Autumn's Eyes (Storm Season Book 1)

by J. L. Sutton

  I watched Eric’s parents float across the room, twirling effortlessly together like they were a singular person. There was something comforting about watching them together—the poster children for a happy marriage. Not wanting to miss out on any of the fun, Stacy practically tore off Eric’s arm as she marched through the tables.

  I chuckled lightly before offering Jennifer my hand. “Shall we?”

  She smiled widely, taking my hand as we set out to the floor. Jennifer and I always landed up dancing together. I always tried to save a song for her, even when I was with Claire. We had none of the flair or the elegant footwork of Eric’s parents, but we did have just as much fun.

  A few songs later the band packed up to make way for a DJ and the smooth, sophisticated rhythm was replaced by more upbeat, modern dance music. After a while the room began to feel blistering under the lights and all my layers, and I removed my jacket and tie, hanging them over the chair where Jennifer kept her purse.

  I walked back to her, barely catching her attention over the music. “I’m getting something to cool me down, you want anything?”

  “Please.” She nodded gratefully.

  By now it was almost midnight, and a fair amount of the guests had already left for the evening. I made my way through the loose knots of dancers as I headed towards the bathrooms, shaking my shirt vigorously to cool myself off. No longer sure if I was walking in the right direction I turned into a long, narrow white passage with a large wooden cabinet filled with brass trophies. Away from the roar of the music and the bustle of people I felt an odd sensation skirt across the back of my mind, a faint pressure like thousands of mental pins and needles. Being the designated driver I only had two drinks tonight—so I knew it wasn’t the alcohol. Thinking nothing of it I headed back to the bar, ordered Jennifer a cocktail and myself a soda, but even back inside the strange sensation stayed with me. It seemed to grow more pronounced with every step. I was halfway to the table where my friends were taking a breather when I stopped dead in my tracks, almost dropping the drinks in my hand.

  I felt this same sensation before. Yesterday—the last time I saw Dawn.

  The realization crept up on me like a kick to the back of the head, and tiny pieces of information I had brushed off as my overactive imagination began flittering to the surface. I whipped my head around the dimly lit room, panic rising under my skin as if I half expected to see her standing next to me. It was only when I was sure she wasn’t anywhere in sight that I noticed I was holding my breath. My mind seemed to race away from me at a hundred miles an hour as it ran through everything I noticed in the last week, along with a few things I didn’t.

  Think Hadley. You get jumped outside the bar by three guys, but instead of getting beaten to a mushy pulp they duck away just as she happened to appear. She has impossibly black eyes, and disappears into thin air before the cops show up. You just happen to meet her again a few days later, where she once again acts strangely before racing off. As crazy as you feel, you’re not imagining the strange sensation bouncing around your skull—it’s exactly the same. Then there was my attackers’ stories the cops dismissed—and don’t forget the not so healthy looking plant in the laundromat.

  It didn’t seem like much to go on, but every fiber of my being screamed this was something I should look into, something I needed to know. A puzzle. Almost on queue it cut through my thoughts—a familiar itch that gave me the perfect place to start.

  After what felt like hours I rejoined my friends, patiently waiting for Jennifer to finish her drink before asking if she minded leaving. I bid my friends goodnight before I took Jennifer home, barely able to keep to the speed limit. Luckily she was happy to carry the conversation, and I was glad that for once Jen didn’t pick up on how tightly wound I was.

  I took the stairs to my apartment three at a time, in such a rush I didn’t even close my front door on my way to the bathroom. The light flickered to life as I shrugged out of my suit, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the buttons of my shirt.

  The angry scar across my shoulder looked exactly the same as it did a week ago, but for the first time I felt like I was really seeing it. My fingers lightly traced the raised edges where the itch prickled my skin before resting them on the lines of ruined flesh.

  It was a handprint.

  6. Paper walls

  I had never given a second’s thought to suffering from claustrophobia, until this windy Tuesday morning. The biting chill seeped through my layers of clothing, sinking its teeth into the marrow of my bones, though that only added to the atmosphere of despair this complex of steel and concrete seemed to ooze. I had never been this close to a prison before, but one look at the long line of barbed wire curled around the twelve foot fencing was more than enough for a few lifetimes. I almost gave in to the nagging voice in the back of my mind, telling me to abandon this fit of madness. Almost. My unhealthy curiosity brought me this far, and I’d be damned if I didn’t see this through.

  My hesitant footsteps echoed down the eerily silent corridor leading from the prison’s entrance to the visitor’s area. The utilitarian grey walls were utterly lifeless, and between all the rusted metal and the smell of sickness and stagnation it felt more like a tomb. It took a lot of jumping through hoops and a favor or two to set up this little excursion, and what did I really expect to get out of this anyway? It was crazy chasing phantoms and conspiracy theories when I had Lisa to look after.

  The two hour drive from my home to what can only be described as the dead center of nowhere ensured I’d get very little else done today. Not that I had any real work at the moment, but the ease at which I left the office, and the time I already devoted to learning more about Dawn, definitely bothered me. If I was my employee I’d have fired my ass already.

