forever be well after that.

  It wasn’t true. She loved Teo and Chris more than life itself, but that hadn’t made the danger disappear. And now she knew Teo loved her. But that didn’t make the man with the gun lower the weapon, tell her “Sorry, my mistake.”

  She felt a shaft of pure despair and knew that the only stronger emotion than knowing and sharing true love, was knowing it could be destroyed at any moment.

  Slowly, numbly, looking every bit as frightened as the man outside might have wished her to do, she pulled up on the door lock and motioned for Chris to come into her arms. With a sense of destiny reasserting itself, she watched as the last thing Chris picked up before settling onto her lap was his red ball.

  If dreams could come true…so could nightmares.

  Please…please, she asked, but wasn’t even sure what she was pleading for. Just please.

  “Lady—”

  “Get away from the car,” she called, interrupting him. “I’m not coming out unless you stand back.”

  “Lady, you’re not calling the shots around here.”

  They won’t hurt you while you have Chris in your arms, Teo projected. He couldn’t know how it went against the grain to use her three-year-old as a shield, even though she knew that holding him close to her was as much for his protection as for hers. Without her, he would be snatched up by the PRI men and whisked away.

  I’d find him, Teo’s thoughts came through, solid, concrete. Fierce. But I need you, too.

  Melanie didn’t reach for the door handle until the man holding the gun on them had stepped back two full paces. The sound of the handle locking into place, the slow swing of the door, were both preternaturally loud in her ears, seemed to echo throughout infinity. To Melanie, they sounded like a death knell.

  “Go home now,” Chris said fretfully. His red ball was cold and clammy against her throat. She stretched her legs from the car and was almost amazed to find they still worked.

  “Nice and slow,” the man with the gun said.

  Melanie did as he asked, stood up very slowly, turning her head in the direction of the other three men.

  Are you ready? Teo’s mental voice asked her, undoubtedly asking Chris, as well.

  Before she could answer, she saw something white out of the corner of her eye and as she turned to see what it was, she caught a glint of sunlight striking metal that shot straight into her eyes, blinding her for half a second.

  “Mommy!” Chris called even as Melanie felt something sting her cheek. One moment she felt Teo in her mind, the next he was slipping away. In fact, as a sudden weakness overcame her, Melanie realized that the whole world seemed to be slipping away, blurring. She couldn’t feel Chris in her arms anymore, but as she slumped to the asphalt highway, she saw the little red ball bouncing toward a clearing to the side of the highway.

  “M-o-m-m-y!” she heard Chris scream, but the sound came from far, far away.

  One second she had been with him, then suddenly, abruptly, the connection he’d felt with her was broken. He could hear Chris, but the messages were too frantic, too disjointed.

  Something had happened to Melanie.

  Melanie! he screamed mentally. Chris!

  But he heard nothing from Melanie, felt nothing. She was gone. Not blocked, she hadn’t shut him out, she was simply gone. And now some of Chris’s imagery began to make sense. Melanie had been shot, she was lying on the ground. Her eyes were open. Dead plant, dead plant, dead plant.

  Dear God, Melanie was hurt…maybe dead. Chris was alone with those men. And he, invincible king of the mountain where he lived, was too late to save them. Too late to save his family.

  “No!” he yelled, and the old Chevy rocked with the force of the rage sweeping through him. He let loose another yell, and this time tasted the fear on his own tongue, the sour, coppery taste of blood.

  But it wasn’t his. Though no longer able to hear Melanie, he knew, from the taste, from the complete blankness of their minds, that the taste came from her. He was too late.

  “Oh, Dios!” Pablo cried beside him, and pressed his foot even harder on the gas pedal.

  He couldn’t be too late. Fate couldn’t be this cruel, this evil. Gathering his forces, Teo pulled them in like a normal man might marshal his strength in preparation for a battle. He ignored Pablo’s wild-eyed look of fear, the dizzying need to expel the already excess electricity building too rapidly, too furiously within him.

  Chris. I’m coming. Now. Don’t be frightened. I’m coming. I’m coming for you.

  Galvanized by fear, by a raw protective instinct, Teo leaned forward, laying both palms flat against the old, cracked dashboard. The Chevy shuddered, the motor sang a sharp, whining protest, then shot forward, taking the curves as though on some invisible electrical track.

  His plan with Melanie and Chris had been simple, almost incredibly simple. Together, they would project what they were seeing, draw the energy from him and he would create a disturbance, a distraction. This way the PRI would automatically assume Melanie and Chris had been the ones to do such amazing feats, and the tables would be turned, the PRI henchmen would be the ones captured.

  And it would have worked. But something had gone awry, it was already too late.

  Melanie couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be dead. The phrase chased its tail in his thoughts, around and around, making him feel sick with dread, despairing. She couldn’t be gone. Not now. Not when he finally understood what life could be, what love really meant.

  Teo? He felt a timid voice touch his mind. A baby voice. Chris. The hysterics, the panic, were fading, but the voice was small, frightened. Alone.

