Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgment
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
Aftermath
ISBN # 978-1-78430-772-1
©Copyright Bailey Bradford 2015
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright September 2015
Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz and Rebecca Scott
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2015 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Southern Spirits
AFTERMATH
Bailey Bradford
Book five in the Southern Spirits series
Darren Brown spent two years running from his past, but he could only run so far before he was found.
Darren Brown lost the only two people he loved just days apart. His mother first, then his best friend. Guilt over his friend’s death drives Darren to wander for over a year before he winds up in the town of McKinton, Texas.
Lee Bausch served his tour in the Army then started his quest to find answers only one person could give him—except that one person had moved away. It takes him almost two years to find Darren Brown, and it turns out Darren doesn’t have the answers Lee needs—he is what Lee needs. Darren is shy and so sexy Lee can’t get enough of him, but he still needs answers because he can’t shake the feeling someone he loved was murdered.
After a terrifying experience at the motel, Darren knows he has to tell Lee about the spirits in McKinton. And there’s one spirit, scared and alone, who has the answers Lee seeks, if only the spirit knew how to tell Lee his suspicions are right.
Dedication
To childhood memories, and childhood friends—those we still have,
and those we’ve lost but will always love.
Trademarks Acknowledgment
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Superman: DC Comics
Camaro: General Motors
Popsicle: Unilever
Maglite: Mg Instrument, Inc.
Chapter One
Darren Brown eyed Red, the Rhode Island Red rooster, cautiously, watching for any signs of agitation from the bird. Generally he didn’t have any problems when it was time to feed the critters and gather eggs, but every now and then that red rooster got his feathers ruffled and decided Darren looked like a walking whipping post. The rooster tipped its head to the side and clucked. It was the sign Darren had been waiting for. He wouldn’t have to toss the food from the bucket and run for cover this morning.
A ripple of unease clambered down Darren’s spine as he stepped off the front porch of old Widow Hawkins’ place. Virginia, the café owner, and Deputy Nixon, along with Nixon’s life partner, Carlin, had bought the place with the intention of turning it into a hang-out for the elderly. There’d been talk of Darren staying on once the conversion was done, kind of like a groundskeeper or something, Darren wasn’t sure. The talk never went far since Darren didn’t do much to encourage it. He didn’t know how long he was going to be in town and hated the idea of letting anyone down if he left. As it was, Virginia and the others had agreed to let Darren stay here as long as he kept the place up—and took care of the chickens, a job that had, up until Darren moved in a couple of months ago, belonged to Deputy Nixon.
Darren glanced around as the uncomfortable feeling increased. He knew that sensation, the one that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was the one that told him someone was watching him, and his heartbeat accelerated until he thought he might burst an artery. But as hard as he looked, he couldn’t find anything suspicious. Nothing was out of place, and there was no one here but him and the chickens. He’d heard rumors of ghosts—spirits, Severo insisted they be called, and didn’t that little guy creep Darren out? Those pale eyes seemed to drill right into Darren, so he did his best to avoid meeting them.
Still, despite the talk, Darren didn’t worry about such things as lingering spirits. People just stopped when they died. He knew that, believed it if he didn’t believe anything else. One second they were there, laughing, loving you, then they weren’t, and everything about them vanished except what you carried in your memory. Even if you wished you didn’t carry anything of them at all.
Darren shook off the paranoia that threatened to swamp him. No one was here besides him. He hefted the bucket of chicken feed and waved it at Red. “You looking for this?” Darren flinched. The sound of his own voice only seemed to emphasize how alone he was, yet he couldn’t shake the idea that he was being watched.
The rooster clucked and flapped its wings. Darren shoved aside his discomfort and reached into the bucket for a handful of feed. He tossed the mixture on the ground and waited. Sure enough, Red gave him a haughty look, or as haughty a look as a chicken could give, then strutted to the feed and began pecking at it. Soon the hens joined the rooster, fussing and clucking as Darren spread the food around.
“Be nice,” he scolded when a few of them got agitated. “There’s plenty to go around.” Darren edged around the chickens and went into the coop, gathering eggs and placing them in the bucket. When he thought he had them all, he left the coop and headed back to the house. He’d put the eggs in used egg cartons and take them to Virginia, the owner of Virginia’s Café and his boss, who liked to use them while they were nice and fresh.
Since it was Sunday and the café wasn’t opening until eight a.m. instead of the usual five a.m., Darren had plenty of time to get to work and deliver the eggs. Used to waking at four or earlier, he’d found himself wide awake and bored out of his mind by four-thirty. He’d tossed and turned and even beat off, but had finally given up on sleeping in and got up at five-thirty. Now it was a little after six and he figured there was no reason to hang around any longer. Virginia would already be at the café, and he could go in early. She wouldn’t mind.