  Two armed guards with blank expressions stood at the end of the hallway. I stopped just outside the door, glancing anxiously at my watch in a bid to buy time as I steeled myself. I had to fake more confidence than I felt if this was going to work. I grimaced internally as I pushed open the heavy wooden double doors. No backing out now.

  The rectangular room was far larger than I expected, cut down the middle by a long glass wall split into eight numbered booths by polished wooden dividers. Each booth had an uncomfortable looking steel chair bolted to the floor on each side, and a large blocky phone that looked like it belonged back in the middle ages. Three other people were on my side of the room, talking in hushed tones as I took my seat at number four. The air was tainted with the cheap, sickly sweet perfume of the woman in the booth to my right. I drummed my fingers against my phone in my pocket, concentrating on making out the words whispered by the woman as I waited.

  A door on the other side of the glass opened, and the familiar face of one of my attackers stepped into the room wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, followed closely by a disgruntled looking guard. I learned earlier his name was Phillip. The thirty something alpha male of the three men had shaved his head, making his gruff, weathered features more pronounced. He shambled over to the seat across from me, his expression shifting between annoyance and mild curiosity. We stared at each other for a long moment, neither making a move to pick up the phone. Phillip had to agree to see me for this meeting to happen, but although obviously curious to find out why I was here he seemed set on trying to establish control. I fought the urge to roll my eyes as I picked up the phone—I didn’t have time for him to sit there like a sulking child.

  His expression stayed level as he reached for his own. “What do you want?”

  “What, no small talk? Here I was hoping to hear the latest gossip. That color suits you.” I said casually, kicking my feet up and resting them on the counter.

  “Very funny,” he sneered. “Don’t tell me you came all this way to gloat.”

  “Hardly. I’m here to offer you a deal.”

  There was a long pause. “What kind of deal?”

  “Simple. I want some information. And no, I’m not asking you to snitch. If I belie
ve what you tell me, I’ll do what I can to get you and your friends off on probation.” I chose my words carefully—overselling this would raise alarms. I had to play this just right.

  “And how would you pull that off?” he asked skeptically. Okay, he wasn’t stupid.

  “I used to be a cop, and I still know one or two who owes me a favor.” I shrugged.

  “It sounds a little too good. I wonder, what would you want to know so badly?”

  “Why you left.”

  Phillips eyes widened in surprise—definitely wasn’t expecting that question. “You wouldn’t believe me, no one else did.”

  But it wasn’t strictly a no. “So you don’t want to deal then?”

  “I never said that,” he snapped, lowering his voice. “Okay, fine. We had you pinned down against the car, and I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. Then we heard something behind us. I turned around and saw something . . . something that couldn’t be real.”

  Without realizing it I was leaning closer to the glass. Phillip’s tanned skin seemed a shade paler as he spoke quietly, and I realized he was afraid. My heartbeat quickened, thudding dully against my chest. Up until now I argued back and forth as to whether this was all in my head—the look in his eyes just dispelled any illusions I harbored.

  “What did you see?”

  “I don’t know how to describe it. It was like a shadow. Solid but not solid, changed shapes so quickly it looked like it would never stop moving. And it had a face. Nothing will ever make me forget the face. Even in the dark I could see it, moving towards us, getting closer every second. I don’t care what anyone says—I know what I saw.”

  I walked back to my car in a daze. Phillip’s word was hardly the most reliable source, but something in his eyes told me his fear was real. How did any of that have anything to do with Dawn? I didn’t stay with Phillip long—there was nothing else for him to tell me. Unfortunately for him, every word of my deal to him was a lie, fabricated purely to get him to tell me what he saw. I’ll admit I felt a little pity for him after hearing his story, but not nearly enough to do anything about it. It’s not that I held a grudge after what they did. They only attacked me because Hyde paid them too, but I wasn’t about to inflict those idiots on anyone else.

  The problem was the information I drove all this way to get only raised more questions. Questions I couldn’t even begin to answer.

  It was mid-afternoon when I finally made it back into the city. I long since abandoned the idea of going back to the office, and my phone was quiet since this morning so I figured I hadn’t missed out on anything really important anyway. Besides, I had other plans. But skipping breakfast was an unwise decision, so first on the agenda was finding something to eat.

  A few minutes later I walked through the door of my home office, balancing a stack of grilled cheese sandwiches in one hand and my briefcase in the other. Clearing the desk of the clutter that always managed to build up I found an empty brown file between bites. That same file sat untouched on the desk for what seemed like an eternity as I wondered how to begin. With a resigned sigh I scribbled “Dawn” onto the tab, and drew up a list of everything I could think of, from the small details of her physical description down to the peculiar way she acted. The paragraphs spread across the page began to split into little diagrams as I attempted to link the information together. An hour later, and coming up with roughly jack shit, I decided to read through the notes again, wondering the whole time if anyone reading this would think I was as insane as I felt.

  Where’s your head at Hadley? Normal people go to work on Tuesdays—and here you are, trying to come up with some crazy theory about a woman you know nothing about. What are you trying to prove anyway? Okay, when you put everything together it looks a little suspect, no doubt, but most of this is guesswork. You don’t know for sure she was following you. You can’t even be sure about what it was you felt at the party. And don’t forget about the fact that whatever she may or may not be—she probably also saved your life the other day.

