The Darkness

CHAPTER 1

THUNDER SLAMMED, AND lightning broke the sky. Edward Olson

glanced at the flash that lit up the closed wood blinds. Without a word, he

sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to dump a body by the river. Not in the pouring

rain. But the urge to strangle Cynthia Langford wouldn’t let go. Edward tried

to resist. He really did. He glanced at Cynthia, who sat next to him on his

couch like a doe-eyed deer.

Couldn’t he have an occasional date without the pressure to kill?

But The Darkness, an entity only Edward could see, had its own agenda.

The creature perched on top of the coat rack—head hung low, shoulders

hunched. As if it were all a game, the beast click-clacked its upper and lower

beak. Click-clack. Click-clack. With a lift, it flapped its spiked wings, whooshed

across the room, and landed on Edward’s shoulder.

Edward glanced at his shadowy nemesis, a foot-tall creature with a beak,

talons, and bat-shaped wings that could spread double its size when the damn

thing flew—looking more like a thorn-covered Pterodactyl than a large bird.

Its teeth, sharp as broken glass and vampiric, created a sense of desperate evil.

A good candidate for Satan’s favorite pet, Edward often thought.

Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack.

The nonstop sound grated Edward’s nerves causing a hard tension to coil

through him. He felt wound up and ready to pounce. And The Darkness

wouldn’t shut up. Always push-push-pushing Edward into a rage. If only

the creature would disappear. He often daydreamed of living in a world

unhampered by the monstrosity and its cravings. He tried to imagine himself

with problems like a bad job, a broken-down car, or a steep mortgage. But his

fraternity in life had members like Theodore “Ted” Bundy, Son-of-Sam David

Berkowitz, and Blind-Torture-Kill murderer, Dennis Rader—all plagued by

entities that forced them to kill.

Click-clack. Click-clack.

Edward’s jaw clenched, and he swiped at the creature on his shoulder.

The Darkness squawked, zoomed around the room, and landed on the other

shoulder—its talons sunk deep.

As if it had a mind of its own, Edward’s heel pumped up and down. His

head pounded. Leave me alone, Edward thought—the words whizzed in his

mind like a violent hurricane. The intensity of his need gnawed at him until

he had no choice.

Edward glanced at Cynthia and muttered, “Can you excuse me a sec?”

“Sure, doll.” Cynthia kissed his cheek. “Hurry back,” she cooed. “I miss

you already.” She batted her hooded eyes.

Kill her, The Darkness insisted and leaped onto the coat rack.

Edward peered at the malicious creature as it snapped its beak open and

shut, open and shut—escalating—becoming harsher, louder. Each click and

clack taunted him. He felt as if a torture device was stretching his skin.

At one time, Edward thought he would get used to the click-clacking, but

that never happened. The repetitive sound fucked with him like a hungry

mosquito serenading an ear until it drove him into a rage. Edward curled his

hands into fists, dug his nails into his palms, and sprang from the couch. As

he barged toward the kitchen, he focused on maintaining control.

Just get me to the kitchen before I snap. But the ruthless shadow was already

in the kitchen. Waiting. Click-clacking. The beast snorted then ground its

jagged teeth together. The crunch of bone on bone—hideous.

Trying to get ahead of the terrible compulsion, Edward grabbed a bottle

of Johnnie Walker Blue and gulped a shot. Sometimes it cooled him down.

But not tonight.

A zap of recklessness jolted through him.

Edward paced. Another shot.

And the click-clacking. The racket infuriated him. He needed a break.

“What should we watch?” Cynthia called from the screening room.

Edward had planned a quiet night—pizza and a movie—until The

Darkness opened its cruel beak. And now, not even allowing Edward a chance

to choose a film, the entity put him to the test.

Click-clack, click-clack.

Would you fucking stop? Edward slammed the scotch bottle against the

Italian tile counter so hard it shattered. Glass and whiskey flew across the floor.

“Are you okay?” Cynthia’s voice swirled from the other room.

