Within the Shadows (40 page)

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Authors: Brandon Massey

BOOK: Within the Shadows
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He took a shotgun and killed her mother, then put the warm barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Revenge is a meal best served cold.
 
 
As expected, she inherited her father’s fortune, and Mourning Hill. Townspeople speculated about the successful physician, flying into a senseless, murderous rage. She ignored them and went about her affairs as usual.
Her primary—indeed, her only—purpose for living was to unite with her soul mate again.
He had been killed, but she believed he would return. Spirit was eternal. His spirit would cycle through the planes of existence, and eventually return to an earthbound life.
She had to be ready for her groom’s return. Had to keep herself looking young and beautiful for him. He wouldn’t want a decrepit old woman as his bride.
She discovered a method to preserve her youthful appearance: soul energy. Not the power in the upper room. Only harvesting the energy of others worked.
She lured travelers, runaways, and the lost to her estate, as she needed them.
Walter, the longtime caretaker, was helpful in that regard. He did the dirty work. In return for his services, she granted him a dramatically lengthened lifespan and the strength of a young man.
Of course, she kept her cats around, too. Gave them special talents. Her little guardians.
She realized that in absorbing the energies of innocents, she was, in effect, killing them. But it was for a worthwhile purpose. She was staying attractive for her soul mate, her prince.
No cost was too high for her happiness. Her father, may his soul rot in hell forever, had taught her that lesson.
Over the years, she searched for her soul mate. Visited countless nightclubs, parties, and social gatherings. Combing the crowds for a man with a sparkle in his eye, a man who just might be the one. Drawing prospects to her estate, for a closer look. In seeking her prince, she’d kissed hundreds of frogs. Never losing her faith that, one day, at a moment of truth, she would gaze in a man’s eyes and see the soul of her long-lost lover.
And when she saw Andrew’s eyes, those soul mate eyes, she realized that, at last, her wait was over.
 
 
Sighing, Mika looked away from the window.
She’d lived such a long life, full of varied chapters. She was nearing the end of an old chapter and the beginning of a new one. A much happier one.
Andrew wasn’t going to hide from her anymore. She wasn’t going to let him. She knew what was best for him. Even if he didn’t yet realize it himself.
The cargo in the trunk would convince him of the grave seriousness of her mission.
She needed him; she was incomplete without him. So be it that it was her responsibility to unite them in everlasting love.
She was going to show him irrefutable proof of the love they once shared, too. To break down the final barriers in his heart.
As they rolled down the highway, the storm clouds parted, and the golden sun beamed down on her, like a beneficent father.
Smiling, she snuggled into the seat cushions with her cats, and sat back to enjoy the rest of the ride to retrieve her soul mate.
Chapter 49
 
T
he thunderstorm passed. Late-afternoon sunlight pierced the venetian blinds.
They talked about visiting Mourning Hill. Andrew declared that going there today would be foolish. Dad and Carmen agreed with his contention that they needed more time to plan a strategy.
“In my dreams, getting inside that house is like trying to take a fortress,” Dad said. “I don’t think it’ll be easy for us.”
“We’ll need to stake out the place,” Andrew said. “That should give us some ideas.”
“But we do it during daylight hours, guys,” Carmen said. “I’m not too keen on going there at night. Nighttime and haunted houses—not a good mix for me.”
“We can do it tomorrow morning,” Dad said. “It’s about a three-hour drive from here.”
“If we’re ready by then,” Andrew said. “We’ve got time to brainstorm. Remember—Mika doesn’t know we’re here. We can take our time, prepare to do this right.”
“Good point,” Carmen said. She clasped her hands together. “Okay, anyone hungry? I’m starvin’ like Marvin.”
“Could use a bite,” Dad said.
Andrew rose. “I’ll fire up the grill.”
 