  Teo?

  I’m coming, son. Wait for me.

  Mommy… Chris’s mental voice was so subdued, so lost. Need toys. Dance toys…

  Teo felt despair mingling with a dark, deep rage. No child should ever have to face such a thing, no child of three should have a built-in escape from reality.

  And no man of thirty-five should have to grapple with the emotions that threatened to choke him now, swamped him with thick, unshakable pain. Those bastards! He’d kill every last one of them! He’d tear them to bits, bury them and sow the ground with salt! He’d fly to Pennsylvania, raze the entire PRI structure to the ground! He’d chase down every single person who had ever contributed a cent to that dastardly foundation and make certain they never felt like being charitable—or curious—again!

  Make toys dance, now….

  Chris! he projected, his heart nearly exploding with anguish, with need. He fed some of his own anger into Chris’s mind, sending crystal-clear images of what he wanted the boy to do. What he needed him to do.

  They rounded another curve, the final curve, seemingly taking it on two wheels. Pablo had ceased to have any control over the Chevy and was busy crossing himself, saying a prayer through nearly blue lips.

  Teo’s heart lurched as he took in the scene at a glance. Melanie lay upon the ground, her hand outstretched toward the swiftly approaching Chevy
, as though seeking him even in death.

  Chris stood beside her, his face white with fear, with confusion.

  Four men in strange helmets and three-piece suits stood around Melanie and Chris, three farther back than the one. All looked afraid, but all carried a look of triumph, of victory.

  At the screech of the Chevy’s tires, as though marionettes controlled by the same puppeteer, they all looked up simultaneously. Their guns raised automatically when the Chevy skidded to a halt.

  Teo! Chris cried in relief, in fear.

  I’m here. And underscoring his meaning, his reality, his determination, he held his bare hand outside the Chevy’s window and released a bolt of blue lightning from his fingertips. It danced across the sky, shot over Chris’s head, hung for a moment in splendid fury, then smacked the ground in front of the three men on the far side of Melanie and Chris.

  The ground shook with the impact and the thunder coming from it, before it, after it, made the universe sound as if the last cell door on planet earth had been flung wide.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw something white flicker to his left and sent a shaft of lightning at it without waiting to see what it was. He heard a man scream, heard a rapid volley of gunfire.

  Drop to the ground, he commanded Chris.

  Chris didn’t obey him. Instead he whirled to his left and screamed, “Bad man! Dead plant!”

  No, Chris! Teo shouted at the boy mentally. Whatever else happened on this darkest of days, the boy couldn’t add killing to it. No matter how murderous his own thoughts might be, Teo couldn’t allow the boy to assume that kind of guilt, that depth of rage.

  He whirled to his left, to see what he’d sent the bolt of lightning after, to see who Chris was so focused on. It was one of the scientists, complete with white lab coat. On a treacherous mountain road in northern New Mexico, on an even more treacherous mission, the idiot was wearing his lab coat. And, as might have been expected, in his hand was a dart gun. A gun filled with drug-filled needles.

  One thought, one burning, terrible thought, and the gun in the man’s hand burst into flame. With a scream, the scientist threw it from him and bent double.

  Another thought and the guns of the others followed suit. But this thought hadn’t been Teo’s. Chris had done it. All by himself.

  When the four men started running for their cars, Teo directed the cars to crush in upon themselves. These boys weren’t going anywhere.

  Make men dance? Chris asked.

  Make them dance, Teo allowed, and watched as the four men lifted into the air…propelled there by the small child they’d thought to capture, the boy they’d imagined they could control.

  The four men were joined by the scientist, still screaming, and soon all were spinning in a mockery of the innocent bobbing Chris usually performed with his toys. A bobbing they themselves had taught him.

  Teo didn’t want to take his eyes from the spectacle of the five men. Because if he did, he would have to look at Melanie. He would have to finally, truly look at her still form, her hand curled outward, her hair covering her face, her ashen face. And he would have to understand that she would never smile at him again, that she would never open her arms to him again, that she would never, ever open her thoughts to him.

  “¡Madre de Dios!” Pablo swore, dropping to his knees beside Melanie. He felt for her throat, held it there, seeking her pulse, turned his face to the sky, then slowly, he pulled his hand away. Even more slowly, he crossed himself again, and Teo could see the tears upon his uncle’s face.

  “Forgive me, Teo,” the older man said. Sobbed. “Forgive me. I didn’t know this would happen.”

  Teo looked at his uncle for several seconds, seconds that spun endlessly in his mind, in his numbed heart. He didn’t understand the words for a moment, didn’t see the necessity of translating them into any cohesiveness. But he nodded, nonetheless, understanding them finally. What was Pablo’s foolishness in the wake of his own inability to have trusted Melanie before now? What was Pablo’s betrayal of fifteen years ago but a human error?

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, and he spoke the unvarnished truth. Nothing mattered now. Just one little boy without a mother, left to the care of one broken man who would never be whole again.