  Thinking back to the times I saw her one thing stuck out in my mind. Both times I tried to thank her she seemed to get upset with me—both times flat out denying she helped me at all. The timing that night was also too perfect, it would be too much of a coincidence otherwise. Then there was the fact that Dawn’s small size and delicate features gave her a fragile appearance—hardly someone who could scare two grown men away so easily. As strange as it may have been, Phillip definitely believed in what he saw that night, and I was starting to believe it too. Black eyes and shadows, there had to be a connection there. Recalling her impossibly dark and unnatural eyes I shuddered involuntarily. Yet unnerving as they were, I couldn’t deny they were also oddly . . . appealing.

  A glance at my watch let me know it was already well into the evening—getting nowhere sure seemed to make the hours disappear. I rubbed my throbbing temples in small circles as I stepped into the kitchen, and in no mood to cook I decided on a bowl of cereal and the last plump apple in the back of the fridge. Taking my shoes off I got comfortable on the couch and flicked through the channels for something to watch. After a while it became little more than background noise, so I headed to my bedroom. Jennifer and Eric were good friends, but I couldn’t see myself confiding in them about the wild thoughts running through my head right now. Eric couldn’t really take anything seriously, and Jennifer would only worry about where my head was.

  That’s what I missed most about Claire. We shared everything with each other, even before we became a couple. I could picture exactly how she would respond to my theories, right down to the tiny details of her expression. As I closed my eyes my thoughts became progressively muddier, dragging across each other until they made absolutely no sense, and that was saying something.

  I could barely make out the faint sound as it carried across the empty grey hallway I found myself in. Writhing shadows danced across the dirty walls, like marionettes blowing in the wind, yet there was no light in sight to cast them. My steps made no sound against the mismatched tiles as I walked down the hall seemingly without end. Looking back the way I came I saw the dark shapes skittering along the walls had disappeared, and for some reason this annoyed me. I turned around, wanting to find the bizarre, shifting shapes when the sound found me again, gently tugging at me as it spoke my name. Welcome warmth welled up inside of me as the voice grew louder, desperately trying to make its presence known. I hear you! I called down the hallway, not sure what exactly I was replying to. The warmth around me was steadily rising. I ignored it, too intent on finding the voice that was steadily being drowned out by a new sound—a sinister sound, like the howling wind brushing over nails scraping against metal. Something was wrong. I no longer heard the voice. The room was becoming uncomfortably hot as the screeching grew louder, and louder. I clamped my hands over my ears as I frantically turned to the side of the hall the noise was coming from. The end of the hallway was rapidly changing as something I couldn’t see clearly slid across the surface of the walls and the floor. I dropped my hands, mesmerized by the tiny brown sparks that ran along every surface, like a pulsing wave. The voice cut through the awful noise like a whip. Run! It screamed, and I obeyed without question, panic rising inside me as I sprinted along the hallway, feeling the sweltering heat rising with every step. Risking a quick glance behind me my fear intensified as I saw the hallway dissolving behind me. It was rusting away at an impossible pace—an unstoppable tide I couldn’t hope to outrun. Rust sparks licked at my heels, corroding away the soles of my shoes as it inched closer to its goal.

  I woke clawing at the covers coiled tightly around my upper body just before the nightmare reached its inevitable conclusion. Drenched in sweat from head to toe, and panting heavily, I managed to toss the bedding aside and stagger into the bathroom. Well I’m awake now I thought bitterly, leaning my head against the cool, hard surface of the mirror.

  Nightmares like this plagued me these last few years, though this was the first one I ha
d in nearly a month. The blood pounding in my ears lessened as I ran the ice cold water over my head, my entire body still tense and shaking from my sudden awakening. At least my demons had the decency not to haunt me in my waking hours—my lil’ sis didn’t have that luxury. It felt selfish comparing myself to her in any way, but it was another dark reminder that there were far worse things to live with.

  The alarm clock on my bedside table told me it was just before five, which I guess was something to be grateful for—there was no way I would be able to drift back to sleep now. It was still dark outside, the steam rising from the kettle condensing on contact with the cool window. The few trees left in the city had already turned from a deep, lively green to the rich yellows and earthy browns of late Autumn. Winter would be coming soon, and with it the thick, dreamy grey fog that ran for miles down the rocky coast, clinging around the edges of the city and hiding all but the tallest buildings. Stifling a yawn I took a seat at the kitchen counter and flipped through channels to find the news—nothing worth watching would be on at this unreasonable hour.

  I made it into the office just before nine, more than happy to be under a roof on this dreary morning. A patch of wispy clouds seemed to follow me from the apartment, not dark enough for any real chance of rain, but I took it as a bad omen. The week old newspaper on my desk reminded me I needed to renew my advertising in the next two days or I’d lose my spot, so after checking my mail I called the paper’s head office to make the arrangements. It was nothing special, a small square black and white advert with my details and business address I ran in the two local papers. I was off the phone for less than two minutes before it began to ring impatiently.