Ahead of the Darkness: The Darkness, #1

Ahead of the Darkness

Copyright © 2014 Simone Nicole

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and are coincidental. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All products mentioned in this book belong to their rightful owners.

I do not claim any of these products to be my own.

Cover design: © Arijana Karcic, Cover It! Designs

Formatting: Max Henry of Max Effect

Dedicated To:

My niece, Brontë.

This book is proof we can do anything!

Broken brains be damned.

Preface

I’m sure hindsight is a wonderful thing, but no one seems to possess it. Thinking back, knowing what you know now, what would you change? I have been asking myself that very question for hours, days, weeks maybe … I’m not sure. I’d lost all sense of time. Trapped in hell, my own personal nightmare, the very one that’s been haunting me for at least six years now, has become my reality. The dreams only got worse the longer I stayed in one place, varying slightly, but always ended with me waking up, heart bursting out of my chest, in a sickly, cold sweat, constantly needing to move and restart the cycle. That was my life, on a deadline.

I read somewhere that in times of great pain one reverts inwardly to block out reality, living in a safe place, some fantasy world perhaps. I am not that lucky. I’m reliving the past, in my own groundhog day with the outcome always the same, the ending never changing.

Still, I always wish I’d make a different choice, take a different path, be stronger somehow. Now I just keep praying that it’s all a bad dream and any second now I’ll wake up, for real this time. Please, wake up …

Chapter One

Clickety clack, clickety clack … I always loved that sound. Clickety clack, clickety clack … the sound of the train speeding along the beautiful lush English countryside. All the little towns, with thatched-roof houses and smoking chimneys, becoming fewer and further between as the four-hour journey continued. It’s exhilarating, the freedom that comes with having everything you own in a pull-along suitcase and backpack, watching the world pass you by as if time doesn’t exist, as if you don’t exist. Clickety clack, clickety clack …

Amelia, look at all the cute little cottages out of the window. Would you like to live in one of those?

Is that where we are going, Maman? To live in a cottage? Will Papa come too?

Non, ma chérie. It shall be just the two of us.

Just the two of us? For how long, Maman?

For a very long time. We shan't be seeing Papa again.

I think I shall miss Papa, Maman, but sometimes, sometimes he is very mean, and I think I shan’t miss him …

Je sais ma chérie. I know my darling, I know …

Miss? Miss? I jolted awake. I fell asleep?

It’s the last stop, miss. Ya didn't miss ya stop now, did ya? I blinked at the man as if he had spoken a different language. I looked around, disorientated.

Miss? I flinched as he reached out to touch my shoulder. I noticed my duffel bag and finally realised where I was.

No. I’m fine. He didn't seem so sure. His brow furrowed as he stared at me a moment longer but something made him let it go and he walked on.

I gathered my few possessions and exited the train. The crisp, late-March air assaulted my senses. The soft unmistakable smell of salt cleared the remnants of memory that held on. I hitched my duffel bag higher up my shoulder and headed for the end of the platform. I had just fished the piece of paper out of my pocket with my newly fabricated details on it when an older woman came into view. Her warm face and greying hair were instantly recognisable. I shoved the printout she had emailed me back in my pocket and walked towards her.

I had found Anne Whitmore, my soon-to-be new landlady online, wanting to rent a room to a quiet female student in the sleepy town of Seaford, three. Three-and-a-half hours northwest of London. It was your average shipping port town, of no great importance. That was the main reason I picked it; well that, and it was big enough for me to blend in but small enough not to stand out. He’d never find me here.

So I became Mia Green, a twenty-three-year-old art major, transferring from a small community college, wanting to rent a room in a quiet little house. I’d looked it up on a map, and discovered it would have only been a seventeen-minute walk from the station, but Anne insisted on picking me up, awkwardness be damned. I tried to reason with her, expressing that I wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing her like that, but she would have none of it.

I avoided cars like you would avoid the plague, but after six hours stuck in the same seat my stiff muscles were slightly relieved to find Anne waiting as promised. A three-minute car ride wouldn’t kill me, I hoped.

Miss Green?

Oh, that’s me.

Mia, yes. Mrs Whitmore, I presume? Thank you for collecting me. I fitted into character like it was a pair of new shoes; a little too shiny and scuff-free.

Please, dear, call me Anne. Mrs Whitmore makes me feel old, she corrected, ushering me to the car. She frowned opening the back car door, taking in my small suit case and duffle bag. Is that all you brought with you, dear?

Hmm? Oh, I don’t need a lot.

I shrugged as I threw my bag on the backseat and stowed my suitcase in the boot of the car, tentatively climbing into the passenger seat. Three minutes, I told myself. Just breathe for three, long minutes.

So, Mia. I won’t bombard you with busybody questions, but I am all ears if you care to share anything, Anne stated as she started up the car. Internally, I rolled my eyes, and continued on with the persona. I might as well get it over with, like pulling off a Band-Aid, best done all at once. Whomever said that first didn’t have hair underneath said Band-Aid.

I’m an open book, but not very forthcoming. A half-truth. What would you like to know?

