by K. F. Ridley
Dirt
K F Ridley
DIRT
Copyright 2012 KF Ridley www.kfridley.com
All rights reserved.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the authors, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
Little Roni Publishers
ISBN-13: 978-0615656588
ISBN-10: 0615656587 Also available in eBook format
Little Roni Publishers
Byhalia, MS
www.littleronipublishers.com
Cover Photo: Holly Buckingham Cover Design: Elizabeth E. Little
The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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For my precious angel
Baby Jade, I love you so much. You can read this when you’re older.
Dirt
Prologue
The only darkness I ’ve ever known is the tranquil night that flows from moonlight. Now there is another darkness that exists beyond my world of Darby; an evil that lies within the hearts of beings where light cannot flicker.
I have a feeling things are about to change. Part of me hungers for it; the other part fears my life may be the price. I know this sounds crazy, but because of what I am, my life may be a price worth paying.
1
He traces my shadow. I see his silhouette through the faintlytinted driver’s side window. Making my way off campus, I find Highway 93. I push the pedal to eighty hoping to lose him, then to eighty-five, then ninety. My hybrid is no match for the pristine ’67 Camaro. Hands trembling, I grip tighter to the steering wheel. I look behind to see his iridescent black car rushing around each bend. I try to out maneuver him. I can feel the vibrations of my heart as I hold my breath. Although my dad would be upset, a speeding ticket would really be nice at a time like this. Where is the highway patrol when you need them? But if I get a ticket I’ll have to explain to Dad why I’ve been driving like a maniac. That explanation would cause a new set of problems.
My nerves unravel while the stranger trails one or two car lengths behind. I change lanes several times and take side roads, getting off and on the highway in an effort to lose him. Is he trying to kill me? My skin tightens when finally the dark car drops off somewhere down Tin Cup Road. Maybe I’m losing my mind, but I know I’ve seen that car somewhere before.
Dad ’s car sits in the driveway, so I pull myself together before I go into the house. I can’t let him see me upset.
I breathe in deeply as I lean over the kitchen sink. I never thought my first week of college would be this nerve-wracking.
I see it sitting there on the kitchen counter, the glass full of thick yellow muck where I left it this morning. I forgot to take my daily dose. While I watch Dad from the kitchen window as he buries another one of his secrets in the backyard, I chug down the bitter medicine for my condition,“the condition” that doesn’t have a name or a symptom. I try to keep from inhaling the horrid scent of the homemade drug as it slides down with three huge gulps.
Dad walks in through the backdoor, unaware of his worn appearance: a tailored button-down and wrinkled khakis with a touch of dirt smudged on his knees. Without the dirtit isn’t Dad. “Did you take your medicine?”
“Yeah, of course I did.” I roll my eyes. In a couple of weeks I’ll be eighteen. I’m all grown up now, but he doesn’t get it. I’m the one who takes care of him, but he doesn’t get that either.
“Ashe.” He lifts the empty glass with yellow film left on its rim. “This was still sitting on the counter when I got home.”
“You didn’t ask me when I took it. Better late than never.”
“You can’t afford to forget, Ashe.”
I don’t know why I have to take that nasty yellow stuff he calls medicine anyway. I’ve been drinking it for as long as I can remember. Asking him why I need it agitates him. There isn’t anything wrong with me. I take it to make him happy. Anything to keep him from worrying. I’ve never forgotten a dose, but the excitement of starting college has the better part of my mind.
“How’s school?”
“What?” I respond off guard still shaky from the ride home.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah…yeah, Dad. Everything’s fine,” I answer brushing him off. I’m careful not to mention the black Camaro.
I start dinner and the bizarreness of the day begins to wear off helping me calm down. After finishing the baked chicken and mashed potatoes, Dad heads downstairs to his homemade lab in our basement. If anyone ever found out about it he’d probably be arrested. His lab looks like something out of a Frankenstein movie, without the dead body. Why couldn’t he be a normal father and watch a ballgame on TV? Glass tubes, flasks, pipes and bowls move chaotically on his large stainless steel table. Cold, sterile, metal panels cover the walls. He looks like a mad scientist with his grungy lab coat and extra-thick glasses. Busy, busy, busy. Happiness meets him in his secret world of formulas and yellow muck, a place I don’t think I’d care to visit.
During the day, Dad does research for a local pharmaceutical company. I rarely ask questions regarding his work. The answer is usually something I’d have to swallow later. Sometimes, he asks me to help him when he’s working down in his dungeonous lab. If I do ask a question, I get some crazy scientific explanation only he and Isaac Newton could understand. I try to keep my curiosity down to a minimum.“What I don’t know can’t hurt me,” I always say.
As I prepare for the next day, I notice a beam of light charge through my bedroom window. The pitch of darkness surrounds us. No one drives down our road at night. Cars seldom travel down our road at all, really. Besides ours, there are only three other houses in the area, and they’re miles apart. I look outside and the moon fills the sky as it gleams off something in the field across the street. A rant of fear ices the chills that run down my back when I see the black Camaro parked in that field. It would have been hard to notice, but the fullness of the moon against the impeccable black paint gives it away. The mystery of the stalker overflows my curiosity and I push my fright away as I bite my lower lip. I have to know who’s following me, watching me.
