Running into the Darkness

by D. A. Bale

  “Last time I checked. Here’s my driver’s license, but I don’t remember signing anything.”

  Apparently satisfied with her signature and identification, the representative smiled. “It’s amazing what one can forget in eight years.”

  Samantha bit back the rising retort and managed a smile. No need to bite the hand that feeds. The employee set her in a privacy booth and shut the door. Just for safety’s sake, Samantha snapped the door lock into place and stared at the box. It was smaller and much lighter than the previous one. Something slid when she tilted the box.

  Inside she found a cellophane sleeve encasing a tiny silver device, almost square and very thin like a miniature thumb drive. The casing appeared metal with a slight opening at one end, fitting easily into the small of her hand. Samantha held it up to the light but could see nothing through it. She tried to pry it apart with her fingernails but broke a nail instead.

  Enough time wasted. Samantha tucked the item back into the sleeve then into her purse and had the representative put away the box. The drive back to Gramm’s presented more questions. She needed some answers before her head exploded from overload.

  The car practically skidded into the driveway. Samantha scoured the bookshelves and desk drawers while she tried to decide where Gramm would keep a note or list. Then it came to her – Gramm’s Bible. Important papers were kept there for some strange reason.

  With no concern for sacrilege, Samantha grabbed the Bible off Gramm’s nightstand, flipped it over, opened it up and shook the hell out of it. Several slips of paper tumbled to the floor, but the item that caught Samantha’s eye was a small envelope yellowed with age. The envelope flap crackled as if it hadn’t been opened in a generation.

  A blood test.

  On her.

  The date read May 26th, ten days after her birth. The words of the notice gave her a jolt.

  Her Daddy – wasn’t.

  Chapter 11 – Mr. President

  Chief of Staff, Benjamin Forsdale hustled down the hallway toward the Oval Office, the rooms he sped past aflutter with the morning’s activities. Staff cowed and offered their morning greetings as he stormed through the secretarial pool. The President would not be happy with this news.

  The new redheaded bombshell was absent from her station. Ben coughed to hide the smile that momentarily crept to his lips. His pulse quickened. The scene merely awaited behind the closed door. Placing the folder beneath his arm, Ben opened the door to the Oval Office and slipped inside.

  She was doing more than a lap dance with her little black skirt wrapped up around her waist, her tight ass straddling the President and grinding hard. Warner had her blue blouse wide open, suckling her enormous tits like a ravenous pup. Ben knew when she’d showed up two Mondays ago that Warner would have her. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time.

  The hottie started with a squeal when Ben slammed the door. Warner grabbed her hips as she started to rise and smacked her back into place. She recovered from the surprise and moaned with desire.

  Warner growled as he lifted his face from his landscape of pleasure, “A moment, Forsdale.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.” Ben turned to face the wall.

  The activity behind him resumed and doubled in intensity, the breathing and grunting coming in rapid gasps. From his vantage point Ben listened and imagined himself in such ecstasies. His dick swelled and grew hard. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to whip it out and foam the wall, but someone had to maintain their composure in this office. As the groans and suckles behind him grew, Ben forced his thoughts to the folder’s contents and slowly the pressure against his zipper eased.

  The breathless pleasantries behind him escalated, and Ben knew the time had come.

  “Oh, Mr. President,” the girl cried.

  After Warner spent himself and scurried the young thing off to clean up in the side office, Ben left his musings and sidled up to the President’s desk.

  “Ah, Forsdale, there’s no better way to start the morning than to follow breakfast with a tit chaser,” Warner laughed, as he slipped on his glasses and smoothed his hair.

  Ben joined him. “Well when you’re done with this one, I wouldn’t mind if you put in a good word for me.”

  Warner winked. “As always.” The President lit a stogie and relaxed in his chair. “So what’s on your mind today, Mr. Chief of Staff?”

  Ben became serious as he briefed the President. “First off, Vice President Durksen’s office has requested a meeting this afternoon.”