What brings you here, my dear? You said something about transferring schools on the telephone?

Yes, I heard the local university has a very good photography program. I came early so I can settle in before summer, get a part-time job and save up some more money before school starts in September. I’ve always wanted to live near the sea, so I picked here. Small lie …

Oh, how lovely. It is very different living by the sea. What kind of photography are you into?

Oh, ah, most, really. Landscapes, portraits, stills, black-and-white, contemporary. So, I’m sure I’ll have a lot to photograph with the sea. I giggled politely, and cringed at my overdone performance.

You said you had a five-hour trip; your parents must be sad you have moved so far from home?

God, no. My mother died a while ago, and I haven’t had anything to do with my father for a very long time. Too much, Amelia, too much.

I quickly plastered a smile on my face before she could ask questions I would never answer, but was at a loss on how to recover. I was having trouble remembering what I had told her on the phone, and not hyperventilating. How much longer?

Ah, I see. These things happen, I’m afraid. My oldest son died three years ago in Iraq, and my youngest lives in Florida. My husband died a long time ago, so it’s just the two of us to fend for ourselves. But I must say, it’s a lot easier some days, to only have to consult yourself, she said with a small smile.

My frozen heart almost felt something for the poor woman with her lonely life. Almost. I had learned at a young age that loss was a part of life. There wasn’t a whole lot you could do about it, except move on and keep breathing. Even when every breath, hurt more than the last …

Well, enough of the sad sack. If you’re ready, dear, I can show you where everything is, and you can get settled in?

The car had clearly been idle for some time before I realised we had arrived at our destination. Stepping out of the vehicle I took in the little two-storey place. It was single-fronted, with white weatherboards, one of the few detached houses on the street. Removing my duffel bag from the backseat, I noticed the small garden in the front, consisting of red rose bushes, a tiny patch of grass, and one ancient, rusted stone birdbath. Simple, just like Anne seemed to be.

I followed Anne inside, placing my belongings in the entryway near the bottom of the stairs as Anne indicated, then followed her left into a sitting room of sorts. Mismatched flowery sofas of blues, greens and yellows, filled the floor space. Every available wall surface was covered with cabinets that contained old chinaware and other random porcelain collectibles but somehow, it still seemed inviting, almost homely. I was whisked through another door in the far corner of the room into a huge white-and-yellow, cottage-style kitchen, complete with island bench.

Anne continued to point out all the things I could need: microwave, crockery, dishtowels, and where to keep my food in the refrigerator. I just nodded and smiled, the details and words lost while past memories of different kitchens and different rules flooded my brain. I tuned back in when Anne started to explain how she hadn’t cooked for anyone in a good many years and she wasn’t about to start, which I couldn't help but truly smile at. I loved to cook but rarely had the chance.

Hurried through yet another door, I found myself at the end of the hall, behind the stairs, facing three doors. On the left, door number one was the laundry. Claustrophobically narrow, the room was not much wider than the door, with the washer and dryer stacked on top of each other at the far end. The door right next to that was the bathroom, my own personal bathroom of cream-and-lilac decor with its very own claw-footed deep, long bathtub as the bottom of the shower. I definitely planned to use it very, very soon.

The final door was the bedroom. The room was mostly white, with splashes of red. The deep red feature wall accentuated the huge white patchwork-quilted queen bed. It looked so striking up against the wall with a few cushions scattered of the same colour. Fresh roses cut from the garden placed in a long white vase sat on a little whitewashed wicker desk on the opposite wall. The matching single-drawer bedside tables and old wood-panelled wardrobe completed the little room.

What do you think, dear? Will this do?

All I could manage was a weak smile and nod. The bubbly little persona was crumbling, I felt a little … off.

"Good, good. Now I won’t keep you long dear, just a few house rules. Nothing too major, I assure you.

"You are free to come and go as you please, I just ask that you use the back door through the kitchen late at night. I don’t need to know where you are going or if, and when, you are coming home. I’m not your mother, so I won’t treat you like a child.

I only expect you to clean up after yourself. Your room and bathroom cleaning supplies are under the sink in the bathroom, and the kitchen dishes can go straight into the dishwasher. All the spare linen for your room and bathroom are kept in the cupboard right under the stairs, but it’s your responsibility to keep them clean. She added with a wink. That’s about it, really. I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, just give me a shout. Oh, I almost forgot. The upstairs is my part of the house. So that is off-limits dear, I hope you understand.

Yes, of course.

Placing a set of keys on the desk Anne nodded, smiled, then walked out, pulling the door closed behind her. I collapsed on my new, ridiculously comfortable bed with a heavy sigh. Anne had a no-nonsense air about her that I liked. All I wanted was to be left to my own devices, and Anne appeared to want the exact same thing. It seemed I might just survive the next few months without too much hardship—I hoped, at least. I needed to remind myself to be more diligent though and not slip up when I was around her. The strange feeling of being at ease around Anne made me uncomfortable and forgetful. Mia Green’s parents were not supposed to be dead. I had a role to play, and sleep deprivation was never a good enough excuse.

