Within the Shadows (49 page)
Read Within the Shadows Online
Authors: Brandon Massey
“Listen, you’re gonna be okay, Dad.” Andrew grabbed his father’s arm and helped him to stand. Energy crackled through his fingers where he touched his father, a pleasant tickling sensation. But he was starting to cry, and he couldn’t stop. “Everything’s gonna be all right.”
“Take me to your friends . . . outside,” Dad said. “Fast, son.”
Although Andrew didn’t understand his father’s request, he didn’t question him. He threw open the front door. Keeping a steadying arm around his father’s waist, they hurried off the veranda and across the lawn, to the moss-wreathed archway that enclosed the garden.
A thin mist hung over the area, but Andrew spotted the bodies of Eric and Carmen, lying beside a mound of raw dirt, not far from the watchful statue of Aphrodite.
Grief speared his heart. He nearly lost his balance.
“Here,” Dad said. He knelt beside the bodies. He gestured for Andrew to move away.
Andrew stepped back. “What . . . what’re you gonna do?”
Dad placed one hand on Eric’s head, and his other hand on Carmen’s forehead. He closed his eyes. He began to shudder.
Understanding came to Andrew.
“Oh, Jesus,” he said. He sank to his knees in the grass.
He didn’t believe what might happen.
But he wanted to believe, more than he’d ever wanted anything.
Hands pressed firmly against their heads, Dad shook as if experiencing a mild seizure. Eyes shut. Face contorted in a rapture of miraculous power.
The cool air around them grew warm. The bracing scent of ozone reached Andrew’s nostrils, and he looked to the heavens, half expecting to see a bolt of lightning sizzle to the earth.
Movement came from the dead bodies.
Carmen’s fingers twitched.
Eric’s folded leg straightened.
Oh, my God. Am I really seeing this?
He crawled across the ground, closer.
Dad moved away from Carmen and Eric. He raised his hands and face skyward, as if in supplication. Whispered words came from his lips. Prayers.
Carmen sat up.
She rubbed her eyes, blinked as if she’d been napping.
The fatal knife wound in her throat had vanished. Not even a scar remained.
Yawning, Eric rose, too.
He frowned at the house robe he wore. His flesh also was unmarked.
Carmen looked at Andrew. “Drew, what happened?”
Her voice was clear, blessedly normal.
“Yeah, what’s been going on?” Eric said. “Why am I wearing this thing?”
Tears running down his face, Andrew opened his mouth. But he couldn’t speak.
Dad collapsed.
Andrew cradled his father’s head in his arms. Eric and Carmen huddled around him.
Dad’s breaths came slow and ragged.
“Brought ’em back,” Dad said softly. “Least I could do . . . ’fore I check out.”
Andrew held his father’s hand.
“We’re taking you to the hospital,” Andrew said. “They’re going to take care of you there, you’ll be back to normal in no time, wait and see, Dad, we’ll be back on the links before you know it.”
Dad’s eyes were watery. “You forgive me?”
Andrew was crying so hard that he could barely manage to speak the words.
“Dad, yeah, I forgive you. Yes. For ever ything . . . everything.”
Dad smiled. “Always loved you, young buck.”
“You’re not gonna die. No, you’re not gonna die on me, not now, Dad . . .”
His father’s eyes slid shut. His shallow breaths ended, lips slightly parted.
He was gone.
Andrew buried his face in the crook of his father’s neck, and wept.
When Raymond died, his physical vessel breaking under the pressure of containing a prodigious amount of psychic energy—the totality of the power that had thrived in the land for eons—he unconsciously pierced a hole in the atmosphere of the spirit, the same dimension from which the energy had originated.
The power, drawn like a magnet to its home, poured out of him, and into its rightful realm.
Mourning Hill, once an estate built on an ancient, sacred place of power, instantly became merely a dilapidated mansion that stood on a large plot of ordinary, red Georgia clay.
Eric and Carmen pulled Andrew to his feet and held him in a tight, group embrace.
For a long time, none of them said a word.
Then, someone tapped Andrew’s arm. He looked around.
The translucent apparition of a child greeted him.
Sammy.
The ghost regarded Andrew’s father, and offered a bittersweet smile.
“Thank you, Sammy,” Andrew said, his voice raspy.
Sammy floated in the air like a kite, toward the house.
Like a giant whirlpool in the sky, warm white light swirled in the air above Mourning Hill. Glowing ethereal bodies poured out of the mansion, like smoke, and drifted into the light.
The spirits, freed at long last, were advancing to their proper place in the afterlife.
Sammy gave Andrew a final wave, and then he melted into the light, too.
Six weeks later . . .
As Andrew’s house was gradually reconstructed from the charred ruins, so he worked to rebuild his life, too.
Having Carmen and Eric—who had been through the fire with him—helped.
Neither of his friends consciously remembered the experience of death—perhaps a blessing. But the memories returned to them in nightmares that mercifully faded into the blackness of forgetfulness when they awakened.
Andrew had his own nightmares to deal with, and figured that he would, for a long time.
And there were the hallucinations, too.