I run from my room and out of the front door. As he speeds away, the high-pitched squeal of tires against the asphalt replace the scent of evergreen with the stench of burnt rubber.
“Who was that?” Dad asks standing directly behind me.
“ I have no idea,” I answer as I stare down the dark empty road, pretending to be oblivious.
“What are you doing out here? It’s late.”
“Just getting something out of my car,” I lie hoping to keep his questions to a minimum. We go back inside. I say whatever necessary to keep the truth from Dad. Honestly, I don’t know the truth at this point. This guy could be a serial killer.
As I lay in bed, I think how I miss the quietude of my previous life, my life before The University of Montana. High school is over and except for Taylie Winston, all of my friends have moved away. Taylie and I have known each other since kindergarten. She’s the best kind of best friend; the sister I never had. We do things together, but she can also do what she wants with other people and its okay with me. Jealously doesn’t figure into the equation of our friendship.
Everyone else? Well, they couldn’t get away from Darby fast enough. I don’t know what they’re looking for, but I love my safe Montana home. The snowcapped mountains and ever
green woods are breathtaking. I don’t think any place else in the world could be half as beautiful. I have to admit sometimes I wonder what else exists outside the world of Darby, but it’s easier to convince myself to be content. Suppressing any thoughts of leaving home is the logical thing to do.
Darby is a close-knit town. The fact that I don’t know this stranger behind the windshield turns my blood to ice water. I want my boring life back. I don’t do well with surprises. Predictability and certainty are my favorite places.
My dad further restricts any thoughts of change. It’s always been Dad and me. Sometimes he’s like a kid, helpless in some ways and brilliant in others. Things would have been so different if my mother hadn’t died during my infancy. He’s never gotten over her death. For me, well, it’s hard to miss someone you don’t know. I don’t have a single memory of her.
It’s not that I suffer a horrible existence with Dad. I love my Dadand he’s been there for me as much as he could be. There are some things, well, maybe a lot of things he doesn’t understand. He’s a strange man; loveable, but strange. He’s scientific; I’m artistic. He’s formulas and calculations; I‘m color and expression. He has a Ph.D. in Chemistry and I’m majoring in Art. We have a hard time relating to one another, but he needs me. Any dreams of a life outside of Darby are strictly out of the question.
My creative expression is my saving grace and a place to escape. Art fills a void an absent mother has left in me. I’m not blaming her, because without her I wouldn’t be here, but I’m resentful her death has left me with an identity of ambiguity.
I notice her picture on my dresser, a beautiful stranger, and her intense teal blue eyes seeping through the picture with golden blond hair draped across her shoulders like silken threads. Etched into the mahogany frame is her name, Nuin. I know her only as my mother, a stranger who gave me life. I’m not trying to sound indifferent, but what I see in the picture is all I know of her.
Dad talks about my mother on very limited occasions. Sometimes, he doesn’t make any sense. He talks to her and about her as if she’s still here. Anyone else would think his behavior crazy and sometimes I do. I have to look really deep down to find his sanity. With all the unexplainable things going on, I’m starting to question my own.
2
“ Be safe,” Dad says, as he always does when I leave the house. His obsession about my health and safety is in overdrive. If he had a clue about the stalker, he would probably keep me home. His fear of losing me makes him irrational, so I make sure I drink the yellow muck before I walk out.
I drive up Highway 93 to Missoula, inspired by the mountain view. The sun in the ocean blue sky warms me with each glimmer. I try to relax, but worry unsettles me.
Half-way to campus, I notice the black Camaro trailing behind me. Maybe I’m getting worked up over nothing. Maybe he goes to school in Missoula. Maybe I imagined that car last night. I didn’t speed up. I let him follow me as if I could stop him. I keep a check in my rearview mirror and notice he drops off his tag as I reach campus.
I manage to make it through English and History without any major event. I need a break and sit in The Recess, the campus coffee shop. The warming scent of my chocolate mocha helps me unwind.
“ Hey, girl!” Taylie shouts from across the room. I jolt spilling coffee on my shirt. We planned to meet during our break. Perpetually peppy with perfect hair and makeup, Taylie looks more like a New Yorker than a girl from small town Montana. If “Guys” were a major she would make straight A’s and never miss a day of class.
She sits down shaking her head as if looking at someone from a list of top ten worst dressed.
“Ashe, really. We’ve got to go shopping.” My bargain brand faded jeans with threads dragging the hem make her cringe.
“I’m comfortable,” I insist, as I try to rub out the brown spot on my now stained green t-shirt.
“How have your classes been so far?” I ask anticipating my next class, Painting 101, with hopes it would be the highlight of my day. I focus on school and I try to weed out everything else.
“Have you noticed all the guys? I think I’m going to go insane,” she says ignoring my question.
“I think you’re already there.”
Taylie scopes the room like a kid in a candy store with an addiction to sugar. Finding a guy is not on my“to-do” list. I don’t need the complications.
