Darkly Rising (Dark Island Series Book 3)

by J. D. Matheny

  18

  The bell over the shop’s old wooden door jingled; something it did less and less these days. James looked up from his tall seat behind the counter, taking in the potential customer through tired eyes that had grown blurry over the years. He reached up with one crooked and long-nailed finger to push his half-framed glasses further up the bridge of his large nose. The figure took on the clearer form of a disheveled woman with ratty hair who milled around the entrance as if deciding whether to venture any further into the small bookstore.

  He watched her with mild contempt. Another quack, he judged. He was well aware of the hypocrisy of his thoughts, for his business, what business there was, was built by such people and had been started because he had been one of them himself once. A quack. No longer, though. Now he was just another jaded soul, who held no convictions where religion or the spiritual world was concerned. He’d learned his lessons over hard, disappointing years.

  The woman cast furtive glances his way as she pretended to look at several old books lined up on a wooden shelf to the left of the door. Slowly she trailed along the wall and toward the counter, eventually and painstakingly making her way to within a few feet of him.

  “Can I help you?” He asked the question with a sigh, as if the effort was almost more than he could bear.

  The woman looked at him fully now, revealing darkness around her eyes and slack skin. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. “Are we alone?”

  Great, he thought, she’s a druggie set to rob me, or a whacko intent on driving me to the bottle earlier than usual.

  He slipped his hand over a bottle of mace below the countertop. “There’s nobody else in the store, ma’am. Is there a reason for asking me that?”

  She stared at him as him as if he’d just spoken a foreign language and he watched in silent fascination as the wheels of her overburdened mind churned slowly. One hand, with chipped red polish on the nails, reached up to rub at her lips and she looked around the store again. “I mean, are we alone. Do you sense another presence with me?”

  Oh great.

  “You are James Ryker, right? The James Ryker? Who cleansed the Milton family home? Who can detect spiritual attachments and,” she paused to look around at the air again, then continued in a whisper, “and abolish them?”

  The door chimed again, and James watched a tall, powerfully built man with a modest beard and graying hair walk in. Two customers at once, a recent record. The man looked around the store with interest and began to wander. James turned his attention back to the crackpot.

  “Let me guess, you have a dark mist following you wherever you go. You have fits where you get angry and want to curse out your husband or boyfriend for complaining about your cooking. You wake up in the night, you hear knocking sounds, do I have the gist of it?” He knew he’d hit the mark by the growing saucers of the woman’s eyes. This is a dance he’d been through before.

  “Yes, oh yes, thank you! Finally, somebody believes me!” She stepped forward to the counter and James tightened his grip on the mace.

  “Cool your britches, young lady. I didn’t say anything about believing. What I will say is that you’re probably susceptible to belief. You’ve seen a movie or heard a story, and your mind is creating things now. My advice? Go home and get some rest. Forget about the idea of spiritual attachment, it’s all bullshit. Hope that helps.”

  The woman’s countenance did a complete flip and her lips pulled up in a snarl. “You bastard,” she said, hissing the words out. “You charlatan! I’m suffering!”

  James brought up the can to within a foot of her face. He watched the wide eyes read the label before saying, “You’re not really suffering yet, but if you don’t march your sorry ass out of my store pronto-like you will be.”

  The woman backed away two steps before spinning around and marching toward the door. Before she left, she reached out to grab a handful of books and sent them tumbling from the shelf, then she was gone.

  “You’ve got a way with women.”

  James looked over at the tall stranger, whose deep voice had surprised him. He’d forgotten already that the other customer had come in. “I’m used to the weirdos coming in. It’s the clientele I attract.” He bent over to pick up the books with a grunt, then faced the other man.

  “Pardon the curiosity, but why would you run a bookstore specializing in mysticism and spiritualism if you don’t like the people that are interested in it?”

  The man didn’t have the usual look he’d grown accustomed to. He looked more like a biker, a look that was enhanced by his imposing demeanor and a deep scar running down the side of his face, hidden partially by the scruffy beard.

  “I guess you could say I’ve lost my enthusiasm for the work, but what else is an old man to do? I sell enough books to pay for the space and buy a few groceries. Occasionally I get somebody that comes in thinking I’m a damn priest that will perform an exorcism in my back room. What they need are psychiatrists.” He made his way back to his chair behind the counter. The man followed.

  “I’m Thomas,” he said, sticking out a large hand. As James took it, he asked “So you don’t believe in the spirits attaching to people? That sort of thing? Never seen anything like it before?”

  The man looking perfectly sane, which James was thankful for. He was afraid if he had to use the mace on this one, he’d only piss him off. “There was a time, maybe. That time has passed.”

  Thomas nodded, as if he completely understood and no further explanations were necessary. “I would have agreed with you wholeheartedly, in another time.”

  There was something in the man’s tone and the look in his eyes, and truly haunted look, that aroused James’s curiosity. He almost kicked himself for asking a question. It was a step along the narrow ridge of a slippery slope. “Something happen to change your mind?”

  “You could say that.” Thomas placed three pieces of paper on the countertop and pushed them over toward James. “What do you think of those?”