In the weeks afterward, he saw Mika no less than twenty times: while browsing at the bookstore; cutting his mother’s grass; dining at a restaurant; driving his car. Other places, too. Every time, a closer examination revealed that, of course, Mika was not there.
She was dead. Unquestionably. They had buried her in the estate’s cemetery, beside the caretaker.
Afterward, for good measure, they had set fire to the mansion. A perusal of the news stories the next day uncovered the headline: “Historic Mansion Burns to Ground, Arson Suspected.”
Destroying the house was the only thing that his father hadn’t done for him.
Andrew visited his dad’s grave often. To keep it adorned with fresh flowers and to pay his respects.
He hadn’t known his father well. But he hadn’t died a stranger to him. That, Andrew reflected, was blessing enough.
After leaving the cemetery one cloudy Saturday afternoon, Andrew returned to Carmen’s town house. They lived together while Andrew waited for work to be completed on his house. It was a temporary living arrangement that would soon transition to something permanent. He planned to propose to her by the end of the summer.
Carmen met him at the door. They kissed, held each other.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked him.
“Blessed,” he said, which was how he always responded to the question these days.
She indicated a pile of mail on the kitchen table. “This mail’s been around for a while, Drew. You up to going through it yet?”
For years, he’d used a post office box for his personal and business correspondence. Carmen had dutifully retrieved the mail a couple of times a week. He had yet to open any of it. He’d been known as a creature of obsessive habits. But part of him resisted a return to the routines of everyday life.
“I guess I should,” he said. He managed a chuckle. “Might be a check buried in there, right?”
“You never know.” She smiled and handed him a letter opener.
Standing at the table, he began opening mail. Most of it was junk: offers from magazines and credit card companies; postcards for products that held no interest for him; past due bills . . .
Then, he stopped.
It was time to admit it. There was something far more important than opening junk mail that he needed to resolve.
He went into the guest bedroom, where he kept most of his clothes in the chest of drawers, and pulled out the bottom drawer.
Underneath a package of T-shirts, he located the padded, nine-by-eleven envelope. He took it to the kitchen, opened it.
He slid out a collection of letters.
These were the only things—other than sorrowful memories—that he had taken from Mourning Hill.
He perused the delicate, time-yellowed papers.
They were missives of love, written to Celestina.
All of them were signed by the same man.
Mark Justice.
The bold, looping signature was identical to the one with which Andrew autographed his pseudonymous novels.
Each time he examined the letters, which he had done at least a dozen times since the night at the mansion, he experienced the same curious and deeply troubling sensation.
Painful throbbing, concentrated at the back of his skull.
As if remembering the bullet to the head that had killed Mika’s lover . . .
He had been delaying this, but he finally had to answer some tough questions.
Was Mark Justice more than a pen name?
Was he Andrew’s alter ego?
What would Mark Justice do in this situation . . .
His repressed, past-life identity?
He shook his head firmly. No. He would not allow Mika this final victory. He wouldn’t let her memory haunt him for the rest of his days.
He bundled the letters and took them to the stove. He switched the gas burner on high.
He fed the papers to the flames.
Carmen entered the kitchen. “Drew, what in the world are you doing?”
“Forgetting the past.” He washed the remaining ashes down the sink, and walked toward Carmen.
And his future.
After publishing his fourth thriller with the Mark Justice pseudonym, Andrew ended the series and began to write young adult novels under his own name. Whenever anyone asked him what had become of Justice, he replied, in a solemn tone, that Mark Justice had died while rescuing a young boy from a terrible place. He was laid to eternal rest somewhere in rural Georgia, in a humble grave beside his long-deceased fiancée.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
WITHIN THE SHADOWS BRANDON MASSEY
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The suggested questions are intended to enhance your group’s reading of Brandon Massey’s WITHIN THE SHADOWS.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. When the story begins, Andrew and his father, Raymond, are attempting to develop their relationship, which has been stagnant for most of Andrew’s life. What are some of the challenges in building a bridge between an absent parent and an adult child?
2. Although Andrew and Carmen have been close friends for several years and are secretly attracted to each other, they maintain a platonic friendship for much of the story. Why do they do this?
3. When Andrew meets Mika, he thinks she is Ms. Right, possessing every quality that he has ever wanted in a woman. What leads him to realize that she is not as perfect as she appears to be?
4. Initially, Andrew has misgivings about spending the night with Mika, but he pushes aside his doubts. Why does he do this? Do we often ignore our intuition and find ourselves in trouble later on?
5. When Andrew rebuffs Mika’s attempts to get closer to him, she claims that he has misled her. Is she correct?
6. At what point in the story does Andrew discover that Mika truly is dangerous? Should he have seen the truth earlier? If so, why didn’t he?
7. Raymond knows a lot of background information about Mika and her estate, Mourning Hill. Why doesn’t he share this information with Andrew earlier in the story?
8. Sammy, the helpful ghost, attempts to communicate with Andrew early on. What prevents Andrew from being receptive to this communication?
9. Mika believes that Andrew is her soul mate, because of his eyes. Do you think soul mates are real? If so, how would you identify someone as your soul mate? Do all of us have one?
10. The story’s ending raises an intriguing question about Andrew’s pen name, Mark Justice. What do you believe the truth to be?
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