The Other Side of Darkness

by Linda Rondeau

  “Turns out she doesn’t want my help. Looks like I’m alone tonight.”

  “I could rustle us up some cold turkey and coffee. You don’t have to be alone.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Leon disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a couple of drumsticks but no mugs.

  “Coffee, Leon?”

  “Oh, that’s what I forgot. He went back into the kitchen, carrying a tray with cups, pointing to it with bright eyes. “Remembered the urn this time, too.” He poured the coffee into the mugs, handing Zack his. “Say, did Sam’s friend make it up there?”

  “What friend?”

  “Sam’s attorney friend, from where she works.”

  “Abe?”

  “No, some handsome fellow who stopped by. Least wise, I think he was handsome, hard to tell with those dark shades on. Never saw a man wear shades in a storm. But city folks can be awful weird, sometimes. Anyway, the man said his name, but I don’t recall it. Said he worked with Sam at the DA’s office. Doc gave him directions to the cabin. That was about an hour ago. I figure he must have come while you were there.”

  “Someone showed up all right, but it wasn’t any of Sam’s friends from work.” Zack devoured half the drumstick in three quick bites. “I found her with Jonathan. I think she likes him more than she likes me.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I don’t know what to do, Leon. I have feelings for Sam. Sometimes, I think she has feelings for me, too. Other times, she shuts me out and shoos me away like an annoying fly. It drives me crazy.”

  Leon smiled. “Sounds like Sam’s confused. Believe me, I know how painful it is to be confused. Know what I think?” Leon had better get the notion out before it ran away from him.

  “Tell me.”

  “I think you’re rushing her, Zack. For crying out loud, you’ve known the girl less than a week. Give her time.”

  Zack gulped the lukewarm coffee. “I lose no matter what. She’s determined to leave Haven. If she does, I’ll never see her again. If she stays, well…I can’t compete with Jonathan. Look at him. The man could model for a lumberjack catalogue. He has talent coming out the wazoo. On top of all that, he’s rich.”

  “Have you talked to God about Sam?”

  No he hadn’t, afraid of what God would tell him to do, and if Sam turned to God, she might not want Zack around. “I should have.”

  “You and that Gladstone boy are squeezing her, like she’s some kind of new toy you both want to play with. The way I see it, Sam’s come up against a brick wall. One God put in her way. One she and the Lord have to climb together. Ever occur to you that you and Jonathan are getting in Sam’s way of conquering that wall?”

  Wise words. Pity that in an hour or less, Leon wouldn’t remember he’d given Zack exactly the sermon he needed to hear. Zack finished his coffee, took one last bite out of his drumstick, then grabbed his coat off the chair.

  “Now where are you going in such an all-fired hurry?”

  “To the cabin. I’ve gotta talk to Sam—apologize for acting like a jerk when she most needed a friend. You’re right, Leon. I’ve been riding the coattails of her need.”

  “Right about what?”

  ****

  The cabin walls seemed to close in on her, heaving accusations as lights flickered on and off.

  Hang the storm. She searched the drawers and found a flashlight, then grabbed the padlock keys. Why bother locking the house? She had about as much security with a bull in the bedroom. She threw the keys on the counter, removed the blockade from the door and rushed to the parked ATVs, laughing hysterically at Haven mindset. Unlocked doors, leaving keys in vehicles, people traipsing into her room willy-nilly. Some harbor Haven turned out to be. She felt safer in her Manhattan apartment.

  She pushed the helmet aside, revved the motor, backed out and put the ATV in high gear—gravel and sticks flew in every direction. The hard rain blurred her vision and slashed at her bare arms like razors. Let it. She switched on the headlights, the creeping dusk throwing shadows around the trees and boulders. An impulse greater than anything she knew propelled her toward the lake, toward Triune Point. She recognized the markers, parked the ATV and galloped towards the trail, sliding on wet leaves. She lost her balance and rolled down the rest of the hill. She freed her tears when she came to the boulders. The rain had stopped, and the fading sun split the horizon, a trail of orange and gold beams splayed across the lake.

