Light the Dark
A Carolina Moon Christmas Novella
Christy Barritt
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Also by Christy Barritt:
Carolina Moon Series:
Squeaky Clean Mysteries:
The Sierra Files:
Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:
Cape Thomas Series:
Standalones:
The Gabby St. Claire Diaries:
Complete Book List:
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 by Christy Barritt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter One
Hope Solomon was tired. She was hungry. Her body ached. And the baby in her belly kicked like crazy.
She’d been in her car too long—nearly nine hours. She had no idea where she was going. She’d just driven fast and furious, desperate to put distance between herself and danger.
Hope gripped the wheel, trying not to give in to her anxiety. But she was lost, and the dark outside seemed so desolate.
She flipped the radio on, and jolly Christmas tunes began filling the vehicle—the happy melodies contradicting her panic. Everywhere Hope went, Christmas saturated the atmosphere. Even her cracker wrapper had been decorated with evergreen leaves and berries. Hope wished she felt even a touch of Christmas spirit, but she didn’t. Not since the bottom had dropped out of her life.
At the thought of everything that had happened, she reached for her jean pocket. The jump drive was still there, tucked away safely. For the time being, at least. She had to make sure that remained the case.
She stared out the windshield. Night had fallen hours ago. The clock in her car told her it was already 2:00 a.m.
She’d left Georgia in the afternoon, and now she was somewhere in eastern North Carolina. She had to be getting close to the ocean, but, right now, all she saw was farmland. Speaking of farmland . . . the night out here seemed so much darker than the night had been in Atlanta.
If Hope was honest, she’d admit the desolation scared her. But she couldn’t voice that thought aloud or even dwell on it. She had to be strong for Jace’s sake. Certainly the baby, even in utero, would sense her fear. She didn’t want to cause him any stress.
If only Clint was here. He’d know what to do. But she was twenty-six and a widow. When she didn’t show up for work tomorrow, she’d be jobless. She hadn’t been enjoying her job as a graphic designer lately, so maybe it was just as well. Except for the fact that she had bills to pay.
Hope rubbed her belly, keeping her other hand firmly on the steering wheel. She’d have to find someplace to stop soon. Her body demanded it. Her hips ached. Her back screamed for relief. Her ankles swelled by the moment.
If only she had money. If she’d been able to plan for this. If she wasn’t at rock bottom.
Tears pushed at her eyes.
She was due in two weeks, but all the women in her family delivered earlier. The timing of this couldn’t be worse.
What would she do? If she checked into a hospital, certainly Raul and his men would find her. Any electronic trail she left would enable them to track her down.
Hope couldn’t let that happen. She had to protect Jace, whatever the cost.
Her eyes drooped. She jerked them open and glanced at the gas gauge.
Her car would run out of gas probably within the next ten miles. Worse, she could fall asleep and crash before then. She had to find a place to stop for the night.
But where could she go?
She glanced at the country road stretching in front of her. All she saw were trees and crops. Occasionally a streetlight lit the night. Even less occasionally she glimpsed a house nestled far from the road, down a long drive.
As her eyelids became unbearably heavy, she made an uncertain decision to pull off at the next driveway she saw. With any luck, nothing would be at the end except fields of crops. She could park for just long enough to rest her eyes for a little while. She had a blanket in the back that would help keep her warm, despite the twenty-nine-degree temperatures outside. She’d figure the rest of this out in the morning.
Her old sedan bumped down the road. Actually, it wasn’t her car. It was her best friend’s. Hope had feared her plates would be tracked, and her friend had been gracious enough to offer her vehicle, not even asking any questions.
Sleep. I just need a little sleep so I can think clearly.
At the end of the lane, her headlights illuminated a dark two-story house.
Her heart quickened. Did anyone live here? There were no lights on.
Her car came to a stop, and she stared ahead.
The house looked lovely—kind of. At least, at one time it had looked lovely. It was Victorian style, with a turret on one side and a wraparound porch stretching on at least two sides.
But even in the dark she could see the neglect. The grass was overgrown. Weeds shot up through the boards on the porch. One of the windows was cracked.
She couldn’t imagine anyone living here. A home like this would contain someone who cared more. A foreclosure? Maybe. Neglected vacation home? Possibly.
Dread pooled in her stomach as her choices stared her in the face. She could take the chance and keep heading down the road, hoping she’d find somewhere safe and affordable to sleep for the night. Or she could remain here and “borrow” this house for a few hours.
Maybe she could stay here. Just for a night. Just to gather her wits. She’d be respectful. No one would even know she’d been here.
It would sure beat sleeping in her car. Hope’s body ached so badly. And maybe whoever had lived here had left food—canned food that was still edible and safe.
Was she hoping for too much?
