Darkness of Light (17 page)

“All right, today two of us will be going over with the wheelbarrow to get the compost. The rest will stay here and shovel it out into the planters,” Eli addressed the group. “Brycin, you’re with me.”

I’m sure I looked elegant as I sputtered, “Huh? Me? Why me?”

He smirked. “Because . . .”

Ah, I was being punished for this morning. He knew I had to obey him here. This was his way of seeing me “submit.” Bastard. I didn’t like it one bit. I glowered at him, fighting every instinct to tell him off.

“Come on, Brycin. The compost isn’t getting any less foul.” Eli jerked his head for me to follow him.

Josh snickered, shaking his head like this only proved his theory.

“Shut up,” I grumbled, which only made him laugh harder. I walked up to Eli who threw two shovels into the wheelbarrow.

He nodded towards it. “It’s not going to push itself.” 

The more my eyes narrowed, the more his glinted with merriment. I gripped the handles and followed him despairingly, muttering obscenities the entire way. 

When we got to the rotten pile of food, it took everything I had not to gag. Eli pulled the shovels out, handing one to me, and without a word, started scooping the foul-smelling compost into the cart. Reluctantly, I started doing the same. I found myself once again watching Eli. His sculpted arms flexed, and his broad shoulders strained his t-shirt as he burrowed his shovel deep into the dirt. There was no way that I could deny it. I was attracted to him. Drawn to him. I shook my head.
Shallow, Em
? He was hot, but I knew nothing about him. I didn’t even know how old he was. In some ways he seemed ageless.

“Stop staring at me, Brycin.”

I quickly looked away, embarrassed.
Wait a minute, his back was to me. How did he know I was looking at him?

“Ummm . . . can I ask you something?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

I sighed. “Can’t you ever answer anything straight?” He turned and gave me a look that said I should ask him a question now if I was going to. “I was curious about how old you are?” I looked to the side, my eyes not able to meet his.

“Okay, wasn’t expecting that one.” He regarded me for a bit before answering. “I guess I would be considered around twenty-four or so.”

“Huh? What do you mean considered?” 

“I mean I’m twenty-four,” he replied hastily, returning to shoveling. 

Twenty-four. Six years older than me.
“How long have you been in your motorcycle gang?”

“You sure are nosey today.” He stopped shoveling and wiped his brow. “And it’s a club, not a gang.”

“I’m sure that makes all the difference.” I snorted, and he gave me a severe look. I would not let him intimidate me. I would find out more about him, even if it frightened the crap out of me. “So, how long have you been with them?”

“All my life. It’s something I was sort of born into,” he said. “But I became a leader when we arrived here.”

“Where did you live before?”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Let’s just say I came from a place far from here,” he replied. “Now get back to work, Brycin.”

There was so much I wanted to know about him but I didn’t dare ask. We fell back into a comfortable silence. The sounds of the shovel sinking into the earth, and lifting the compost into the wheelbarrow drew me into a soothing trance as we worked. Besides my need to hear his voice, everything seemed to be okay between us for a while. We weren’t at each other’s throats, which would have been encouraging except that we weren’t talking at that moment. 

I pulled my hair up into a ponytail to get it out of my face.

Eli drove his shovel into the compost pile, a glistening sheen starting to cover his forehead. “So, your tattoo . . .” 

Those three words made the world halt around me. He was bringing up the exact subject I thought he would do everything in his power to avoid, denying that it every happened.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“What is it?”

“It’s just some symbols I sketched. It represents someone I love.” I avoided talking about my mom. Every time I did it felt like I was being stabbed in the heart again, so I turned the question back on him. “How big is the one on your arm?” I pointed to his shoulder.

“It’s big. It continues on to my back and side and goes down to my thigh.” He pulled up his sleeve, showing me a bit of his tattoo—inked lines wrapped around his biceps, slinking up towards his shoulder. From what I could see, it definitely looked like the same one I saw on his torso. My pulse raced. My fingers longed to reach out and touch his tattoo, to slide my hand up underneath his sleeve, and trace the lines until they reached his back—or pull up his shirt and let my fingers trickle down his abs. I gripped my fingers to stop them from acting on impulse.
Focus, Em
!