“Really, Ashe, so many to choose from.” She pans the room as if shopping for a new pair of shoes. An expensive pair everyone would want, but only she could wear.
“You’re too much,” I tell her.
I didn’t even go to prom. Believe me, I heard it from everyone. Taylie tried to fix me up with anybody and everybody. Dancing isn’t my thing. I tried to convince myself that the whole idea of dating was lame. Well, I guess most guys at Darby High thought of me as too lame to ask out.
A part of me envies Taylie. Her carefree spirit embraces the social scene. I bury the part of myself that longs for what Taylie has. During most of my middle and high school years, I heard from my classmates about my weird dad and his behavior scared most of them away. The guys in high school got on my nerves anyway. I already had one kid at home, Dad. I didn’t need another one
“Really, Ashe, you need a boyfriend.”
“Why? I am doing just fine on my own.” I’m tired of being pushed. I don’t need any issues.
“Well . . .y…y…you just do.” She doesn’t really have a good answer. Sometimes, she’s worse than a guy. Taylie’s mind doesn’t stay in the same place long. “Check out the blond.” By this time she eyes some good-looking, unsuspecting victim from across the endless pool of people. I’ve no idea which one has become her target.
“Oh my God, Ashe, look at him.”
“Who?” I ask unconcerned, tracing the campus map for Anderson Hall, ignoring her as much as possible.
“He’s unbelievably gorgeous.” She shakes my arm trying to pop it out of socket.
What?” I say annoyed. I look up, as if I have no other choice. I follow her finger as she points from behind her book.
Okay, well, yeah he’s probably the most unbelievably beautiful human being I’d ever seen. His thick and wavy amber hair shimmers with each beam of sunlight, every strand kissed by the rays filtering through the window. His face formed from the bust of a Greek god. Chiseled. I mean every feature. Perfect. My body tenses when he stares straight at me with his intense blue eyes. Well, maybe he’s staring at Taylie. That would definitely make more sense. I blush as he looks our way. Embarrassed by the attention, I drop my eyes back down to the campus map. Okay, now I’m acting like Dad. I can’t help myself. I’m sure I appear socially inadequate; uncomfortable with the attention because I’m unsure what to do with it.
“He’s looking over here. Don’t look. Don’t look,” Taylie says, as she ignores her own advice.
Taylie has to be the one he’s watching. Then, I feel a sharp chill as his eyes meet mine. I look down again out of awkwardness. His eyes pierce through me even though I can’t see his face. I gawk at the campus map with hopes of protection from being noticed.
What’s wrong with him? Taylie’s hair looks like it’s been poured from a honey jar as it runs passed her shoulders meeting the middle of her back; fair unblemished skin with rich brown eyes. I mean every guy looks at her. Basically, she can take her pick.
Me, on the other hand, well, I’m common; the complete opposite of Taylie. Long dark hair, black as night, olive skin and dark brown eyes. I’m thin and that’s the only thing Taylie and I have in common, and the fact that we are exactly the same height, five feet six. I look a lot like Dad. Strangely enough, Taylie looks more like my mother except for my mother’s blue eyes. I have never seen anyone with eyes like hers until now. This beautiful stranger looks at me with my mother’s blue eyes glowing from across the room. Chill bumps cover me and I hold my breath for a moment as I realize the emotions I have when I look at my mother’s picture.
“I’m gonna b
e late for class.” I need an excuse to leave.
“Same time tomorrow, Ashe?”
“Sure.” I clutch my books and head to my next class. I turn and glance back at him, his eyes still on me as I make the corner. Everything moves in slow motion as his face follows mine with every movement defined by the longest seconds I’ve ever known.
I make my way out of The Recess and stop to catch my breath. Out of my element, I don’t know what to do with the attention usually intended for Taylie. The thought of having to introduce any guy to my father makes me uneasy. I’m not usually this dramatic, but there’s something unsettling about this guy. To keep my nerves from unraveling, I immerse myself in art. It’s always been my safe place, so a have a sense of relief as I head to Painting 101.
I need a place to refocus, but the challenge proves difficult. Professor Bran introduces himself as a newcomer to The University of Montana. He’s handsome, but in a mysterious way. When he speaks his lips move like a finely orchestrated waltz. He appears to be in his late twenties or even a well-preserved thirty. He lectures to the class, but I feel he’s only speaking to me. His lips move, but I hear nothing, as if I’m watching a silent movie. I don’t know what the others in class are doing because I can’t take my eyes off him. His metallic emerald green eyes are disorienting. As he examines the classroom, I watch him move back and forth and I can feel him hypnotizing me.
I pull my face toward the desk with difficulty as if my eyes are glued to his, magnetized to the glistening of metal in his face. Words float passed his lips like frost in the air.
“Paint what is in your soul. Due Wednesday.”
I’ve missed the entire class. I look at my cell and I notice an hour has passed. What the hell is wrong with me?
I turn to the person sitting next to me. “What’s our assignment?” I ask with a red-tinged face.
“It’s ridiculous. This class is a joke,” he says. “I’m Jackson by the way.” He introduces himself as he forces another book into his backpack.
“I’m Ashe. What’s ridiculous?”