Using the edge of her sweater sleeves, she wiped the moisture beneath her eyes.
Up until a week ago, she’d lived such a safe, little life. Normal, by all accounts. Her social circle had been small but happy. She’d been decorating Jace’s room in warm hues of blue and brown. Despite her husband’s premature and heart-wrenching death, she’d been determined to make the best of things. But everything had changed when she discovered that jump drive. Life as she’d known it would no longer exist.
With that decision settled, she pulled her car around back, praying it didn’t get stuck in the thick, moist grass. At least behind the house, the vehicle would be out of sight, just in case anyone came by.
She pulled her sweater around her and grabbed her purse before stepping out of the car. Her legs wobbled as she stood, but the feeling was quickly forgotten as a wickedly cold wind swept around her. She glanced beyond the detached garage behind the house.
Water glimmered in the distance. A river, she’d guess, based on the stretch of it. That would explain why the breeze was so cold. It blew across the water.
Wasting no more time, Hope hurried across the thick landscape. Her feet sank through the tangle of overgrown grass and weeds into the soil beneath her, into things unseen, a wild terrain that gave her the creeps if she thought too long about it. Bugs. Snakes. Rot.
Finally, her feet climbed the back porch. The
steps groaned beneath her weight, objecting to her presence. Under different circumstances, she would have made a mental joke about how much weight she’d gained with the pregnancy. In reality, it was only twenty pounds, and it was all belly. Still, she felt huge.
She tugged her sweater tighter.
A slight tremble raked through her as she grabbed the screen door. It nearly flew off when she tugged it. With the spring gone, it now flapped against the side of the house, the noise tightening her muscles even more.
She knocked. Waited. Nothing.
Finally, her fingers covered the ice-cold door handle. She held her breath, fully expecting to find it locked and all of this to be for nothing.
To her surprise, the handle twisted.
She shoved the door open. An eerie squeak greeted her. A black abyss served as the welcoming committee. Her throat went dry. What waited behind that door? A safe haven? Or danger?
Here goes nothing.
Hope stepped inside, testing the floorboards to make sure they were sturdy.
They didn’t collapse or moan or bend.
She took another step, deeper into the unknown. An imaginary cobweb swept over her face, and she swatted at it. Or was it real? She wasn’t sure. Imaginary insects raced over her, making her skin crawl.
She glanced around her, but the room’s inky darkness hid anything lurking inside.
She’d left her phone back in Atlanta, afraid Raul would track her using its signal. But a table by the back door had something sitting on it. Was that a . . . flashlight?
Her fingers closed around the cylinder, and she found a button. She shoved it down, and a beam of light filled the area. She scanned the beam across the room, and her breath caught.
Shadows of a large living room waited in front of her. From what she could tell, the inside of the home was just as beautiful as the outside. Her beam of light traveled across a leather couch—two of them actually, as well as an armchair and thick end tables. Stairs stretched to her left, and dark doorways in the distance made a shudder race down her spine.
The furniture and architecture were exquisite, with no detail left untouched. Even the staircase had intricate wood finishes. Despite the fact that it smelled dusty inside, there was still an underlying smell of polish, a reminder that at one time someone had deeply cared about this place.
She stepped farther into the house—curious, frightened, fascinated. The floors appeared wooden and gleamed in her light. The furniture was modern. The TV was the new flat screen version, mounted on the wall. In the corner stood a Christmas tree.
A Christmas tree? That holiday was right around the corner, but . . .
Hope crossed the room and looked more closely. Dust covered every ornament and branch. This had been up for a while, she realized. Strange. It must be artificial or the tree would be dead and dry by now.
She pivoted and shone her light behind her. A fireplace came into view. Three stockings hung there. She read the embroidered names. One for Luke. Another for Marissa. And a small one for Harper.
Eeriness filled her. Why had someone left a house like this? Pristine, yet abandoned. One thing she felt certain about: something bad had happened.
She’d have time later to ponder those questions. Right now, hunger made her stomach cramp. She’d brought some crackers with her but had finished them early in her trip. Though she’d considered stopping for something to eat, she’d been too afraid. She’d only stopped once today, and that was for gas. She’d paid with cash and tried to stay inside the station for as short a time as possible. She didn’t want the security cameras to see her face.
Feeling more certain about the safety and isolation of the house, she hurried across the room, looking for the pantry.
Please let there be food.
As she rounded the corner, a state-of-the-art kitchen appeared. Hope sucked in a breath. In her everyday life—before all the craziness of the last year—she would have loved a kitchen like this. She would have adored it. Dreamt about it. Making cookies and family meals and having friends over for snacks during game night. Those dreams seemed so far from reality now.
She walked past the marble countertops and stainless steel appliances, headed toward a cabinet in the distance. She pulled the door open, anticipating what she might find.