  A light shone far behind her and reflected off the water. Emmanuel’s angel? She fell to her knees, lifting her heart towards heaven. “God, I don’t know what to do. I’ve made a mess of things here. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused. I don’t know where to go, or what to do. I can’t stay here, and I can’t go home. I need a Guide. Not Zack. Not Jonathan. Not Leon. Not Sadie. Not Justine. I need you, Lord. I’m giving You my oars.”

  Tears flowed and she prayed until the last flicker of daylight escaped across the lake. No voice, no angelic forms, not even the familiar comforting scent of hyacinths. Strangely, though, she felt at peace, the peace she’d searched for since Daddy died.

  When you would not call on Me, I sent you hyacinths. I will never leave you or forsake you.

  “What do I do about Zack and Jonathan, Lord? I didn’t mean to hurt either one of them. Will they ever forgive me?”

  I will work all things together for good.

  A new emotion replaced her hatred, her anger at God for thwarting her chance for revenge. Not just against Daddy, but against Styles, too. It was not hers to mete out. Pity mingled with compassionate sorrow. Daddy tragically thwarted God’s mercy even with his dying breath. Would Styles do the same?

  “I forgive you, Daddy.”

  When she’d prayed until she could pray no more she looked up. Night had fallen with only the crescent moon in the sky.

  She’d left the flashlight on the ATV. How would she find her way back?

  The glow behind her reappeared, closer this time. Moving towards her. She squinted at the brilliance aimed directly in her face, but recognized the shadowy figure in front of her, holding a gun.

  “Harlan.”

  “Hello. Miss Knowles. Done praying? It’s time we had a chat.”

  39

  Jonathan paced the whole of his mansion for two hours, not certain if he should go back to the cabin or leave bad enough alone. Sam had asked him to leave—no, ordered him out—minutes after the most passionate kiss he’d known in his life.

  Anger filled him. He paced the whole of the mansion, the only witness to his moans. He stopped at the portraits. Heritage. What a laugh. Only two generations separated Emmanuel and Henry, the forebear of the Gladstone curse, and from Henry on, each Gladstone lived a miserable imitation of Emmanuel’s greatness. They pranced and paraded their phony aristocracy, a banner of privilege no more deserved than a day in the sun. Neither wealth, nor dominion conceived, or owned the stars—they remained in the heavens only by the will of the Creator.

  What irony. The legacy he fought against proved to be the very essence of who he had become—the worst of all Gladstone men—arrogant to the core.

  Jonathan knelt before Emmanuel’s portrait—to be half the man he was, to be half as passionate, to know half his purpose. Then again, even Emmanuel knew a poverty of spirit, an emptiness that made him wrestle with something until dawn brought new hope. Jonathan strained to recall Emmanuel’s scribbled confession, dated the day after his ordeal. “I was the worst of sinners…”

  Jonathan raised his heart toward heaven. “I, too, have sinned in your sight, Lord.”

  You are forgiven.

  “What am I supposed to do now?”

  Trust.

  “And Sam?”

  She belongs to no one, but Me.

  The doorbell’s chimes broke into his prayer. He checked the security camera. Zack. Had he come to take a swing at his rival? Zack paced while he rang the bell like a stuck computer key, more agitated than angry. Zack raised his head in full
view of the camera, an image of a man possessed by fear, not anger.

  Jonathan raced to the door. “Zack? What’s wrong?”

  “Is Sam here?”

  “Look—Zack—I’m sorry—Sam’s sorry. We didn’t mean for that kiss—”

  “Is she here?”

  “No. She told me to leave.”

  “She’s not in the cabin. Her car is in the drive and both ATVs are gone. I thought you’d gone for a ride together or maybe she came here…” His voice trailed off. “To be with you.”

  Jonathan laughed. “Fat chance. She gave me the brush off right after you left.”

  Now Zack paced. “Maybe she took that friend of hers for a ride to the lake.”

  “What friend?”

