He reconsidered. Maybe there actually had been a feeling of obligation that had forced his hand: the needs of his family, his number one priority.
After all, he’d just been fired.
Didn’t that just mean, though, that his decision had been made out of fear? Fear that God wouldn’t provide another avenue? Being afraid would definitely have been a poor reason for having said “yes.”
Brent couldn’t get the nagging question out of his head: What city offers a Chief-of-Police badge to an officer whose highest rank, prior, had been that of a sergeant? What had the Pittston mayor been thinking?
Brent had gone from having a single shift of officers under his supervision at the City of Millsville Police Department to having the responsibility of an entire police department in the Village of Pittston. He had bypassed the supervisory roles of lieutenant and captain. Yes, sure, there were far fewer officers in Pittston—fewer by more than half—than in Millsville, but how had he come to expect that he could operate a whole department on the skills of a low-ranking supervisor?
Then there were the officers already serving in Pittston that he had “leapfrogged.” His acceptance of the position had ruffled a few feathers.
Brent wasn’t hated by those who served under him; at least he knew that much. He wasn’t even disliked by the men and women on his force. It had taken a little while, but he’d eventually garnered their trust. In fact, the last remnants of any real discontent in the department evaporated with the departure of a couple of the Pittston P.D. officers.
Three days into his job, Brent lost two subordinates: one who had left of his own volition and the other … less so. The ‘heir apparent’ to the former chief’s position had quit the department in a huff, and one of the patrol officers, who already had a proclivity for dissension in the ranks, made an off-color remark about him and the mayor, Marie Wilbur. That had gotten him fired.
Brent hadn’t known if his decision to get rid of the errant officer would go over very well, even though there hadn’t really been another viable option. Thankfully, Officer John Eldredge remarked about a week later that the decision had already gone a long way toward cultivating a less tense work environment.
Apparently, he had done something right in the eyes of his department early on.
Though Brent still felt like a poser in his position, he was at least willing to take the time to learn the ropes.
Each day offered an opportunity to be stretched, and after a while, he came to learn that the job stresses could be managed fairly. The men and women of his department respected his rank, though he couldn’t be sure if there was much respect on a personal level. That was something that still needed to be earned. He felt much like he had during his rookie year as a Millsville cop.
After about a month of sitting in the ‘big chair,’ he had received a rather fortuitous call from Captain Anthony Morelli, his former boss at the Millsville P.D.
“How’s life in the new position, Brent? Feeling the heat of insufficiency yet?”
Brent hadn’t known how to take the question. Was it a jab at his qualifications? A statement about his manhood? “I … umm … I’m not exactly sure how to respond to your question, Captain.”
“First, let’s get beyond the formalities. You are no longer my junior, so please start calling me ‘Tony.’ As for your answer, the proper response is always going to be ‘yes.’ Anyone who steps into a senior supervisory role is going to feel like he’s made a bad choice by accepting it—at least initially. I wasn’t taking a swipe at you.”
“Well, then, to answer … yes. Feeling the heat.”
Brent heard the older man—by some eight or nine years—chuckle. “I was sitting here talking to the sergeant who took your spot, and it got me thinking about you and Larkin.”
Tracy Larkin had been one of Brent’s subordinate officers at Millsville P.D. who had also violated departmental regulations, stepping across jurisdictional boundaries to help snag a murderer. And that murderer had turned out to be the former Pittston Chief of Police, Jim Connor. Tracy had also helped to prevent an attempted homicide by another man, a cult leader named Brendan Cadeyrn.
For breaking those regulations, Larkin had been dismissed from the Millsville P.D. shortly after Brent. But Brent had made taking the “top cop” position in Pittston contingent upon being able to hire Larkin into the department with a promotion to sergeant.
“You’re glad to be rid of a couple loose cannons, I’m guessing,” replied Brent.
“Never thought that way about either of you, Brent. In my mind, you’ve never been anything but a good man and a good cop. I even miss some of Larkin’s snarkiness from time to time.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Tony.”
“Tony.”
“As to why I’m calling, I wanted to reach out to see if I can be of any help. I don’t know anyone else who’s transitioned to the top like you have. It’s unheard of. So, I’d like to be a bit of a resource for you. Call me with questions, and I’ll periodically call to see how things are going.”
With those words, a feeling of trepidation had begun to lift off of Brent. He’d closed his eyes and allowed his head to drop forward briefly in relief.
“You have no idea what you’ve just done for me.”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
Brent had to laugh.
“There is another aspect of my call that needs to be brought into the open. It’ll be good to have a friend who is the top cop in an adjacent town. While Jim Connor wasn’t exactly a jerk, he did seem to look at Pittston as his own private kingdom. It was difficult sometimes to get his cooperation. Not even Chief Spano could deal with him very effectively.”
Chief Lisle Spano, the Millsville Police Chief, was another good man that Brent had recently started getting to know better due to their proximity and positions.