“Does it mean anything?” I finally asked.

His tone and face were serious. “It’s my gang tattoo.” 

“Right.” I smirked, getting his jab.

“If you have a tattoo in this town, it’s assumed you’re in a tough biker gang. But let me give you a little advice, it helps if you do have a bike.”

“I got a ten-speed. Does that count?”

“You are so badass.”

“Hey, when I ring the bell, you should see them clear out of the way.” 

Our eyes connected. Heat steamrolled my veins, sending fire through me as something else traversed between us. 

***

We worked together in harmony for the next two hours, going back and forth between the compost pile and the O.A.R. site, loading and dumping the fertilizer. We were both sweaty, and I’m sure smelly. I was amazed at how comfortable I felt next to him, and, strangely, the closer he was, the better I felt. 

After school, Eli and I headed to the ropes course site. We didn’t have to deal with kids during the week. On Mondays and Thursdays for the next two weeks, as a part of our community service hours, we had to set up the obstacle course and the paintball area for the summer schedule.

In the storage unit there were old tires, different types of ropes, a balance beam, and other items used for the obstacle course. I liked that Eli didn’t think I couldn’t handle some of the heavier stuff just because I was a girl. He treated me like an equal, even though I was sweating by the time we got to the climbing wall.

We were chaining some tires together when Eli stopped. His eyes darted around the forest as he sniffed the air. I should have found that peculiar, but the uneasiness I felt about his abrupt change in demeanor made any other concerns trivial.

I searched the area, looking for whatever Eli was sensing. “What’s wrong? Do you hear something? Is something out there?”

“Shhh,” he responded, not even looking at me. He crept towards the woods.

“Eli?”

He ignored me, too focused on the forest in front of him. He disappeared into the throng of overgrown brush.

I trotted up to the brush and looked around; Eli was still nowhere in sight. “Eli?” Nerves danced in my stomach. Warily, I stepped deeper into the thick of the forest. “Eli?” I repeated a little louder. I heard a strange, low growl and the snap of splintering wood. Then silence. 

I wasn’t sure how long Eli had been away. Fear prickled my skin. My breath became short, catching in my throat, and almost stopped when a large, dark mass stepped out from the bushes. I screamed and turned to run. A large, strong hand grabbed my arm, pulling me back. 

“It’s just me.” Eli’s deep voice immediately calmed my jumping heart.

“Damn it! You scared the hell out of me—again.” I leaned into him, trying to catch my breath. “You seriously need to stop doing that. I thought you were some psychotic murderer!”

“I might be,” he said, moving past me. I felt the chilliness of his mood. The easy-going feeling from earlier was gone. 

“Where did you go?”

“I had to go to the bathroom. I’m sorry. Did you want to watch?” I knew he was deflecting, but something about his mood kept me from pursuing it.

I turned to follow then stopped short. The back of his t-shirt hung in torn, shredded pieces. “What the hell happened to your shirt?” 

He halted, twisting his neck to look over his shoulder at the ragged cloth. An odd look flickered across his face. “Oh, I must have snagged it on a branch.”

“That was some branch. Did it have a vendetta against your t-shirt?”

“Guess so.”

“I hope you showed it who is boss.”

“Yeah, I peed on it.” 

I rubbed my head. Of course there was an image that attached itself to that statement, and it wasn’t a totally bad one.

“Think we can call it a day,” Eli said, looking at his phone. “Come on.” He motioned for me to follow.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere else.” He headed up a trail. 

***

“Wow,” I said quietly, taking in the amazing view. The setting sun cast a glow on the cascading waterfall as it sparkled in the distance. Crystal blue water tumbled down the rocky surface, filling my ears with the soothing sound of rushing water as it connected with the flowing creek below. I sat down on the edge of the footbridge, my feet dangling over. Eli sat down next to me. I pulled out my water thermos and took a drink. I automatically handed it over to him, as if this was the most natural thing in the world to do. He took a swig and handed it back to me as we silently watched the gushing water plummet to the ground below. It wasn’t until I took another sip that I thought about this little exchange between us. It felt extremely intimate and so natural, like it was an old habit of ours. 

