That Dark Place

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  “This would be a fun place to take some pictures,” she admitted to herself.

  DREW ROUNDED THE corner of the building and immediately saw two teenagers looking at his car. Unnoticed, he ducked into a recessed doorway and watched them.

  What are they up to? Has something made them suspicious?

  To his relief, about thirty seconds later they got on their bikes and took off around the corner of the office building and down toward the main entrance.

  They might have just been attracted to the car. They’d been laughing too. That was definitely a good sign.

  Still, it was a bit unnerving. When the boys were out of sight, he walked to his car and retrieved the manila envelope containing the portfolio. He also flipped the seat forward and grabbed his camera bag.

  Until a few days ago, the bag had been part of a package of rented photography equipment. But it turned out that he’d really enjoyed working with the camera, so he ended up purchasing both it and the bag.

  After securing his car, he made his way back to Elizabeth.

  She was seated atop the steps.

  Quickly and quietly, he removed the camera from the bag, powered it up, removed the lens cover, and focused on her.

  She’s beautiful and she doesn’t even realize it. How sexy is that?

  The autofocus brought his subject into perfect clarity before he clicked, and the burst-shot capability of the camera sounded off five shutter actions. The sound was loud enough to cause Elizabeth to turn toward him. He pressed the button again. By the end of that burst, she was smiling. Another burst.

  “What are you doing?” she asked with amusement.

  “Making my day,” he said. “I mean … making your day.”

  “Uh-huh. I think what you said first was the truth.”

  Drew was loving it! And apparently, so was she!

  “Maybe,” he said.

  This couldn’t possibly be going any better!

  He walked up and leaned against the metal handrail that lined the passageway of steps. “So, what do you think? Want to risk looking waitressy in front of me?”

  She stood. “Oh, I could be persuaded, I guess.”

  Elizabeth looked around. “But where would I change? I can’t change in my car; people are driving by. And I’m sure the doors to this building are locked.”

  Dare I suggest it? Is it pushing too much too soon?

  “Well, there’s no one back here to see you.”

  Her mouth dropped open in shock at his suggestion, but there was that little bit of a grin at the corners.

  “You’re thinking I should change out here … in the open?”

  “You’ve got the trees on one side and an empty building on the other. Looks safe to me.”

  “And you.”

  “And me, what?”

  “You’re the third thing besides the building and the trees.”

  “Oh, yeah. Me.” He paused, faking a moment of thought. “I guess I could turn around.”

  “Or go around the corner. Maybe take a walk around the building?”

  “Yeah, I could do that.”

  Elizabeth walked toward him. “I’ll just go get my ‘modeling’ wardrobe.”

  Drew stood there, unmoving, facing the steps as she passed him by.

  I can’t believe this is actually happening!

  Chapter 53

  B

  rent pulled his cruiser into the driveway and sat in contemplation before walking to the house. A new thought from earlier in the day had begun to trouble him.

  What if his Kentucky dreams, his teenage nightmares, and his current dreams were interwoven? And if they were, wouldn’t that mean there was a very important, present purpose for them?

  Who were—who are—the players in each?

  Images formed in his mind. Memories. In his first recurring nightmare as a teen, he was wearing blue pants. There was a flower that fell into the darkness, barely out of his reach.

  In his current nightmare situation, he wore white pants. The flower was the same flower in the same pot. The difference was that, when he dived into the dark void after it, this time he was able to save the flower.

  And during his Kentucky … whatever it was called …  experience … there were multiple key players. There were Elizabeth, Kyle, and himself. And all three of them turned out to be actual people, in one form or another, in this world.

  But what about the others with whom he’d interacted during that multi-day episode?

  There had been Elizabeth’s friends and their families. But they didn’t seem to have parts to play in any of their real lives. He didn’t know anyone within their immediate spheres of influence named Colleen or Tina, who had been Kentucky-Elizabeth’s high school friends. Then there was Jason. The cause of both messes for both Elizabeths.

  Okay, so those were the main players. That still keeps the number of relevant people at four. Two, actually. Real-life Jason is not an active element in Elizabeth’s life, and there’s not much chance that Kyla would have a role in anything like Kentucky-Kyle had.

  Is it possible that all things Kentucky-related are not at all relevant to my current nightmare? Am I trying to connect dots where there aren’t any?

  Brent leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

  Something in his gut was telling him that there was more at play going on than he was able to put his finger on.

  And what did it even mean, that there were things “at play?” There was absolutely nothing wrong going on in their lives. Everyone was safe. No one was plowing recklessly ahead toward suicide or other dangerous acts.

  Sure, there was the ongoing concern for Elizabeth’s spiritual safety—and he would never downplay that—but even that seemed close to a happy resolution. God had proved his existence to her in very convincing fashion.

  Thank you, Father.

  Three quick taps on his door window startled Brent out of his cavalcade of thoughts.