“Tony,”—saying the name was going to feel awkward for a while—“I look forward to a stronger relationship between our departments. I especially look forward to your wisdom on department management.”
“Glad to help, Brent. Gotta run now, though. Talk with you soon.”
“Look forward to it.”
The phone had clicked silent and Brent lowered the receiver and hung up the phone.
After that initial phone conversation, Tony Morelli’s know-how over the ensuing months had proved critical in a lot of the successes he’d experienced.
Things certainly had an interesting way of working out. The man whom he’d respected as a leader—a boss—was quickly transitioning into that of a mentor and friend.
JAMIE LAWTON TURNED the corner onto Woodglen Drive and began to accelerate. Each turn in the maze of streets boosted his confidence a little bit more. Still, the combination of lefts and rights, along with a collection of street names he was starting not to recognize, made him realize that he didn’t really know where he was.
“All right. Now keep going straight until the road T’s at Narrow Road,” said Tara.
Jamie got his orientation back. Narrow Road would take them back home if he turned left. Funny, he thought, Narrow Road is one of the widest streets in the city. “Am I taking us home?”
“Yep. Enough for one day. For me anyway.”
“Did you just take a jab at my driving?”
Tara laughed. “You know me better than that. I never jab.”
Jamie shook his head with a grin. “Yeah, right. Never.”
The half-hour drive had actually been pretty decent. Only one small correction from his mom. Not bad at all.
After Jamie had learned the ropes from his dad, his police-officer father suggested that he spend some early-afternoon road time with his mom before the school year started. That way he’d get to practice in relatively light traffic situations. Thankfully, his mom had not been the passenger-seat complainer he thought he’d have to endure. That didn’t really cut down on the stress, though. After all, his male
ego still had to survive female scrutiny.
“Take us home, now, James.”
“If you want me to be your limo driver, Mrs. Lawton, you’ll have to get into the back seat.”
“Trust me, son of mine, you don’t want me as a backseat driver.”
Jamie laughed.
Chapter 5
D
rew Parks waited for another light at another high-traffic intersection in downtown Akron, Ohio. Rush-hour traffic was an idiotic description of what he was having to endure. Rush hour? Rush? He shook his head and drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel.
He looked at the clock on his radio. 4:47 p.m. It might be another twenty minutes before he even got to the highway. Then another fifteen or twenty minutes before he got home.
The drives to and from his job were monotonous. The enjoyment of driving his BMW M3 had been lost to the stop and go of traffic months earlier. Now it was just an attractive two-door mobile cage.
Maybe it was just an attempt to redirect his attention, but he dropped down his visor and flipped open the cover of the lighted mirror. He looked at himself. His eyes were a little bloodshot, but not awful. His gaze drifted to his hair; left side, right side. He grimaced a little bit. The gray. Wasn’t he still too young for it? It was just a hint in his thick, almost-black hair, but it was yet another reminder that time was passing him by. Life was passing him by.
He flipped up the visor to again pay attention to the traffic ahead.
Lonely. That’s what I really am.
“Criminy!” he shouted at his windshield. “C’mon!” The light ahead had cycled to green then back to yellow before the guy at the light understood that the irritated honks were directed at him. The guy stepped on the gas in time.
And … yep, he was the only one to get through. Perfect. Drew took a deep breath and let it out, trying to maintain his patience.
It wasn’t as though he had to rush home to anything … or anyone.
Two years prior, he’d destroyed his marriage when his wife had caught him looking at pornography. She’d given him an ultimatum, one that he’d agreed to in order to hopefully repair their marriage. But when he’d gotten caught the second time, she had let him know she was done.
No longer was there a reason to rush home.
He missed having a reason. He missed having her.
Since the divorce, he’d tried dating again. Several times, in fact. He never seemed to have trouble getting dates, as women had always found him attractive enough to take a chance on.
He determined, though, that most of the women hadn’t been worthy of a second date, especially if they’d been willing to get intimate.
First-date sex meant that the intrigue was gone. There was no mystery to enjoy.
There was always something very attractive about a woman who was willing to say, “Not gonna happen tonight, buddy.”
His former wife had said those very words to him while they were still dating. More than once.
She’d stolen his heart. And he had broken hers.
As a result, it was pretty easy to spend his post-work day at home, in his rut. Hiding from that reality.
So, no, there was nothing about the remainder of his day that was pressing. He just wanted the daily stress relief that he’d become accustomed to. And that could only happen in his condo.
He’d settle down in front of his laptop to surf the web. Within just a couple of minutes, he could dive deep into cyberspace and lose himself within the dark tangle of sites for hours at a time.
Stress relief.
He knew all too well though, that, as usual, he would, later, mentally eviscerate himself for having wasted all that time. Time he would never get back.