“This reminds me of a place my mom used to take me to when I was young,” I reflected.

He cleared his throat. “Your tone changes when you talk about your mom. You sometimes talk about her in the past tense. . .” 

He left it hanging. My chest clenched. Most people, besides my two good friends, never picked up on my use of the past tense. The fact he noticed and saw through me so easily made panic churn my stomach. Feeling exposed, I looked down at my legs, watching them swing back and forth.

I had never told anyone the whole story before, besides the therapists Mark had sent me to. They didn’t count since I
had
to talk to them. Even with them, I had left stuff out. It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about or wanted people to know. But, there was something about Eli that made me feel he’d understand. Tragedy was interlinked with his life as well. 

My chest constricted with heartache as I sucked in a staggering breath. “My mom was murdered six years ago. Exactly six years, one month and eighteen days ago.” A pained look flickered over my face. Saying it out loud made me realize how morbid it sounded—the fact I knew the exact number of days since her death. 

“I was the one who found her.” I took a breath. It was a constant nightmare that clung to my soul and sucked it dry. 

My heart twisted as I recalled the excitement I had felt, knowing she’d finally returned home from her research trip. “She had been gone for several weeks, the longest she had ever been away. I ran into the house calling for her, but there was no answer. I think deep down I knew something was wrong. I could feel it on my skin. I went through the whole house calling for her. Then I heard our dog whining from the backyard.” I recalled Ray’s high-pitched howl, how my stomach had dropped, twisting in trepidation. 

“He never whined or barked unless he sensed something threatening, especially anything threatening my mother. That dog would have followed her to the ends of the Earth if he could. He had been abused so badly they didn’t think he would live, but my mother was not a woman who gave up on anything, especially animals. She stayed by his side day and night, feeding and nursing him back to health. She saved his life, but sadly, she could not save his eyesight. It had been too late for that, although it never seemed to slow him down. The love and dedication for each other was unreal. The fact he was a blind, black Labrador named Ray Charles only solidified my mom’s sick sense of humor, something I definitely got from her. 

“From upstairs, I could hear Ray’s claws scraping hysterically across the glass door downstairs. I went downstairs to let him in . . .” My voice cracked as emotion flooded my memories. “There was blood everywhere.” Images of bloody handprints and paw prints smeared and dripping across the sliding glass door flashed in my mind’s eye. “It looked like dark, raspberry syrup had been spread across the glass. Ray threw himself at the door, trying to reach me, his paws splashing in puddles of blood, streaking more of the red liquid over the window. 

“I don’t remember moving forward or opening up the door, but I found myself on the patio. Th-there was this mass of something on the ground. The body was ripped apart . . . but I knew it was her.” Bile instantly rose up in my throat as if it was reliving the moment again. Terror and grief still tore through me, shredding my heart as it ripped and clawed its way out. “I could pick out long, dark strands of hair tangled around the bloody mass. It was my mother’s.” 

I breathed out deeply. 

“I remember hearing a scream pierce the air, sounding so agonized, so guttural and pained. It took me a while to realize it came from me.” The vivid memories replayed in my mind like a movie. “Whoever had done it really wanted to make a point. She had been torn into pieces, like she had been attacked by a bear or some wild animal. She was unrecognizable.”

Eli stayed quiet for several minutes, as we watched the waterfall. “Your tattoo represents your mom,” he said, more to himself than to me. His voice brought me back to the present.

I nodded. “I sketched these symbols from a dream I had one night after her death.” Every time a therapist had forced me to recall that day, I became hollow. Empty. Dead. Eli’s presence stirred raw emotions back into the wound, forcing me to choke back tears. “I got the tattoo so I could always have her with me. My mom, Lily was her name, was this free spirit, an independent, open-minded, sassy woman, with this deep love of the environment, especially animals. Her passion covered all animals, but her true love was foxes, especially the red fox. She had this unexplainable connection to them. She spent a lot of time with this specific skulk of foxes up in Canada doing research for a book.”