  He opened his eyes in time to see Tara withdrawing her hand and crossing her arms. There was a bemused look upon her face.

  Brent knew instantly that she was concerned about why he wasn’t coming inside.

  He turned the key and rolled down his window.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked, hoping to set her at ease.

  “Yes, officer. My husband is missing from my home. Can you help me?”

  Brent tried to maintain his stoic facial expression. “How long has he been missing, and can you give me a description of the guy?”

  She looked at her watch. “Yes. He’s been missing for about five minutes. I saw him pull into the driveway, but he never showed up. He’s about yea high…” She lifted her right hand in the air to approximate Brent’s height. “…and cute.”

  Brent’s stoicism vacated his face, replaced with a smile.

  “Let’s see if I can do something about that, Missus…? Missus…?”

  “That’s Missus Lawton.”

  “Can you spell that for me?”

  “Missus? Or Lawton?”

  Brent laughed. “Lawton.”

  “Yes, that’s G-e-t, o-u-t, o-f, t-h-e, c-a-r.”

  Again, he laughed. “Happy to help.”

  Brent rolled up the window and got out of the car.

  Tara drew close to him and looked into his eyes. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, wife of mine. Just trying to put together the pieces of the Kentucky and nightmare puzzles. Wondering if they’ll form one whole picture.”

  “Hmm. Making any headway?”

  “Afraid not. Maybe they are unrelated.”

  “Well, it’s possible that there’s only a relationship between your teen dreams and your current one.”

  “I’m thinking the same thing now. I was also sitting here trying to think if there were any other names from my Kentucky experience that are relevant to today.”

  Tara thought for a mome
nt. “You, Elizabeth, Kyla, and … oh, Jason. Any others come to mind?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then the answer is nope.” She smiled. “Okay, husband of mine, let’s go in.”

  “I think I just might be willing to do that. I’m hungry.”

  “I find it funny how you think that coming home to a prepared meal is a given.”

  That created a bit of an awkward moment. “Well, I … you know …  simply enjoy what you make.” He plastered a grin on his face as his attempt to placate her fell flat.

  “Good try.” She nudged him off the walkway that led to the front door.

  “So, there’s no food this evening?”

  Tara laughed. “Of course there’s food. I just don’t know when it’ll be ready. You can thank our extra daughter, Elizabeth. She said she’ll be delayed until about 6:30.”

  “Working late?”

  “I don’t know, really. I assume so.”

  They reached the door and opened it. Tara walked inside, but Brent came to a sudden stop.

  Tara turned and saw him. Concern registered on her face.

  “What?”

  Brent’s heartbeat quickened as a thought struck him, something he hoped was not some sort of spiritual revelation.

  “What, Brent?”

  He looked her in the eyes. “I just got a bad feeling. I hope I’m wrong.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “There were other players in my Kentucky dreams that could very well be relevant today.”

  Tara’s eyes moved upward from Brent and to her left in thought. Brent could see that she was attempting to conjure memories from the story he’d told her two years before.

  He waited to see if….

  “I don’t remem—. Wait.… You mean demons?” Tara’s expression turned worried. “Like ... as in ... the demon of death?”

  Brent nodded gravely. “And Garian.”

  “The angel.”

  “Yeah.”

  Tara grabbed Brent’s hand and drew him inside.

  Closing the door, she asked, “You believe they’re relevant to our lives right now?”

  As he thought about her question, he began loosening his utility belt. “Tara, I sure hope not. But if this nagging gut feeling I have is about them, then there might be something about to happen that we’re not going to like.”

  Chapter 54

  I

  t was an interesting feeling being nearly naked in the nearly open.

  It caused her heart to beat fast. She could hear the car doors of homeward-bound employees and engines starting. She could hear laughter and shouts of “See you tomorrow!”

  She was surprised to discover that it was arousing.

  She remembered a word she’d gleaned from her porn websites: exhibitionism.

  It was a thrilling idea that she thought she’d never be willing to execute.

  So, this is what it’s like? It’s an adrenaline rush!

  SOMEHOW, DREW HAD withstood the temptation to spy on Elizabeth while she changed. He knew he could have silenced the shutter action on the camera with the touch of an icon on the LCD screen. He knew he could have taken picture after picture of her in different stages of undress. He knew she would have been none-the-wiser too.

  But he didn’t. He had summoned probably the last in his reservoir of strength to actually do what she suggested: walk around the building.

  The walk, though, needed to be more of a jog, he decided.

  He was glad he’d worn sneakers.

  ELIZABETH HAD JUST finished tying her black and white faux patent leather shoes when she heard Mark deliberately clear his throat. He’d taken her suggestion and, apparently, had just made his way around the far end of the building.

  Good man. Proud of you.

  Not that she would have minded very much—probably—now that she was experiencing a little bit of the outdoor thrill.

  “Gave yourself some exercise, I see,” she called over to him.