  “The man doesn’t know when to let up,” Warner mumbled. “Fine. What else?”

  “We’re 99% certain at this stage – Congressman Rains was just the latest victim. The Elite have surfaced again.”

  Anger turned Warner’s eyes coal black. The artery in his neck throbbed as he ground out the cigar. “What are the bastards up to now? Where have they emerged?”

  “The last couple of months show New York, Virginia, and Kansas.”

  Warner muttered as he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Ben marveled at the President’s incredible capacity to recall almost every incident in his entire political career. The political arena activities forever found a resting place within the man’s mind and were retrieved by simply sorting through the files of his brain cells like a librarian sorting through an old card catalog. Ben toyed with the folder as he waited for the expected.

  With a start, Warner slammed his fists on the Resolute desk and hissed through clenched teeth. “They’re trying to get to her.”

  Ben smiled with satisfaction and placed the open file before the President, who scanned the top page and the photograph. Warner stated coldly the only thing to be done.

  “Take care of it, Ben.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  Tucking the folder beneath his arm, Ben once again strode from the room and called to the secretarial pool.

  “Get me a secure line to the FBI.”

  Chapter 12 - The Keyhole

  Wild ivy trailed across the gravestones like the veins of a corpse. Samantha could hardly forgive herself for her absence since the awful discovery in Gramm’s Bible, but her stomach churned every time the questions of her parentage returned. Answers – she’d so wanted answers to her questions. Now all she wanted was to forget the past, but it clung to her mind like a never-ending fog. Life remained stuck in a vortex pulling her backward.

  Carefully Samantha cleared away the primrose vine and deposited the daisies into the canister between the two headstones. A long-ago memory cut through her murky thoughts – Momma tending the pink calla lilies amid clusters of white daisies swaying in the breeze, the warm Washington sun streaming down on her white hat. Momma had always worn that white straw hat when she gardened.

  Protects my dewy skin from wrinkles, she had said.

  “Here’re a few daisies for you, Momma,” Samantha said stiffly. “I picked them myself from Gramm’s garden.”

  The other grave beckoned beyond an unshed veil of tears – John William Bartlett. A knot formed in her throat, but still she couldn’t bring herself to say or even think the word ‘Daddy’ ever again. Had he known? The question slashed through her heart like shards of glass. Momma had always said anyone could be a father but it took someone special to be a daddy. She never realized the impact of those words until the discovery.

  “How could you have done this to me, Momma?” Samantha whispered through gritted teeth. “To…to your husband? Even Mr. Eddis knew the truth.”

  As the dam breached, anger overtook her with a flood of raging turmoil as she paced back and forth. “What was it? An affair? Is this why you left Kansas? Were you trying to keep the truth from…him? Why didn’t you ever tell me, Momma? Me! Do you know how humiliating it feels to discover that everyone else knew but me?”

  Tears spilled hot down her cheeks. When Mr. Eddis had acknowledged her findings she’d felt as if she had been struck across the face. But he held no further answers to her bitter questions. If not Jo
hn Bartlett, then who? Gramm had held onto that stupid paternity test all these years, but to what purpose? She was nothing but a bastard child, the product of a woman she no longer knew – perhaps had never known. Had she ever really known any of her family?

  The sun glinted off the smooth carving of the headstone, the glare stinging her already blurred vision. Something appeared out of place. The carved cross above Momma’s name stood out as she swiped again at her eyes. Caution whispered on the summer wind before realization struck. Samantha dug into her purse and drew out the tiny mysterious chip discovered in Gramm’s safe deposit box.

  The angle of the sun glinted momentarily off a sliver of metal in the carved edge of the cross, the gray coating blending into the marble except where it had since worn. Tentatively Samantha leaned closer, slid the chip from the cellophane sleeve and pressed the open end into the slot with an almost imperceptible click.

  It fit perfectly.

