Hello Darkness Read online

  The dreaming Ben stood frozen to the ice, dreading what he knew would happen next.

  The car hit a patch of black ice and he lost control. The three-foot snow embankment between the lake and the road exploded upward as the car shot through it and spun onto the ice. If the car had only hit one of the many trees next to the road, none of what followed would have happened.

  The tires scratched loudly over the ice as the car slowly drifted to a stop in the middle of the lake. Ben stood there on the ice, watching as he and Marissa opened their doors to get out. He tried to scream at them to hurry, but he had no voice.

  There was a loud CRACK as the ice split open beneath the Volvo. Marissa screamed as her side of the car dipped down into the water. More ice cracked and the car dipped farther into the lake.

  Freezing water poured in and slowly filled the car.

  “Ben!”

  The car was dropping down into the lake on its side. Marissa’s back was to her door. She cried as water seeped in and soaked her black sweater. As the dreaming Ben watched helplessly from the lake, the Ben in the car rolled down his window and climbed up onto the door. He looked over at himself with hatred because somehow he knew what was going to happen, and he blamed himself for not being able to save her.

  Suddenly he was the Ben on the car, standing there as Marissa screamed for help.

  He bent down and reached inside, then grabbed Marissa’s arm and hauled her up onto the side of the car.

  The ice had broken in a jagged circle around them. The car bobbed on its side, gurgling as more of the lake filled it up. Ben looked around in a panic but there was nothing he could do. Several people had stopped their cars next to the lake and stood pointing at Ben’s car.

  He put his arm around Marissa and pulled her close. Her clothes were soaking wet and she shivered against his body.

  “It’s okay,” said Ben. “It’s oka—”

  The ice cracked again and the rest of the car plunged into the water. Marissa’s screams abruptly cut off as she fell into the lake. Ben jumped off the car as it sank and landed on solid ice. His legs shot out from under him and he slammed down onto his back and slid across the ice. He scrambled to get back on his feet and immediately ran back to the hole in the ice.

  Marissa was gone.

  Grey water sloshed violently where the car had been a second earlier. Ben walked forward and the ice cracked below his feet. Somewhere behind him people were shouting for him to stop.

  He saw the car as a beige smudge far below the surface.

  Something bumped against the ice behind him. He turned around ran over to a dark patch that floated below the ice twenty feet from the open hole.

  It was Marissa.

  Ben screamed and dropped down. She pounded against the ice and Ben shouted at her to swim back to the hole. She floated there in the freezing water and looked at him until she stopped moving.

  Ben ran back to the hole and dove into the frigid water. Suddenly there were hands all over him, yanking him up out of the lake and pushing him to the ground. He kicked and screamed and fought against the blankets that over his body and wrapped him up to keep him from saving Marissa.

  A soft voice echoed through his nightmare, saying only, “She’s gone…she’s gone…”

  4

  The Salty Dog was an incongruously themed tavern halfway down Main Street. The hand-carved wooden sign hanging outside the bar featured a white dog wearing a boatman’s cap and braving a typhoon while standing valiantly behind the wheel of an old freight vessel. The nearest body of water was Bright Lake twenty miles south, and the surface there never broke more than a large ripple.

  Still, it was the only bar in town, and as such was the recipient of most of the townsfolk’s expendable income. There were enough booths and tables within to comfortably house Falling Rock’s winter inhabitants, although during the peak summer and autumn months it was often too crowded to sit down.

  Karen and the other three deputies sat around a table near the large glass window at the front of the tavern. They each ordered a pint of Falling Rock Amber Ale, a locally brewed favorite, and got to talking about what most people talked about outside of work: work.

  “Gonna be a damn shame to see you two fellas go,” said Foster after a long pull at his beer. Larry and Frank nodded in agreement. “But I suppose Denver ain’t gonna watch after itself, right?”

  “Aw, they got plenty of us over there,” said Frank. “I wouldn’t mind staying on.”