  “Yeah, walking around buildings and lawn-mower pushing keep me slim and trim,” he said, patting his stomach.

  “And the gym, maybe?”

  “Maybe.”

  He did look impressive. She doubted that he was a homebody. Maybe a wee bit of a tummy, but nothing unattractive.

  She stepped onto the walkway that ran behind the full length of the building, and though he was still some distance away, she fanned her arms out for him and spun around once. “Well, here I am! Full-on waitress!”

  “And here I am. Full-on ready to capture you!”

  She found humor in the double entendre. Was it deliberate, or was he only thinking about capturing her with his camera?

  “Let’s do this,” she said as he drew near. “Where do you want me?”

  “Well, I was think—”

  “Wait. Where’s my portfolio?” she interrupted with a giggle. “I want to see if you’re really a photographer.”

  She’d already seen the large envelope he’d been keeping under his arm.

  He grabbed it and held it out to her without a word, only a smile.

  She took it, eyes locked on his for a moment.

  Lowering them, she withdrew the binder from its manila sheath. As she opened it to the very first photograph, her mouth dropped open a little. She looked back up at him.

  “Wow,” she said, a little above a whisper. “This is good.”

  He grinned. “See? Told you I was a photographer.”

  She flipped to the next two. What she saw amazed her. Silently, she walked over to the steps and sat down.

  These are good! So very good!

  She was slow to flip the page because she was astounded that the camera really caught her looking like that.

  I’m… She couldn’t quite pull the word pretty to the forefront of her mind. …I’m not bad looking.

  She saw Mark’s feet come into view beside her, then felt his body brush close against hers as he sat down.

  “What do you think of yourself, Elizabeth?”

  She felt tears begin to surface. “Is this really me?”

  “Really and truly.”

  Without giving it a thought, she leaned her head onto his shoulder. “Thank you for this,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome, pretty woman,” he whispered back, as he rested his head against hers for a moment.

  Though feeling deep emotions peak within her, she was fully cognizant of Mark’s closeness and of the contact their two bodies had made.

  She also knew that what they were sharing was … what? Improper? But it felt so comfortable, and not at all indecent.

  He’d been nothing but a gentleman to her as a sixteen-year-old girl. Well, seventeen in the not-too-distant future.

  He lifted his head off hers, and she straightened.

  There was something about the full experience. The tenderness of a man, the sound of water rippling over rocks, the breeze ruffling the leaves of trees, and the thought that someone had maybe—just maybe—captured what she truly looked like.

  She’d been fed manipulative lines for so long by people online, hoping that she would remove her clothes. She’d come to expect the compliments, knowing they’d say just about anything so that they could ultimately …  well, do their thing and then leave.

  It had left her wondering about what—about who—she saw in the mirror when she was alone.

  Other girls were pretty.

  Other girls were truly worthy of compliments.

  She knew what pretty looked like, but for some reason, the mirror never told her she was pretty. It only spoke of her having been used.

  Self-pity had never really come into play, though, because she was always a volunteer. She’d intentionally sought out and had her own fun with the same men who were manipulating her.

  She had become a master of manipulation herself. Because, after all, she wasn’t really there for them; she was there for h
erself. Somehow, though, the fun she’d so often sought had begun to lose its glitter.

  She sighed.

  Elizabeth flipped to another page, then another. Each photo amazed her senses and emotions. By the time she had looked through all of the twenty-two photographs, she was overwhelmed.

  She set the photo album down on the step and turned to look at Mark. A tear trickled down her right cheek. She self-consciously wiped it away, then planted a kiss on Mark’s cheek.

  She wasn’t able to speak, so the kiss would have to do for the moment.

  She stood up and brushed off the back of her skirt, then proceeded down the steps toward the creek.

  Would Mark follow? She didn’t know. She wasn’t hoping for or against it. She just needed to breathe.

  It was a comfortable walk down the twenty-one steps to the creekside overlook. She drank in the beautiful sounds of nature and the soft breeze as it played with her long brown hair.

  She leaned against the protective railing before her as she stood on the wooden platform. The scent of the water and nearby flowers was intoxicating.

  In that moment, she felt something unfamiliar. And she was, initially, unable to put a word to it. Then it struck her, causing her to involuntarily sob three times before she regained control.

  The feeling? Special.

  For the first time that she could remember, she felt special. And it was due to the man at the top of the stairs.

  I could fall in love with a man like that.

  Maybe she already had.

  He’d done nothing but treat her kindly and gently. He was flirty without being offensive. He was attractive. He spoke important words to her heart.

  He even just recognized me as a woman. I’m not a little girl to him. To him, I’m a woman.

  She had craved, deeply, to feel that way since becoming pregnant with Kyla. Everyone had looked at her as the poor underage girl who was with child. She’d despised that.

  Others, who were older, were congratulated when recognized as pregnant. People wanted to touch their bellies and speak delightful words to them. To those same people, she was untouchable … pitiable.