  “Some guy from the DA’s office in Manhattan. Leon couldn’t remember his name. He said the guy wanted to surprise Sam with a gift. Something seems wrong, Jonathan. Sam never mentioned any friends other than Justine and Abe, and Leon said he wore sunglasses during the storm. What normal person does that?”

  Jonathan felt Zack’s alarm. “Just because somebody wears shades indoors doesn’t make them crazy. Besides, Sam can take care of herself, she’s told both of us a hundred times. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll run the security tapes. Though, if anyone bothered her at the cabin, she could press the panic button…”

  “What?”

  “I forgot to show her where it is.”

  Jonathan scanned the tape from the time he left the cabin. “There’s Sam leaving on the Max II. She’s alone, and she looks upset. Maybe she took a spin on the lake to calm down.”

  Zack leaned over Jonathan’s shoulder, his face ashen. “Then who took the other ATV?”

  “I’ll switch to the front scans.” Jonathan halted the tape. “Look. There. Behind the trees. If that man is a friend, why is he trying to hide?” He advanced the tape at slow speed. The man in the shadows mounted the ATV and sped off in the same direction as Sam.

  Zack gulped. “Can you zoom in?”

  “Yeah. It was still daylight when Sam left.” Jonathan froze the frame, clicked on the man, and highlighted his face. “Looks familiar…I’ve seen him someplace before…”

  Zack rushed toward the door. “Call the police and get your ATV. That’s Harlan Styles.”

  ****

  Sam had always feared death, until now, as it stared her in face. If God brought her home today, she knew she’d been forgiven, had forgiven Daddy. And strangely, she felt sudden compassion for the man who determined to take her life. Why did he hesitate? “You won’t get away with this Harlan. It won’t take a rocket scientist to tie you to my murder.”

  He squeezed his head, and Sam started towards him. Not quickly enough, and he struck her with the end of the revolver; something warm trickled down her cheek.

  “Don’t try it again. You underestimate me, Miss Knowles.”

  Over the edge crazy, for sure. She’d keep him talking as long as she could. “Before you kill me, at least tell me why you feel you have to do this. You got the deal of the century from Abe Hilderman, and I’m not a threat to you, anymore. I don’t have a job, and I’m homeless. If you wanted me to suffer, then I have. If you kill me, you’ll be doing me a favor, ending my misery. Is that what you want?”

  “You’ve wanted me dead all along, Miss Knowles. Admit it. Your boss wanted to make a deal, but that wasn’t good enough for you. You scraped me like scum off a pond.”

  Scum who’d murdered an innocent child. “I only wanted justice for Kiley.”

  “I didn’t kill Kiley. Maybe if you’d let up on me, the other three people would still be alive.”

  “You can’t blame me for the deaths of the others. You’ve always had a choice, Harlan.” With the statement, Sam felt suddenly free from the burden of Daddy’s death. Daddy always had a choice, too. His choice caused his death, not Sam.

  Styles laughed…maniacal…deep. “I didn’t kill those ambulance drivers, either. But, I did kill Montel Atkins. I liked it. And I’m going to like killing you.”

  “Then do it. What are you waiting for?”

  “Not yet.” Harlan inched closer and pushed the revolver hard against her abdomen, lifting her sweater slightly. “Maybe I don’t want to kill you…maybe we could go into that barn and you can make it all up to me. If I like what you do, I’ll let you live.”

  She felt sickened, yet knew she had to distract him, keep him talking. “If you didn’t kill Kiley, did Brenda do it? Were you covering up for her?”

  Styles pulled her arm, twisting it, forcing Sam to her knees. The jutted rocks tore through her slacks—blood oozed from her knees. He twisted her arm even more. “Kiley’s death was an accident.”

  She wanted to scream for the pain, the nausea begging release, but she refused to give Styles the satisfaction. Her eyes filled with unwanted tears. “You want me to believe Kiley fell down the steps like you said? Her head was bashed in. How do you call that an accident?”

  “She did fall. But not the way I said.”

  Styles let go of Sam’s arm then squeezed his head again, the man no longer on the edge, but falling into an abyss.