  A marble panel of the headstone slid aside to reveal a tiny screen like a computer touchpad. Samantha glanced around, and chills raced one another up and down her arms even under the heat of the Kansas sun. How had Gramm hidden such a thing in a headstone? For what purpose? What provided power for it after all these years?

  Samantha shook her head to stem the questions. For a moment she didn’t want anymore revelations rocking her fragile world, but the questions clung to her mind like cobwebs. Maybe if she took a risk, she might find answers to satisfy her once and for all and be rid of the past. She slid her finger along the pad. With a hiss like a dying breath, the screen withdrew and the headstone panel closed.

  Nothing happened.

  The wait seemed interminable. Maybe the funeral home had some new gadgetry on their headstones for some ungodly reason. Samantha felt like an idiot. What did she expect – involvement in a spy game?

  Just as she dismissed the cloak and dagger thoughts, a small steel box ejected from a compartment beneath the flower canister. It appeared thin and rectangular like a small cash box. Samantha’s heart pounded.

  “Momma, what is this?” Samantha whispered. “What’s going on?” Her mouth felt like she’d swallowed a package of crackers. “Should I be afraid?”

  The whisper in her mind spoke a dreadful answer.

  With a quick hand Samantha grabbed the box, slipped it under her T-shirt and snapped shut the compartment. Nonchalantly she rested her hand against the headstone over the cross and bowed her head as if to say goodbye. Shades very well might be watching. As she drew her hand away, she grasped the tiny chip and dropped it back into her purse while she fished out her car keys.

  Samantha clutched her purse to her abdomen and tried to remain calm as she strolled to the car. But behind her purse, she gripped the little box that contained something she instinctively knew would bring another wave of change like the crash of a squall line.

  Chapter 13 - The Face of Death

  Samantha fought to focus on the road as she careened a circuitous route along Wichita’s highways and back to Gramm’s house. Her palms left sweat streaks all over the steering wheel.

  Get a grip, girlie!

  After plowing into the driveway, she slipped into the house through the back door, clutching the precious cargo. The house was dark in the growing dusk. Shadows crept along the walls like silent stalkers.

  Shades.

  Samantha tore through the house and drew the shades and curtains to stem the shadows. She willed herself to breathe normally and listened. All was quiet on the home front. Still she didn’t dare turn on the main lights and instead clicked on a small lamp perched on the dining room desk.

  He might be out there.

  The box clanked in the stillness when Samantha placed it on the desk. It glared in the light of the lamp. Her body shuddered. What could be so earth-shattering to have caused someone to hide the contents in her mother’s gravestone? Images of the fireball that had taken her parents exploded in her mind. She scratched her leg as she remembered the itchy crinoline skirt that day then rubbed the old scar. Nothing about her life made sense anymore. She watched it go by as if through a kaleidoscope, everything topsy-turvy, twisted, and wrong. If only to go back to New York and pretend nothing from the last couple of months had occurred – impossible.

  With trembling hands she pried the steel lid off. Papers yellowed with age nested inside. Carefully Samantha sorted through the small pile: birth certificates, a marriage license, drivers licenses and passports. They contained her parents’ pictures but had someone else’s names.

  Her parents must have involved themselves in some crazy ID scam or mafia group. But that didn’t ring true. Maybe CIA. No matter how angry Samantha felt with them, they couldn’t have been thieves and murderers – could they?

  An envelope remained. The flap cracked in her hands as she tentatively slid out the pages of a letter. She could almost hear her mother’s voice as she read the words in a familiar script.

  My dear Samantha,

  If you are reading this letter then my sorrow is complete. If we do not return safely, the Elite will send you the appropriate documentation. Our involvement started innocently enough, or so we thought. We felt we were doing a great service to our country, but more and more I have questioned that decision.

  Our demise was probably swift and painless, so don’t concern yourself with what we likely didn’t feel. No matter how it happened, we have loved you always. You brought such joy into our lonely lives. I only wish it had lasted longer for all our sakes. Now you must know the truth.

  Your dad and I were not able to have children. For many years we had tried but were unsuccessful. That’s how we knew you were likely his.