Darren loped up the porch steps and that creepy feeling ramped up in intensity until he couldn’t draw a breath. Hand tightening on the handle of the bucket, he pivoted slowly and scoured the area. Nothing. No one. It looked as it had every day so far. Darren inhaled and forced air into his lungs then shuffled to the front door. He hadn’t got more than three steps inside before he heard the pop of the screen door at the back of the house slapping shut.
The bucket of eggs slipped from his suddenly lax fingers. Fear flashed through him, settling in his joints, turning them to gel so that Darren’s knees buckled and hit the floor. Fragile shells cracked under his weight, warm wet yolk and albumin seeping through his denim jeans.
Dizzy with the intensity of his fear, Darren caught himself as he fell forward. His hands slipped in the mess he made, undermining his efforts to keep himself from going down. Darren’s chin cracked sickeningly against the floor but he didn’t notice it or feel the pain. All he could hear was the voice in his head telling him he’d been found and begging him not to run again.
* * * *
The ride through town usually brought with it a strong desire to put down roots, but this morning as Darren pedaled down Second Street, the urge to flee was almost overwhelming. His entire head hurt from the fall he’d taken, or maybe it was just the throbbing in his chin racing up his jaw line to his temples. At that point Darren couldn’t separate or pinpoint the pain, it just hurt.
The morning air carried a sharp nip, the promise of a North Texas winter in the wind. Darren wanted to believe that was the cause of the chills that kept pebbling his skin, but that pervasive feeling of being watched hadn’t left him yet. Darren had hoped riding down Second, which was parallel to and behind Main, where Virginia’s Café was located, would free him of the sensation but it didn’t.
Glancing around as unobtrusively as possible, Darren checked the nooks and crannies that were part of this small town. The buildings on Main were relatively well maintained, but one street over that was not the case. Older abandoned shops with peeling, faded paint were scattered between even older and worse looking homes, some of which looked dangerously close to toppling over. One of them was almost bare of paint and leaned so severely Darren thought a sneeze would bring it down. He wondered if anyone lived there, and if so, did they receive any kind of help? Maybe whoever lived there, if anyone did, would benefit from the plans for Mrs. Hawkins’ place.
He pedaled up an incline, grimacing at the burn in his calves. Having a car was a pipe dream. Even if he knew how to drive, he’d have to get a license and something to drive. It’d take years to save up enough for something decent, then there’d be insurance and maintenance—and gas, God, that alone would eat most of his paycheck! At least riding the bike might help him build up muscles. He’d always been thin, able to eat anything and not put on an ounce. Other people might have envied him, but Darren hated how gaunt he looked.
Darren pedaled faster, grunting until he reached the top of the rise, then groaning as the ride became easier. Maybe he’d start walking again instead, but he’d have to leave a lot earlier. Mrs. Hawkins’ place was a good ten miles from town. A gust of cold wind dispelled that notion—he’d freeze his ’nads off if he had to walk. As it was, biking was going to suck, but at least it wouldn’t take as long.
As he neared the corner of Second and Shire, the uneasy feeling grew stronger until Darren shuddered with it. It was unbearable and sent a surge of fear through him that seemed to settle in the marrow of his bones. Rather than stopping and looking for the cause of his intense discomfort, Darren took the corner so fast he nearly laid the bike on its side. A horn blasted from behind him, scaring a decade off his life. Darren righted the bike and waved one hand over his shoulder in apology but he didn’t slow down. He cut through the alley and steered into the lot behind Virginia’s Café. Only then did he pause to check the surrounding area.
Seeing nothing suspicious, Darren tried to convince himself it was only his imagination screwing with him. What had happened earlier in the house had unsettled him, but once he’d calmed down he’d almost persuaded himself he was overreacting. The solid wood back door had been closed, but the wind could have caught the screen door or some kind of critter could have pawed at it.
That didn’t explain why either door was unlocked, though, and as much as Darren tried to tell himself he must have just forgotten to lock up the night before, he was pretty sure he hadn’t. Locking the place up was such a habit he couldn’t pull a clear image to mind of actually doing it, but by that same habit, he wouldn’t have not done it. But what if he hadn’t?
Fed up with his own uncertainty, Darren parked the bike by the back wall. He got off and dug the chain and lock from his pack—Virginia’s assurances that no one would steal his bike aside. He then looped the chain through the spokes and secured the bike as best he could.