  James took a deep breath, then reached over and fanned the papers out. They were drawings, violent drawings of some tropical place and people. One was a building he vaguely recognized. “Well, they’re not bad, for an amateur. I take it somebody you know drew these?”

  “Nephew.”

  For the first time in a long time, James felt a little pity. Even a big sonofabitch like this, who seemed to have his shit together, could get taken in by the fragile mind of a loved one. “Listen, Thomas. There was a time when I used to believe in this stuff. Even used to help some poor soul out on occasion, but then I had an awakening, you might say. People don’t get possessed by spirits, there’s no such thing. Weird things can happen, believable things, when somebody truly thinks they are possessed. They can be very convincing. I’m sorry if your nephew is showing some strange symptoms, but my advice would be to forget about spirits and possession and focus on a good shrink.”

  The big man eyed him for a long moment, then nodded his head and looked down at the pictures. “Business is kind of slow. You got time for a story?”

  James sank back in his recliner, a show about how cheap it was to find a home in a tropical location played in the background. He loved those shows and he dreamed one day of disappearing to some Mexican village to live out his years on meager savings and an even more meager Social Security check. He also loved other reality shows, ones of the trashier variety, but he didn’t like to admit that to himself. They were a secret and guilty pleasure.

  But he couldn’t focus on the program just now. He looked at his lap and the three pictures spread out before him. Pictures didn’t prove anything, but he had to admit to himself that the story this man Thomas had spun for him had been a doozy.

  The man sincerely believed he had battled with a God, or a demon. Not a possession, but an actual, physical demon. That kind of thing didn’t pop up every day. He certainly hadn’t seemed like a junkie or a head case. Quite the opposite, the man came across like a very intelligent an
d sane individual. James curiosity was piqued.

  “You old bastard, you’re out of this stuff now. You know better. You’re not that man, anymore.”

  He cracked open a Pabst and took a long swallow. Some years ago, nearly fifteen now, he’d achieved some notoriety for a case he’d worked on as a Paranormal Investigator. At the time he’d been deep into the stuff, reading books on Spiritism and idolizing the likes of Allan Kardec. The Milton family had been a local family that had everybody believing that they were truly the victims of some vengeful poltergeist. They exhibited all the classic symptoms, with flying pictures and strange sounds. What really clenched it though was their eleven-year-old daughter. The girl was a frail thing with big, brown, believable eyes. Over the course of a couple months she’d been pulled from school for frightening the other children with violent outbursts. She lost what little weight she had that made her look normal and had morphed into a walking skeleton. Strange marks appeared on her body. James bought into the case like everybody else.

  He’d brought in crucifixes, used kosher salt, and burnt sage at the entrance and all the rooms, walked the home reciting the Lord’s prayer and Prayer of Protection, splashed Holy Water he’d taken from a local Catholic Church, everything he knew he was supposed to do. He wasn’t a priest, but he was a man of God and of the spirits. It had been quite a scene, with books flying from shelves and loud, thumping protests from the evil spirit banging through the old home, but he had been successful.

  Or so he had believed. It had been a drunken call from Mr. Milton two months later that had shattered his illusions. Seems Mr. Milton had loved the attention of the local press and had the idea that a book and movie deal would soon follow.

  They don’t fuckin’ care! All that work we put in. They all beleefed, but whersh my movie? Whersh my pressh now?

  James could replay the entire conversation in his head, and he did, too often than was good for him. The whole damn family had been in on it. Mr. Milton had them all convinced that they’d get rich and famous, but it was all a sham. James now believed they were always a sham. There were no true spirits. Just people, desperate and conniving.

  But this . . . this was something entirely different.

  19

  “Mom, just relax. It’s not like I’m walking into the army recruiter’s office. It’s just a meal with a preacher and his sweet daughter. Are you worried I’m going to burst into flames at the dinner table?”

  Sophie realized her foot was tapping repeatedly against the SUV’s gas pedal and she quickly stopped the nervous movement. If she hit the pedal too hard she’d cause the engine to rev, which would undoubtedly bring the preacher to window to see what lame-brained kid was acting foolishly out front of his home. All he would see was an innocent kid with a lame-brained mother.

  “You’re sure you don’t want me to walk up with you to introduce myself? He might think it rude if I don’t.”

  “What he might think is that I’m a young boy who needs his mother to escort him to the door, which certainly isn’t the case. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him you said hello and make up a nice excuse.”

  Her foot was tapping away again, unchecked. “Have it your way. Just be on your best behavior, OK?” She was looking at him with eyes both sad and pleading.

  “I promise not to burp at the table, if that’s what you mean. Seriously, just relax. I’ll let you know when you can pick me up. Try not to wreck on your way home.”

  “Actually,” she said, “I’m not going directly home. I have a dinner date.”

  Kai’s black eyes locked onto her, looking suddenly serious. For the first time, he took notice of the extra attention his mother took with her appearance this evening. Normally unadorned, he could see color upon her lips, cheeks, and even the nails of the hand that gripped the steering wheel.