Rows of canned food stared back at her. Her body sagged with relief.
She grabbed the first one she saw. Peaches.
She scrounged around in the drawers until she found a can opener. Hungrily, she turned the blade around the top of the cylinder. She found a fork and began eating right out of the can.
Hope quickly finished that can, drank the juice, and started another. It would be enough to get her through. For now. Later, she’d come back and see what else she could find. And when she had money, she would bring it back here as her way of paying for the food she’d eaten. Food that wasn’t hers.
Her spirit panged with guilt.
Hope never thought she’d be a thief. But she was desperate. And her baby needed food. He was the one she worried about.
With sustenance now in her stomach, a new problem rose to the top of her mind. She was cold. Really cold.
She’d seen a fireplace. Did she dare to start a fire? If she didn’t, would blankets be enough to keep her warm? She wasn’t sure.
Besides, was starting a fire even safe? What if the chimney had nests in it or something else that would catch on fire? Would she burn this whole place down? Or what if someone saw the smoke and came to investigate?
As Jace kicked in her abdomen, she knew she had no choice but to try to build a fire. She only hoped she didn’t make a horrible situation worse.
Dr. Luke Griffin paused outside his patient’s room at the small clinic he ran. The place was basic and slightly outdated, but it got the job done. He needed more funding to keep it going, though. He’d given up his job at a larger practice one year ago to make this work. Some days it was a real struggle.
At the moment, “Silent Night” played on the overhead speakers. Karen, his office manager, had strung a single strand of white lights over the reception area and put a small tree in the corner. The staff had been bringing in gifts to give to low-income families.
Marissa had always wanted to start a clinic in the area. She’d worked as a nurse in the local elementary school and had seen firsthand the devastating effects of poverty on families. He’d always said that one day, after he’d established his nest egg and his student loans were paid, he’d do something to help the community. When Marissa died, he realized there may not be a one day.
“Did you finally decide to use that fireplace, Dr. Griffin?” Karen said as she started past him.
He stared at her, wondering what she was referring to. Even though the two of them were the same age, she was a mother hen, sometimes to a fault. She kept tabs on him, as well as everyone else in the office. “What are you talking about?”
Karen gawked at him a moment before shrugging. “I thought I saw smoke coming out of your chimney when I drove into work this morning.”
“I don’t have a fireplace.”
She cringed. “I mean at your other house,” she said quietly.
He shifted, trying to gauge the look on Karen’s face. She was usually reasonable and well thought-out, but he also knew he intimidated her, for some unknown reason. He tried to treat his staff with the respect they deserved.
“Is that right?” he said.
She waved her hand in the air. “It was probably someone burning some leaves in the distance or something. I just saw that plume of smoke and thought . . .”
She didn’t say any more, which was wise. She knew what that house meant to him. Knew the reason he never went back. Knew how painful those memories were to him. Two years had passed, and he couldn’t stop hanging on. Finally, three months ago, he’d taken off his wedding ring. It had been a big step for him.
He offered a curt nod. “Probably.”
That didn’t stop him from heading toward
the place as soon as he saw his last patient. He wanted to check things out, just to be sure. He kept a strangely protective hold on the house, even though he had no desire to live there.
Every time he went back, the memories felt overwhelming and painful, a reminder of what could have been. What should have been. But what would never be.
He squeezed the steering wheel as memories flashed back to him. Memories of seeing this property for the first time. Of building dreams about the future here. Of breaking ground when the house was built, the day he was handed the keys, and the months he and Marissa spent decorating it, making the house into a home.
He should sell the place, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Part of him was still hanging on. A big part of him. The part of him that refused to move from this place of grief and sorrow.
If he were honest, it reminded him of his guilt also. He didn’t deserve to forget that . . . the pain he did experience didn’t begin to match the pain he should experience. Marissa’s death was his fault, and he would never forgive himself for what had happened.
Everyone watched him for a sign that he was healing. A woman at church had tried to fix him up with her niece. It had taken every ounce of his strength to graciously decline. Yet he knew deep down inside that a part of him longed to have someone to come home to.
Karen probably knew that but hadn’t wanted to upset him, especially when she’d seen his reaction. He hated the fact that people had to walk on eggshells around him. Yet he couldn’t seem to change.
Not since Marissa was no longer part of his life.
He slowed as he reached the lane leading to his place. Sure enough, there in the distance was a plume of smoke. That wasn’t coming from a neighbor. No, that was clearly drifting out from his chimney.
He idled as he got closer to the house. If someone was inside, he didn’t want to alert them he was coming. Instead, he parked on the edge of the lane, near the dried-up cornfield. He grabbed the gun from his glove compartment and tucked it into his waistband.
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