Outdoors on the deck, Andrew cooked chicken breasts and hamburgers on the gas grill. Carmen worked in the kitchen, whipping up potato salad and baked beans. Dad leaned against the deck railing, sipping a Heineken and gazing at the lake.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke. They quietly admired the shimmer of sunshine on the water. Listened to the honking of geese and the rustle of wind-blown leaves.
“Nice place Eric’s got here,” Dad finally said. “How deep’s the water?”
“Three or four feet around the dock,” Andrew said. “You wouldn’t want to dive in. Gets deeper as you move farther away from the banks.”
Dad bobbed his head. “Quiet out here, too. Good place to collect your thoughts.”
“It’s a nice hideaway.” Andrew used tongs to flip a burger. “I’m glad Eric was able to let me stay here. I’ve no idea when we’ll rebuild my house.”
“That was an awful thing.” A frown wrinkled Dad’s face. “Lose any of your books?”
“No, I always back ’em up online. I keep the first editions in a safe deposit box, too.”
“That’s good. At least your livelihood’s intact.”
“Speaking of livelihood, I forgot to tell you. I got a new offer from the publisher.”
“Really? How much?”
“Five hundred.”
“Thousand?” Dad grinned. “I’ll be damned, that’s great. Congrats!” He clapped Andrew’s shoulder.
“Thanks. Of course I haven’t been able to celebrate yet, not with everything that’s been going on.”
“Of course not.” Dad’s face tightened. He stared into the depths of his beer bottle. Scratched his head.
The silence hung between them, thick as smog.
I’m tired of this. I’ve got stuff I want to say to this man. Why the hell can’t I have a real conversation with my own dad?
Idly, Dad stroked his chin. It was another one of those gestures that Andrew shared with him. He stroked his chin like that when he was pondering what he wanted to say.
Maybe Dad wanted to have a heart-to-heart conversation, too.
Andrew placed the tongs beside the grill, rubbed his palms on the apron he wore around his waist.
Go ahead and talk to him. He’s your father, man.
It wasn’t Mark Justice speaking; it was the wise voice of his conscience. He’d learned the hard way to listen to that voice when it offered advice.
“Can I . . . can I ask you something, Dad?”
“Huh?” Dad put down his beer. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I’m not sure how to say this. But . . . why can’t we talk?”
Wearily, Dad settled into one of the wicker chairs. Studied the floorboards as if the words he wanted to say were engraved in the wood.
“I don’t know, young buck. I’ve wondered the same thing. Guess the years have messed us up.”
“But I don’t want it to be that way.” Emotion clutched Andrew’s throat in a vise grip. “I want to be able to talk to you. But I can’t.”
“Do you resent me, Andrew?”
“Resent you? I used to
hate
you, for ignoring me. Why’d you ignore me like that?”
Dad looked up at him. Redness outlined his tired eyes.
“I was scared, son.”
“Scared?” Andrew suddenly—and he hated to admit it to himself, but it was true—wanted to punch his father in the face. One round-house slug in his dad’s mug to express all the anger he’d kept bottled inside for so long. “Scared of what?”
“Scared of what? Shit. Let me tell you. Scared of trying to raise a son and fucking it up, like my daddy fucked up with me. I know, you don’t know a damn thing about your granddad, but that man . . . shit, he was like a robot, never showed any emotion, just worked himself to death and grunted half the time. I never felt like I knew
how
to be a father, Andrew. Didn’t have any good examples. That’s a sorry-ass excuse, but it’s the truth.”
It was the first time his father had ever given an explanation for his behavior. It was almost childishly simple.
I was scared.
As if Andrew had never been scared while growing up without his father around.
Andrew struggled to find words. To keep a lid on the rage that boiled in his heart.
Dad looked at him, watery-eyed, like a guilty criminal awaiting a verdict.
“You could’ve at least tried,” Andrew finally said.
“I know that now,” Dad said. “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty. Know what made me call you a few months ago and invite you to play golf?”
“I’ve been wondering, yeah.”
“My dad—your granddad—died,” Dad said. He wiped his eyes. “I hadn’t seen him or talked to him in at least twenty years. But I went to his funeral. When I looked at him in that casket . . . Christ, it was like looking at a goddamn stranger. I didn’t feel anything. Didn’t shed a tear. And I hated that, hated that this was how we’d ended up, me walking by his casket and feeling nothing. This was my
father
, Andrew. My flesh and blood. But he was nothing to me.
“I decided, on the spot, that I was going to get off my sorry ass and start being a father for you, ’cause when I die, I don’t want you to look in my casket and feel like you’re staring at a stranger.”
Andrew gaped at his father. Speechless.
He realized that tears had begun to flow down his cheeks.
Dad sniffled. “I need to ask you something.”
“Yeah?” Andrew blinked back tears.
“I need to ask you to forgive me. For not being there. For everything.”
“Dad, I . . . I . . .” Tears had completely blurred Andrew’s vision.
His voice faltered. He couldn’t grant his father the forgiveness he sought. Not yet. He wanted to; forgiving his dad would roll away the weight on his own heart. But he couldn’t honestly speak those absolving words. Not until he learned to trust his dad. And he couldn’t trust him yet. He was scared that he would abandon him, as he’d done so many times before.
“Can’t,” Andrew said, shaking his head.
Dad got up. He gripped Andrew’s shoulder.
Andrew trembled so violently it seemed he would shatter into pieces like a ceramic figurine.
“You don’t have to say it yet, son,” Dad said in a soft voice. “I’ve got to earn your forgiveness. We can’t erase the past so easily. It’s gonna take us some time. But I
will
be here for you, from now on. I’ll lay down my life for you, if it comes to that.”
Dad pulled him into an embrace.
Not accustomed to a hug from his father, Andrew was as limp as a rag dog in his Dad’s strong arms. Hot tears streamed down his face.
Finally, he lifted his arms, which felt as heavy as logs, and hugged his father back.
Watching them from the kitchen window, Carmen smiled.
 
 
They had dinner on the deck. Hamburgers, chicken breasts, potato salad, and baked beans. They sipped icy glasses of sweet tea, which Dad had brewed, claiming that it was his specialty. Andrew was doubtful at first, but his dad was right; the tea was delicious.
He learned something new about his father all the time.
As they ate, his attention continually wandered to his dad. His father’s confession had forced Andrew to evaluate him anew. The old, familiar box into which he’d placed his father no longer fit. In a sense, he felt as if he were getting to know his dad for the first time. And he liked what he was learning.
Getting to truly know his father was the first step toward forgiving him, and developing his trust in him.

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