  I interned in his office during summers home from college and eventually was offered a full-time position. He was merely a state legislator then but powerful and very charismatic. Your dad thought the world of him.

  It happened during the fall campaign for governor. We’d always heard he was a bit of a womanizer, he had such charm, but I was still a bit naïve concerning his ways. I’d never seen him act improperly in the office. That’s why I went ahead and accepted his offer to work on the campaign trail.

  The weeks of travel left everyone exhausted but enthused as we neared the end. That’s when it happened. No one responded to my cries for help as he raped me. Your dad wanted to kill the man when he found out, but no DA had the spine to touch the case. Then we found out you were on the way, a ray of light in our darkness. We had hopes you were truly ours, but the blood test told a different story.

  Samantha, stay far away from him. Do not attempt to contact him for I shudder to think what he may do, but the truth must be yours to bear now. John Bartlett will always be your daddy, but biologically you are the child of Frederick Warner.

  The blood drained from Samantha’s face as the letter fluttered to the floor. She couldn’t read anymore. She felt faint. Sick. Her father was now the President of the United States. Her breath came in gasps and hiccups.

  Hold on, girlie. Don’t pass out now.

  Through the physical nausea and mental pain, Samantha gulped in a foul breath. She willed herself to slow her breathing but the stench remained.

  Natural gas.

  The box. The documents. Samantha stared at the letter on the floor as if disembodied. How long had she breathed in the noxious fumes? Shades must have seen her collect the box from the cemetery. He’d followed her home, rigged the house. They were going to kill her – silence her just as they had her parents.

  Samantha staggered to the living room and ripped the rug from the floor. She couldn’t let Shades see her trying to leave. He probably waited outside for her to set foot on the front porch to slam a bullet through her skull. Well she’d fool him. He’d never expect her to remain inside the house.

  The old ‘fraidy hole was still there. Quickly she flung back the trap door leading to the concrete storm cellar built under the front porch, then stumbled into the stairwell’s darkness.

  Her ears rang,
felt the heat from the explosion before passing into unconsciousness.

  ***

  Joe stared at the charred remains that had once been Sam’s home. The embers glowed in the darkness, the hiss of steam echoing as the fire department flushed the hot spots. The surrounding homes had taken quite a beating as well. Looked like the one behind might be saved, but the two on either side were toast. The neighbors across the street had all their windows shattered. The explosion must have been enormous.

  Joe tried to make notes for the investigation, but he couldn’t push aside thoughts of Sam. No trace of a body thus far, but her car, or at least the remains of her car, had been tossed into the dining room of the house next door. No body there either.

  The nub of the pencil eraser popped back into his mouth as he tried to focus. If she’d gone for a walk the explosion would have brought her back before now. Out with friends? Well Sam wasn’t known for keeping too many friends these days – except the Eddises, but the couple hadn’t seen her for several weeks. If she’d gone back to New York he’d have known. Something didn’t add up.

  If the explosion had been caused by a natural gas leak, as the fire department suspected, she may have asphyxiated before realizing a problem. However, natural gas had a unique scent she would’ve recognized, unless she’d been taking a nap. Even so, they’d still found no trace of remains in the obliterated heap.

  Joe allowed his mind to go where he’d not allowed before. Had he missed something important? Had someone actually targeted Sam and her family? What of this mysterious guy with the sunglasses that had so gained her attentions? Was the explosion a means to eliminate evidence – evidence that he’d provided? If needed, where would Sam have hidden it?

  The ‘fraidy hole.

  He grabbed a flashlight and the heavy work gloves he kept in the car. Running over to where the front porch used to be, Joe slipped on the pair of gloves before hefting debris from the general area.

  “Some help here,” Joe yelled to the firefighters.

  Someone turned the floodlights in his direction as two other firefighters reached in to assist. The smoldering debris warmed up the gloves fast, but Joe didn’t allow the pain to stop him while there remained even the slightest chance she’d survived.