At thirty-seven years old, Frew Parks knew that his life should be more than closed blinds and computer images.
Every day, he knew this.
Every. Single. Day.
He knew he should be fulfilling some greater life purpose.
He knew he should be a better man, an example to … well, someone … somewhere.
But every single day, the thought of being more and doing more died when his body’s self-created drug of choice peaked in blissful intensity.
Only afterward—when his desire had been satiated and the pounding of his heart had settled—did he become acutely and unavoidably aware of his inability to self-invest in things that truly mattered.
The whole of his life came down to two things:
1. Keep the lights on.
2. Keep the pleasure going.
Apply. Rinse. Repeat.
Every. Single. Day.
THROUGH THE OPEN bedroom window, Elizabeth heard Brent’s patrol car pull into the driveway. She immediately thought about approaching him with the question of Kyla’s name and how it had something to do with his past. She knew, though, that her question would result in the table being turned. She’d inevitably be asked, “Who told you about that?”
Elizabeth didn’t want to be thought of as an eavesdropper in their house, so she opted to hold off for a little bit. Maybe she could find a way to get one of the Lawtons to give up the information without having to ask directly.
Kyla was still napping. The break from running around like a mad woman, chasing “giggle girl” all over the living room, was welcomed. Sitting with her laptop on her bed, she leaned back against the headboard. She placed her ear buds into her ears so as to not wake her little one.
Yeah, right.
Who was she trying to kid? The honest truth was that she just didn’t want Kyla or anyone else to hear any of the sounds that would come from the next video that she was going to watch. She knew enough to protect her daughter’s mind from sounds that only adults should hear.
Well, okay, she admitted that she wasn’t exactly an adult, herself, but she was older, and that meant that sounds of extreme passion were a bit more suitable for her ears alone. In a couple more years, after all, she’d be old enough to legally participate in videos like these. Not that she ever would, of course. She couldn’t imagine performing things like that as an actual lifestyle.
She clicked.
As the video played, the actions of the man and woman quickened her pulse. It had been quite a while since she had been touched in such a way. Too long. She sighed.
Wait.
She paused the video.
Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and remembered. She recounted the path that had led to her first sexual encounter.
It was an April afternoon. She was fourteen.
After school, alone in her bedroom, she’d been on her computer; her dad’s hand-me-down laptop. It was given to her the year before. While it wasn’t exactly ancient, it also wasn’t the new one she’d been saying she needed in order to keep up with her schoolwork.
“It’s quite good enough for a thirteen year old.”
“Dad, I’ll be fourteen next month.”
“All the same. It’s what you are allowed to have right now.”
Once it was all hers, though, she found that she really wasn’t all that disappointed. She could now see what was out there on the World Wide Web. And it was in the privacy of her own room!
Oh, she knew some of what was out there, of course. She had used the laptop—and its webcam—in her dad’s office plenty of times throughout the previous year and a half. It wasn’t a rarity for her parents to leave her at home and go out on the town for the evening with friends.
Certain that she was mature beyond her years, she had been delving into online enticements since well before turning twelve years old. Whispers of what she could find on the Internet had been circulating amongst her classmates in middle school.
One girl’s older sister had shown her how to find interesting pictures using something called a “web browser.” Another girl had complained that her older brother was gross because she had caught him talking “dirty” to some girls in something she called a “c
hat room.”
That’s all Elizabeth had needed to prompt her to find “interesting” stuff on her own.
What did it mean to “talk dirty” to someone? And did that mean that pictures could be “dirty” too? She had been determined to find out.
The pictures she found.…
The videos!
Men and women naked, in all kinds of positions and doing all kinds of … stuff. And it really did seem gross.
At first.
The more often she looked at the pictures, the less gross and more electrifying they became. All the women seemed to enjoy everything that was being done to them. So, maybe it was as fun and normal as it seemed. Maybe her mom and dad even did those kinds of things.
Elizabeth shuddered. Eww.
She did know that her dad had viewed pornography, because he hadn’t cleared the browser history when he’d removed his work stuff from the computer before he gave it to her.
Did Mom know?
Hmm. Had they ever looked at porn … together?
For some reason, the thought depressed her. She hoped not.
Even at the very beginning of her pornographic web searches, she knew there was something—something deep inside her—that said the things she was looking at were supposed to be done in secret. Not exposed. She’d been aware that she shouldn’t ask her mom or dad about the things she’d viewed. It was like something whispered into her soul that this should all be kept a secret.
Many of the websites that she visited asked if she was over eighteen years of age. The first time she responded to the question, she had clicked “No.” The browser immediately redirected her from the website.
“Yes” became the standard response she knew she’d have to provide moving forward.
She had been enjoying the sights and sounds ever since.
One day, in the month of April—she couldn’t remember exactly which day—when she was fourteen years old, she took a giant step beyond. It terrified her as much as it excited.
That Dark Place Page 3