  Larry shook his head. “I’m about ready to get back. The festival was fun, but I like being able to catch a movie or grab a bite at three in the morning if I feel like it.”

  “Have you ever done that?” asked Frank.

  “Well, maybe not. But I’d like the option.” Larry smiled and took a sip of his beer.

  “When do you guys leave?” asked Karen.

  “Tomorrow morning after some shut-eye. Driving straight through.”

  Foster raised his glass for a toast. “Here’s to safe travels, then.”

  “Safe travels,” they all said in unison, and clinked their glasses together. They drained their beers and ordered another round.

  “How’d we do compared to last year?” Karen asked.

  “I keep forgetting you just started, Raines,” said Foster. He rarely missed an opportunity to remind her of his tenured superiority. “Better, I think. Last year during the festival there were two break-ins and a bar fight. Arrested six out-of-towners. Oh, and those two punks who tried to knock over the gas station. What did we have this year, just those three D and D’s?” Drunk and Disorderly was a fairly common reason both visitors and locals got arrested in Falling Rock during the festival. People flooded the streets and their alcohol flooded it right alongside.

  Frank nodded. “And that wacko that got up on top of Hank Buckley’s store.”

  “That’s right!” said Larry, remembering. He held up his arms in mock imitation and faced an imaginary crowd of people. “Repent thee of thy sins, for I am crazy!” His recitation turned into a bad pantomime of a robot and they all laughed.

  “What happened to that guy?” asked Karen.

  “Sent him packing,” replied Foster. The waitress arrived and set a fresh beer before each of them. “Never found out where he came from, but sent him along just the same.”

  “Hm,” said Frank. “I wonder if you-know-who gave him a little nudge in our direction.”

  “Who, Moses?” asked Foster. “Nah. Just another crazy bastard cut from the same cloth.”

  “Sure sounds like the work of your preacher,” said Larry.

  “At least Moses doesn’t climb up on rooftops,” said Karen.

  “Not yet, anyway,” said Foster. He spun his beer slowly on the table and stared into the golden liquid.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” said Larry. “Speak of the devil!”

  They all turned to watch Moses St. Croix, pastor of The Last Valley Church, walk down Main Street toward The Salty Dog. He strode upright and confident, nodding courteously to the other townsfolk that passed him on the street. He wore black slacks and a button-down black shirt tucked tightly into his pants. Thin wire-frame glasses accented the sharp features of his dark face. He had short hair and his face was clean-shaven. Karen had a difficult time telling his age, but she guessed he could be in his mid-thirties to early forties.

  “I wonder what he’s doing in town,” said Frank.

  St. Croix rarely visited Main Street; usually once or twice a month to buy groceries, although Karen had heard recently that he was getting one of his parishioners to do all of his shopping so he could remain at the church in the valley.

  The pastor stopped in front of the bar’s window and looked inside, directly at their table.

  “What the hell’s he doing?” asked Larry.

  Outside, Moses turned quickly and walked into the bar. He crossed over to their table and stood stiffly, staring at them.

  “Gentlemen,” he said. “Ms. Raines.”


  “Moses,” said Karen, nodding.

  “Mr. St. Croix,” said Frank and Larry together.

  Foster remained silent and stared at his beer.

  The pastor’s smooth voice rolled out and the other patrons in the tavern unconsciously lowered their voices. “I trust that since the festival is over and most of the tourists are gone that you will strongly consider my earlier advice.”

  Foster chuckled. “And what advice is that, Padre?”

  Moses fixed him with a firm stare. “To evacuate Falling Rock.”

  The men at the table laughed loudly. Even Karen had a hard time not smiling. “Moses,” she said, trying to be serious. “Mr. St. Croix. Why on Earth would we evacuate the city?”

  “He won’t tell the underlings,” said Foster, “except to say that we should talk to the sheriff.”

  Moses’s jaw clenched visibly. “I made it perfectly clear to your Sheriff Mills that this town is no longer safe for habitation.”

