Darkness & Shadows
Read Darkness & Shadows Online
Authors: Andrew E. Kaufman
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2013 by Andrew E. Kaufman
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
ISBN-13: 9781477809440
ISBN-10: 1477809449
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013906871
To my mother and father
C
ontents
C
ONTENTS
In ashes of despair, though burnt, shall make thee live.
—SIR PHILIP SIDNEY
P
rologue
P
ROLOGUE
It always begins and ends the same. The explosion, the smoke, the flames.
And her.
Palms pressed against the pane, she gazes into my eyes, her expression vacant, dampened by an eerie, peculiar sadness.
“Baby, save me.” Her voice is muffled behind the smoke, behind the glass. “Make it stop.”
But I can’t. Can’t stop the fire. Can’t stop the pain.
I race from window to window, but none will open. The smoke is getting thicker, flames climbing higher. I can barely see her through the heavy soot. My fear gives way to panic, then to a terror that rages through every part of me. I search for something to break the window, find a shovel leaning against a tree. Grab it, slam it. The metal bounces off the reinforced glass.
She is wheezing and choking now. “Help me. I can’t breathe.”
“I’m trying!” I shout. “I can’t get in!”
“Baby,” she begs, “don’t you love me? Are you just going to let me burn?”
I love her more than anything, and yet, I must let her go.
Tears spill down my face as I helplessly watch the fire surround her. First her hair catches, then her clothes, then, finally, the hungry flames consume her.
It feels as though my sadness has waited for this moment to own me. I crumble to my knees and surrender to it.
A loud creak demands my attention, followed by a slow, yawning whine. Through the window, I see a beam break loose and crash down. Two more follow suit, and the roof gives way, caving in. The blaze protests with a ferocious, angry roar—it explodes, rattling my bones and everything around me. Red-hot embers shoot toward the sky like a thousand tiny angels lighting up the heavens, then grow pale as they fall toward earth.
The building collapses onto itself. Beneath the rubble is the only woman I have ever loved.
And through it all, I can still hear her voice. And those words.
And they haunt me.
They will always haunt me.
C
hapter
O
ne
C
HAPTER
O
NE
The night could be cold and empty. It could hold secrets. And sometimes, the night could feel like a living, breathing thing. Patrick had learned to survive the nights—to accept them—but they were never peaceful, and they were never easy.
Especially now.
“You haven’t been sleeping,” Dr. Sheila Ready said, observing him with interest.
“Is it that obvious?”
She raised a brow, smiled.
He shifted restlessly on the couch, his body seeking comfort, unable to find any. She was right: he hadn’t slept well in days, maybe weeks. Or was it months? He’d lost track.
“You look tired,” she said. “That’s all.”
He lowered his gaze to the floor, shook his head.
She said, “Are the dreams still keeping you up?”
“Everything is keeping me up.”
“Everything?”
“I’m just… anxious.”
“About what?”
“Don’t know. Not sure.”