  Lord, help me. “There are no such things as accidents, Harlan.”

  His hand shook. “Any other ADA would have gotten tired spending every night over law books, and worked a deal for a misdemeanor. Washington thought I’d only get probation. Hilderman warned you to ease up. Why didn’t you listen to him? You hounded us, me and Brenda, manipulated the evidence, and got the jury and Normandy to believe I was worse than Al Capone, never stopping one minute to consider that Kiley’s death was a mistake.”

  No matter how he spun the details, Kiley’s death had not been a mistake, rather the result of a felony, a felony he committed, and regardless of Brenda’s culpability, Harlan Styles deserved more than a slap on the wrist. Yet, as he stood broken before her, irreparably damaged, for that split second, she saw him as God saw him, a creature to be pitied. “Then tell me, now. What really happened?”

  “Kiley had a tea party with my coke. That part is true. Brenda had been drinking, and I blamed her for not watching Kiley better. Brenda pushed me, and I grabbed a board, not to hit her with it, more like to scare her into thinking I might. Brenda grabbed the other end of the board, and I pulled to get it away from her. All of sudden, she let go. Kiley must have come between us while we fought and neither one of us noticed. Next thing we knew, Kiley fell down the steps and blood streaked the board.”

  “Harlan, put the gun away. Let me try to help you.”

  Harlan snarled. “Too late, now. I’ll die soon enough. If not by a cop, then Ingram’s hit man. At least, I’ll have the satisfaction of seeing you die before I get mine.”

  “You don’t have to do this. There are ways, witness protection.”

  “Come to the barn with me, now.”

  “No.”

  Harlan hit himself in the head with a rolled fist, and pushed the revolver against her forehead. “I have the power to let you live, but you refuse the chance? And people call me crazy? I could take you by force, but I’d probably be disappointed.” He cocked the trigger.

  “Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit.”

  Bright headlights loomed on the far side of the lake near the cabin. Styles veered his gaze toward the light, his attention broken. Sam pushed him with all the strength she had left. Styles slipped on the moss…his head cracked against a jutted rock…the revolver discharged. From the searing pain in her hip, she knew she’d been hit. She stumbled, slid and fell half in and half out of the water, managing to grasp one of the boulders to keep from falling into the deep collection pool. Style’s moans stopped.

  In the dark silence, Sam clung to the boulder. She prayed for God’s help as she pulled herself out of the water to a stand, then leaned against a boulder. Her side oozed; the warmth of the blood misted the cold air. The white glow along the trail behind the inlet brightened as her knees buckled, and she fell against Styles prone body. Emmanuel’s a
ngel had come to take her home.

  40

  From somewhere in a dark well, Sam rose to consciousness, focusing on a wall clock. Twelve. Noon, since light shone through the window. Apparently, she wasn’t dead. She tried to raise her head, but the room swirled. “Stay still, Sam. I don’t want you to pull out your IV.” The disembodied voice came into view, and Tracey Golden leaned over the bedrail. “Glad to see you awake.”

  “What happened?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I mean, after I passed out? I was shot—”

  “In the hip. We operated last night.”

  Machines beeped and a blood pressure cuff tightened on Sam’s other arm as Dennis Faubert came into the room.

  “So…what’s the verdict, Doc? Give it to me straight…in English, not that medical lingo.”

  Dennis smiled. “The good news is you’ll walk again.”

  “Then there’s some bad news?”

  “You’ll need physical therapy for a couple of months. The bullet fractured your hip bone. Once you’ve healed from the surgery, we’ll make a referral to a bone specialist, but I’m afraid you’ll always have a slight limp.”

  Sam gulped…Emmanuel’s angel had fought her and won. “So, I won’t run a marathon…otherwise…I’ll be normal?”

  Dennis patted her hand. “As normal as you ever were.”

  She’d laugh if she weren’t in so much pain. Normal? There was no defining normal as it related to Samantha Knowles, never had been, and certainly less so than a week ago.

  Tracey smoothed her covers. “Trooper Mitchell is waiting in the hall to talk to you.”