Hefting the pack up from the ground where he’d set it, Darren tried to prepare himself for the day ahead. Dealing with people always set his nerves on edge, but he needed this job, and having a place to stay instead of sleeping on the street was an unexpected bonus. Virginia had let him stay with her for a while, but Darren hadn’t felt comfortable in her home. He was always waiting to screw up, to do something that would get him thrown out and fired. At least at Widow Hawkins’ place, he didn’t feel he had to be perfect.
Darren took the three steps in a quick jaunt, glancing at the cheap watch on his wrist as he did so. Almost eight, he’d barely made it on time. The back door opened just as he reached for it and he snatched his hand away to keep from getting his knuckles rapped.
Virginia stood in the doorway, her plump arms folded over an even plumper chest as she stared at him, her penciled-in eyebrows climbing comically high on her brow. She looked like a deranged clown with those too-dark eyebrows and the thick makeup she had on. Her cheeks were almost glowing, and Darren didn’t think it was from anything natural. Certainly the sparkly blue shadow on her lids wasn’t natural. It wouldn’t be, not on anyone.
“What’d you do to yourself, Darren?”
Darren tried to look away from the electric blue eyeshadow. His gaze bounced to the bright blush then back up before he settled for staring at his hands where they were wrapped around the strap of his backpack.
“I fell. Broke the eggs, too.” He really hoped Virginia wasn’t counting on fresh eggs today. His hands tightened on the strap.
“Forget about the eggs, we have plenty. Get inside and let me see what you’ve done.”
Darren didn’t think she sounded angry, and he didn’t think enough of himself to believe she was concerned for him as a person. As an employee, maybe. Virginia would be short-handed if he wasn’t fit to work. He followed her inside, squeezing past as she held the door open.
“Just go to my office and have a seat. I’ll be right there.”
Inside the office, Darren tried to relax but it just wasn’t possible. Virginia’s scrutiny had been unnerving. On the other hand, at least the creepy feeling of being watched had dissipated, allowing him to think rationally about this morning’s events. He had to have left the back doors unlocked. What would have been the point in someone coming in and doing nothing?
Darren’s stomach cramped, less from hunger than from fear that he might lose his job since he’d broken the eggs and shown up looking like he’d been smacked with a baseball bat. Hunger was something he was used to, although these past few months he hadn’t experienced it nearly as often as he had before Virginia had found him. He didn’t look forward to having to steal what bits of food he could again.
Virginia’s rapid footsteps warned of her approach. Darren quickly sat in the wicker chair in front of her desk, settling his backpack on the floor at his feet. He fingered the knot on the underside of his chin, jerking his hand away when fiery bolts of pain rocketed up to make his head pound.
“Did you take anything for that? Ibuprofen or something like it?”
“No, ma’am.” Darren shifted uncomfortably, the wicker chair making a crackling noise that had him tensing for another fall.
“Sit still and let me get a better look.” Virginia’s hand was gentler than her brisk tone as she tipped his head back. It still hurt but he didn’t so much as flinch. He could handle a bit of pain.
Virginia clucked her tongue, the sound so much like the chickens he’d fed earlier that Darren was hard pressed not to smile. “Got yourself go
od, boy.” Virginia bent so close her nose nearly touched his chin. Darren found himself fascinated by her glittery eyeshadow and hairy spider leg-looking eyelashes. His own mother had never been one to wear makeup, and she was the only other woman he’d ever been this close to, so he was bizarrely entranced. His fingers itched to touch Virginia’s lashes and see if they were stiff or soft. They looked…crunchy, he decided, like the makeup on them was hardened and near to cracking.
Virginia huffed and straightened, her hand still tipping his chin up. “I bet that hurts something fierce. Take these.” She released him and turned to a tray he hadn’t realized she’d brought in. After opening a small white bottle, Virginia shook out two pills and handed them to him. “Ibuprofen. You’ll need more in about six hours. You have any at home?”
Hearing Mrs. Hawkins’ place called ‘home’ gave Darren an internal jolt. He hadn’t had a home in a long time, and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked the description. He took the pills and popped them in his mouth, ignoring the pain that shot out from his chin. She handed him a glass of milk to wash them down with. Darren was grateful for the cool liquid—he’d forgotten to eat breakfast, more concerned about being late once he’d got the eggs cleaned up.
Virginia was staring at him, one penciled eyebrow arched. Darren remembered she’d asked him a question about the ibuprofen and he shook his head. “No, ma’am, but I’ll get some after work.”
“You take these,” Virginia said, handing him the bottle. He took them reflexively, his protest buried under the commanding look she gave him. “And you sit in here and ice that knot for a few minutes. I can handle the tables for a bit.” She placed an ice pack in his other hand and with a curt nod, turned and left him in the office.
Aftermath Page 1