  “And why the hell not?” said Larry.

  Foster chuckled to himself and gulped more beer.

  “We can’t just tell people to leave, Moses,” said Karen. “Not without good cause.”

  “Ask the sheriff,” said the pastor. “I told him everything.”

  Foster shook his head and drained his glass. “I think I’ll go to sleep instead.” He stood and slapped some money down on the table. “Gentlemen,” he said, and shook Larry’s and Frank’s hands in turn. “It was a pleasure.” He turned to Karen and winked before walking toward the exit.

  “Take care of yourself, Walt,” said Larry.

  The pastor’s uncomfortable gaze settled on the three remaining deputies. Karen studied his unwrinkled face.

  “You’re serious?” she asked.

  “Quite. If there are still people in Falling Rock at the start of next week, you will regret it.”

  “Is that a threat, Preacher?” asked Frank.

  “Just a warning. Sheriff Mills is the only one with the authority to make the call. Please relay my message when you see him next.” He looked over the deputies one last time before turning quickly and leaving the bar.

  Larry breathed out a heavy sigh. “Well, that was awkward. Too bad you can’t arrest someone for being crazy.”

  They all laughed nervously.

  “Right then,” said Frank, and stood. “I’m sure I’ll see you before we head back to Denver, Karen, but if not…” he extended his hand and Karen shook it firmly. “Nice to know there are a few good ones out there. Keep it up.”

  She smiled. “You too, Frank.”

  He added some bills to Foster’s money and looked at Larry. “Well?”

  “Oh, right,” said Larry and finished the rest of his beer in one gulp. He belched and fake-tipped his hat toward Karen. “Pardon, ma’am.” They shook hands and the two deputies from Denver left the tavern.

  Outside, night had fallen. The sky was crystal clear and the moon shone over the valley. Snow-capped peaks glistened atop the mountains’ dark silhouettes. Karen sat at the table alone, sipping the last of her beer and thinking about Moses St. Croix. She remembered the fanatic that had climbed onto Hank Buckley’s store to shout his insanity to anyone who would listen and could draw no parallels to Moses’s personality except for their similar religious beliefs.

  Something about the pastor’s stern manner discomforted her. He was so sure of himself and his eyes didn’t have the patented look of insanity like the man who climbed onto the roof. In the end it didn’t matter what she thought. When Sheriff Mills got back to the station she would tell him about the preacher’s “advice” to evacuate Falling Rock and see what came of it. More than likely Mills would dismiss it as nonsense and it would be forgotten.

  Still, though, the preacher’s words had cast a dark shadow over her mood, and as she stared out into the valley below Falling Rock, Karen Raines felt a chill run up her spine and spread out over her entire body like a million dancing spiders.

  5

  Despite all of their petty gossip and the blatant racism of certain individuals like Walt Foster, Moses St. Croix held a special affinity for the people of Falling Rock. They were his flock and he their shepherd; only together were they complete. It was not easy to forget the fact that only a handful of sinners visited his church every Sunday out of more than a hundred year-round city inhabitants. Moses did what he could to drive spiritual business his way, but new blood merely trickled to his church, if it did even that. “Preaching to the choir” was a phrase that entered his mind more often than he liked.

  Main Street was cooling down by the minute, but he still couldn’t see his own breath before him, as he usually could that time of year.

  It was only the second time in several months that Moses had ventured into town on foot and he had forgotten about the recent time change; the sun now dipped below the horizon as early as five p.m. He owned a warm fleece jacket for cold winter nights which he had stupidly left draped over the back pew of the church.

  The other people wandering Main Street at twilight were most likely headed home. Several of them avoided eye contact with the pastor, but those that were nice enough to acknowledge him did so with a courteous nod in his direction, which he returned in kind. Moses was all too aware of his reputation around town as a crazed evangelical hell-bent on spouting his beliefs at whoever had ears to listen. Besides the occasional sermon during which he got a little carried away, nothing could be further from the truth.