***

It took no time at all to unpack the few things I owned from my duffel bag into the wardrobe, put up the one worn photograph of my mother and relocate my toiletries to the bathroom. I decided now was as good a time as any to dye my hair. I’d had enough of being Lia the blonde bimbo. It had been years since I’d been black, and I thought for a few months I could be natural. What harm could it really do? Thirty minutes later I was myself again, if only externally. I spent a good fifteen minutes just staring at my reflection. I had forgotten how much like my mother I looked. It was unnerving, but at the same time, comforting.

I was at a loss with what to do with myself next. I should have napped, but I had the most vivid dreams during the day, so I just sat on the bed and looked at the room, lost in thought.

It was by far the nicest room I had stayed in. The white didn't feel sterile as some places would, but warm and light. I loved the red detail. It made the room feel vibrant and alive.

The last time I’d let myself feel any kind of attachment to a place was before I turned sixteen. I still felt a pang of regret when I thought back to that time. My foster mother had been so sweet and kind. She never pushed like the others, but gave me time. I had just started to feel normal, almost … happy. Since then, I have never known how to be comfortable in a new place. Being detached from my surroundings made it easier to move often, but it also meant I could never let my guard down. You would think after countless new towns, new rooms, new people, and new selves I would have been accustomed to it, but I don't think I was ever meant to be a gypsy. It wasn’t an option for me, to stay in one place, make friends, live. I had to keep moving.

I finally broke the reverie I was in and glanced at the digital clock on the bedside. The display read 4:22pm. I was restless, had been for months. I had worked seven days a week for what had felt like forever. I desperately needed a night to let off some steam. Four months of nonstop waiting tables, constantly having to smile, can make a person go mad.

I picked up my smart phone and searched for clubs in the local area. Two came up: a fitness club, and one called Cascade. Cascade was a local bar turned nightclub. Every night was a different theme, and apparently, it was the place to be on a Friday. Too early for the club, I decided to check out the local gym. I dressed quickly into yoga pants and put a hoodie over my sports bra, but thought better of it, and added a singlet to the mix. I found the small tote bag I'd stashed at the bottom of the wardrobe and filled it with a few essentials, then headed for the kitchen. I was about to pinch an apple when Anne walked in.

Oh Mia, that looks much more natural. You look lovely with darker hair; it really brings out your features.

Ah, thank you.

Would you like a ride to the supermarket?

Oh, no. I was just going to check out the local gym. I can get some things on the way back.

Suit yourself, dear. Have fun.

I smiled stiffly and headed for the front door but Anne stopped me just before I left the kitchen. I turned just in time to catch an apple flying at my head.

We can’t have you falling off the treadmill now, can we? I buffed the apple and took a huge bite.

Thanks, I mumbled with a mouthful. She laughed and shooed me off.

A brisk twenty-minute walk was all it took to get to the gym. I used my fake student ID to sign-up and was stowing my bag in a locker in no time. It was a rather big gym for such a small town. Huge change rooms with steamers, even a separate weight room for women. I was excited at the prospect, there hadn’t been a gym near the last place I lived, and I’d been dying to feel the burn on the treadmills. Jogging didn’t have the same appeal. I found I couldn’t run nearly as fast, maybe it had something to do with too many people on the pavements and having to avoid them. You stand out a lot more running too fast in public, but on a treadmill, no one is watching you, just themselves.

I skipped my routine stretch, too eager to start, and headed straight for the empty corner spot near the mirrors at the back of the club. I was thirty-five minutes into my run, sweating my buttocks off, when something caught my eye in the mirrors. A pair of muscular calves were on the move behind me. My gaze was glued to the reflection in the mirror as the man came closer. My eyes started to roam upward of their own accord. The well-built calves met dark grey sweat shorts that hung low. A very tight black tank top barely hid some dangerously defined pecks. Somewhere between the sweat shorts and collar of his tank, my legs stopped working. I was staring, and then I was falling … BANG! I should have laughed at Anne's fortuitous comment about falling on treadmills. I was reasonably sure I slipped on drool.

Crumpled on the floor, I prayed no one noticed my less-than-elegant departure off the treadmill. Surely everyone was minding his or her own business, right?

No such luck. With my headphones ripped out mid fall, I heard the unmistakable sound of muffled laughter behind me. I swallowed my pride and turned my head, and found a big hand in my face. I stupidly figured it was safe enough for my gaze to follow the hand up. Seriously, what more could have gone wrong? I was already a humiliated pile on the floor. If only I’d known.

The smooth looking hand was connected to a lethal arm, and belonged to a ridiculously sexy face with piercing blue-green eyes.

Aye, ‘ere let me help ye up. That was quite somethin'. I've nae seen anything like it. Ah, damn, he's Scottish.

I stared, slightly open-mouthed for a second too long until my brain cleared itself, and I rushed to my feet. Mid rush I made the mistake of looking at the sexy stranger, who happened to be smirking at me with the wink of a dimple poking out, and that was it. I fell over my feet again.

His strong hands went around my middle to steady me, but didn’t let go when