  He stepped closer, feeling as though his legs were wooden. He could no longer hear the cries of the PRI men, couldn’t feel the sting of the cool October morning. He was anesthetized, leaden. His heart had died. His soul was shriveled and broken.

  When he finally reached her side, he knew what it was to die. It was the urge to stop living, the urge to simply lay down and say, “This is it, I’ve had enough.”

  “I am so sorry,” Pablo said. “I didn’t know. Oh, God, I didn’t know they would shoot her.”

  As if his uncle’s words broke some spell that had been keeping Teo erect, his knees suddenly buckled and he dropped to the pavement. He didn’t feel the sharp impact, didn’t feel the graveled surface against his knuckles as he reached beneath her and drew her into his arms.

  Slowly, gently, he stroked the hair from her face, remembering all too clearly how he’d touched it that first day he’d seen her, how she’d held him in her arms as he’d reeled from his healing of Demo Aguilar. He had told her that day she should leave. If she had…would she now be alive? If she had listened to him…would she be somewhere smiling, loving Chris? Or had this entire episode been a capitulation of her destiny, and his?

  No, this was his fault. He should have seen, should have known. If he had let her know his strengths, his weaknesses, if he had ever opened up to her, talked to her, truly let her know how much she had affected him, she would never have left this morning. She would still be alive.

  Gripped with agony, he saw himself at the source of her pain, the cause of her death. He felt he’d been running twenty miles, gasping for air, her blood on his hands, vainly calling her name.

  But he couldn’t reach her. Would never do so again.

  “Melanie!” he yelled, but he only heard the echo of his own voice, the stillness of the forest.

  He rocked her as if she were a child he was lulling to sleep, though it was really himself he was trying to comfort. He knew there was no comfort, no joy left on earth.

  “I’ll watch Chris for you, Melanie,” he said. “I’ll take care of him as if he were my own. Nothing will ever harm him. I promise, querida. You have my word.”

  But what joy would he bring the child? He would have none left inside him. It was all gone. And he’d never once, except through brief mental touch, told her that he loved her. He’d cheated her of hearing the words. Cheated himself of having said them. They were all that mattered in life, and he’d never spoken them.

  “I love you,” he said now, knowing it was too late, but needing to feel them upon his lips, needing to know they had at least been made concrete. “Melanie… Oh, God, Melanie…I loved you so.”

  And without warning, the storm in him broke, and for the first time in fifteen years, Teo began to cry. As he rocked her, and cried, he found some huge, horrible darkness beginning to melt inside him, a darkness that had been there for as long as he could remember, that had crystallized when the PRI worked its madness on him fifteen years ago, a darkness that had sharpened when he’d understood that it was his beloved uncle who had taken him to them, and that had finally become encrusted with bitterness when the first villager had called his child to his side lest the evil eye of El Rayo strike the boy dead.

  Teo.

  He stiffened, hearing her rich touch in his mind, feeling her thoughts weave around his. Teo.

  He wanted to lower her from his fearful hold, look at her, but didn’t dare risk the hope that flared wild and hot within him.

  Melanie.

  I can share that darkness with you, she projected. Stronger this time, deeper.

  His heart pounding so loudly, so fiercely, that he was certain the entire mountains rocked with it, he dared to lower her, dared to look into her eyes.

/>   And he saw everything he could ever have wished for. And more. And knew, from the clarity of her thoughts, that she did, as well. She was alive.

  I hear a siren, she projected. And as if her thoughts had conjured one, Teo heard it, too. But he didn’t bother to look for it. He didn’t want to look away from her, didn’t trust her not to slip from his grasp again.

  “I won’t,” she whispered. “It’s time to renegotiate our bargain.”

  For the first time since he’d pulled into the terrible scene, the tight fist around his heart relaxed a single notch and he dared look away from her.

  The five men literally dancing in the air, hovering some six feet above the ground in a bizarre parody of a square dance, were silent, all eyes upon the small force that held them in place.

  “Chris?” Teo said softly. Chris! Put the men down now. You’ll scare the sheriff. He transferred the flicker of amusement he felt at the thought.

  His own body tensed as the scream of the siren intensified.

  You don’t have to leave, this time, Melanie projected. Somebody has to stop things like this from ever happening again. We can tell the sheriff. He will tell someone else. And they will tell someone. And soon—

  And soon, Washington will have congressional hearings to set up watchdog committees, Teo finished for her. With her.

  And we’ll start a school for children like Chris, Melanie offered. Her tone was somewhat wistful.

  “And we’ll start a school here in New Mexico for children like Chris, for the brothers and sisters we’ll give him. After you marry me,” he said. The siren was getting closer.

  After we go home.

  “To share the darkness?” he asked.

  “No,” she whispered, her voice a thread, her thoughts a rainbow.

  “To share the light.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-6360-7

  SHARING THE DARKNESS

  Copyright © 1994 by Tracy LeCocq.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.