  Moses liked the good people of Falling Rock, saints and sinners both, and that was the one simple reason he kept on them about salvation. It was interesting to him how uncomfortable they became once he steered droll small-talk toward a conversation of purpose. They were so quick to get away that Moses knew he had heard some of mankind’s more clever lies in the process.

  He passed the small building that housed the Sheriff Department and shivered—not from the cold, but from the thought of what waited for him in the night down in the shadows of the valley.

  Moses stopped and looked at the sky. Wispy clouds dotted the deep purple curtain overhead. The first stars of evening sparkled through the gloaming. There was a loud clicking noise all around him, followed by a low electric buzzzzzzz. The street lamps flicked on two at a time, starting down by the gas station and sweeping past Moses to the other end of Main Street. He watched them light up in rapid succession and smiled at the simple display of magic. So many things in his world were taken for granted that he spent as much time as possible admiring everything, big and small, that was worthy of admiration.

  His gaze drifted over to the Sheriff’s Office. Moses was unsure of what he was expecting a handful of deputies to do with a cryptic warning from a purported nut job. Probably exactly what they had done, which was to humor him until he went away to become somebody else’s problem. Moses knew that Foster would be useless—as big a nonbeliever as ever Moses had ever seen. The other two men were heading back to Denver very soon, so would have no vested interest in Falling Rock’s safety. Karen, though—she was different somehow. Moses couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was he sensed in her, but it was something that the others did not possess. He had singled her out at the bar but she ignored him. Perhaps if he could separate her from her peers she might be more receptive.

  Moses shook the thoughts out of his mind for the time being and walked into the Sheriff’s Office. It was pleasantly warm inside but the lights were far too bright. Janet Hayes, the night dispatcher, was just sitting down in her chair with a big cup of coffee in hand.

  “Good evening, Janet,” said Moses. He smiled kindly and walked to the front counter that separated the small foyer from the large office in the back.

  “Hey there, Preacher. What brings you up our way?” She slurped her coffee and carefully set the giant mug down on her desk. It never ceased to amaze Moses how few people could remember his professional title correctly.

  He placed his hands on the counter slowly. “I was wondering if Sheriff Mills had made
it back this way yet. I checked in earlier.”

  Janet lifted her coffee mug. “It’s his own personal weekend, sugar. You’ll have to come back on Thursday.” She slurped loudly and set her cup down next to the boxy dispatch radio that took up one corner of her desk.

  “I hoped you might be able to call him. It’s very important.”

  Janet looked at him over reading glasses that were too small for her round face. “Is this about evacuating the town? You know what Roy said last time you talked to him.” She shook her head. “Ain’t no way in hell you’re gettin’ him to send away all these people.” She studied him closely. “Unless maybe you want to tell me why you think everyone needs to leave.”

  “The sheriff didn’t tell you?”

  “Not the specifics, no. Just that you had some hair-brained notion that we was all gonna die.”

  Moses clenched his teeth to gain his composure before he went on. As a young man, patience was never something he came by easily, but eventually he learned to suffer it daily. He hated lying but saw no way around it; Janet would not believe the truth even if he told it to her straight. “The fire near my church is getting worse. If the wind intensifies the flames could sweep up the mountain and right over the city.”

  Janet chuckled. “If the wind picks up? In the valley? Come on now, sugar, you can do better than that.”

  He really couldn’t. Moses opened his mouth to try, but nothing came out. He snapped his jaw shut and turned to leave. As he was reaching for the door handle, Janet spoke.

  “Wait.”

  His hand rested on the doorknob, ready to turn.

  “No need gettin’ all embarrassed, Preacher. Least I can do is give Roy a call. As long as you promise it’s important.”

  He turned around. She waited with the phone receiver in one hand.

  “It’s important,” he assured her as he walked back to the counter. She searched his eyes for a moment longer, then started dialing.

  “If he yells,” she said, “I’m blaming everything on you.”