  “A date? I didn’t realize you were even speaking to anyone. Who is this guy?” The question came out as a challenge.

  “Blaine, from the float shop I’ve been going to. He’s very nice. You’ll like him.”

  The temperature outside seemed to be actually increasing as the evening progressed and she reached down to push the A/C button.

  “We’ll see.”

  He slid out of the vehicle and watched the red glow of the taillights fade off into the grey evening light, taking a series of deep, calming breaths. Then he stood and faced the house, wondering if somebody was peeking back out at him. One by one he scanned the windows, looking on in a relaxed pose that showed quiet confidence.

  The two-story house looked old but charming, with fresh white paint and dark green shutters. There was a covered porch that ran from one corner of the house to the other and was adorned with two wooden chairs placed on either side of a small round table. A perfect setup for a warm evening, chatting and sipping on cold lemonade.

  Kai strolled up the concrete walkway, up a wide, wooden staircase, and stood in front of a door that looked to be made of solid wood in an old-world craftsmanship. He took hold of a brass ring centered on the door and gave it two solid knocks. It took only a moment before he heard thudding footfalls echo through the house, growing louder as they approached the door.

  A large man with dark-rimmed spectacles and thick, salt and peppered hair answered the door. He was wearing a pair of comfortable looking khaki pants over dark-brown loafers and a midnight-blue flannel shirt with its long sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. Instead of opening the door to welcome Kai in, he stepped out onto the porch, closing the door partially behind him. Kai figured the man’s assumption would be for him to step back to keep some space between them. Instead, he held his ground and smiled. There was less than a foot of space separating them.

  He extended his hand into that small gap in the customary greeting. “Mr. Sykes, thank you for inviting me over for dinner. I’ve been looking forward to the opportunity to meet you.”

  Mr. Sykes looked up at him in the slightly uncomfortable way all tall men did when they found themselves looking up instead of looking down, as they were accustomed to doing. “You’re very welcome, Kyle.”

  “Kai.”

  “Kai? My apologies, I could have sworn that Jenny said your name was Kyle. Perhaps I confused the name with another boy.” His grey eyes held firm to Kai’s, looking for some sign of anger or submission, but Kai only smiled back at him easily. Those grey eyes grew momentarily stormy. “Kai, it is, then. If I should slip up again, I apologize in advance. Normally I’m great with names. Please, come in.” He stepped back through the door and this time held it open behind him.

  Kai stepped into the home and looked around, curious as to the environment that Jenny spent her time in. It was a warm and comfortable looking home. There were oak, hardwood floors running throughout, a den to his right that held a large wood desk and several books, and a living room off to his left, complete with dark-brown leather furniture, several plants, and a cozy rock fireplace. At the end of the hall appeared to be a large open area from what he could see. Dishes were clattering, so he presumed the kitchen lay in that direction. Judging from the man’s demeanor, he rightly guessed that Jenny would be there, preparing their food.

  Without waiting for his host to lead the way, Kai walked down the hall and saw that his deductions were correct. It did end in a large area, with an expansive kitchen to the left and another large room to his right full of furniture, books, and a large television. He didn’t take much time to inspect that, his attention was pulled toward the delicious red-headed girl with the fair skin and shy smile that was gaping at him from behind a large island.

  Immediately after their eyes made contact, she rushed out of the kitchen and stepped up to him, going momentarily to her tiptoes as though she meant to stretch up and kiss him. She quickly caught herself though and instead settled for a light handshake.

  “Kai, I’m so glad you accepted our invitation. I see you met Daddy.” Mr. Sykes was standing behind them, watching their interaction.

  “Oh yes, he’s very gracious a
nd welcomed me in.”

  “Good.” She looked at her father, then back at Kai, trying to determine whether he was being facetious or not. “I hope you like meatloaf and mashed potatoes, because I’ve made up a mountain of it!”

  He smiled at her enthusiasm and her soft pink cheeks. “My stomach tends to favor anything that I send its way. Meatloaf sounds amazing.”

  “Well, why don’t you two get situated at the table.” She pointed toward an open doorway behind her, at the opposite side of the kitchen. “I’ll bring in the rest of the food.”

  For several minutes the only sounds were those of silverware clinking on ceramic and glass dishes and the muted grinding and smacking of food. It was almost a contest, and the person to speak first was going to be the loser. Or perhaps it was as simple as nobody knowing the most graceful way to break an uncomfortable silence. Eventually, it was the youngest and meekest person at the table that made the first bold move.

  “Do you like your meatloaf, Kai?” Jenny’s voice was soft and curious. There was something innate about a woman’s need to impress with her abilities to host a good meal and the genuine concern in her delicate question showed just how important it was to her to have a positive response.

  Her timing was impeccable, as Kai had just put a forkful of food in his mouth. He smiled crookedly through his chewing as he looked back and forth between father and daughter. “It’s really something, Jenny. Truly. My mother makes a good meatloaf, and don’t tell her I said this, but I think yours edges hers out.” He focused his smile on her now, feeling supremely satisfied at the blush that his attention brought out in her cheeks.