And The Darkness—again with the beak clicking. The sounds ricocheted

from wall to wall. Edward knew only one thing would ease the wrath that

boiled inside him. Only one antidote could heal the sickness that cursed

him.

“Edward?” Cynthia called.

Her voice wove between the booming sounds in Edward’s head. His blue

eyes, now black as death, focused as he strutted into the entertainment room.

He no longer saw Cynthia. He no longer cared. She was nothing.

“Edward, what’s wrong?”

Her shrill voice seemed too much to bear. And the incessant clicking, then

crunching of the teeth drove him mad. He grabbed Cynthia by the neck and

squeezed.

Cynthia’s eyes filled with confused terror.

The Darkness landed on Edward—dug its talons into Edward’s back—and

rode him hard. The snapping and click-clacking reached a crescendo.

Cynthia, kicking and gasping, struggled to escape, but Edward held her

firm—his strength too much for her. Although the light faded from her eyes,

Cynthia refused to stop fighting.

Edward liked it when they struggled. It added to the drama.

The choking went on until Cynthia lost consciousness. Edward let go and

slapped her until she came to. At first, she seemed disoriented, but seconds

later, she tried to scream. His large hands went right to her throat—squeezing

until she passed out again. He brought her back. Then strangled her once

more. He took pleasure in blacking them out then reviving them.

It’s like playing chess with Death.

Edward’s smile turned vicious, and he skidded into a frenzy. He tightened

his hands around Cynthia’s neck. Trying to untangle herself from his grip, she

kicked. But Edward hung on. Squeezing the life out of . . . of . . . whoever

the hell she was . . . until she succumbed. Burst blood vessels in the whites of

her eyes looked like veils of red lace. Her tongue turned a tell-all blue. Small

marks dotted her neck.

Edward fell back onto the couch, the kill rushing through him. He howled

like the predator he was. He was so drunk with pleasure he felt as if he could

float with the clouds, dance with autumn leaves, sleep on the sea. The sensation

lasted a minute, sometimes less. Didn’t matter. Those seconds of ecstasy, those

seconds of freedom, were worth the hassle of getting the body to the river in

the rain. Mud or not.

The Darkness lifted from Edward’s back, stretched its wings, and

disappeared into a gloomy corner of the room. Heady from the release,

Edward pulled himself back into the now. Back to Cynthia, sprawled on the

couch like a discarded rag doll.

Edward glanced at the clock. No wonder he was hungry. He picked up the

takeout menu—pepperoni or sausage? He couldn’t decide. Hell, he had no

idea what Cynthia preferred. To be fair, he ordered a half-and-half with a side

of garlic fries then turned on the TV. Scrolling through the movies, he settled

on Sleepless in Seattle. Romantic comedy, his favorite.

STARTLED, EDWARD JERKED out of a dream. It took a few moments to

orient himself. He was still in the screening room—one arm wrapped around

Cynthia Langford’s body. The red light from the clock cast a hollow glow. On

TV, a shady-eyed preacher tried his best to sell God.

2:45 a.m.

Edward peeked between the blinds and appraised the early morning.

Moon slivered. Slight drizzling. He could make it down to the river and back

dry if he wore rain gear—another hassle. He lifted Cynthia and hauled her

out to his three-car garage. Her stiffening body felt like a bag of cement, but

he crammed her into the trunk and slammed it.

As he drove toward Cynthia’s new resting place, Edward listened to de

Senneville’s music. Once parked, he fast-forwarded to “Mariage d’Amour,”

the perfect piece for carrying Cynthia’s body down to the river’s edge—she

would have loved the romance of it all.

Edward took a moment to take in his surroundings. Low-lit industrial

buildings stood like gravestones against the sky. The air was still, and the

sound of the water gurgled like a death rattle. He lay Cynthia on the concrete

and dirt silt and noticed her foot dangling in the water. Would she mind?

A gentleman, he dragged the body toward the incline that led to the fence.

Should he head home and return later? Or grab the tarp and have sex with

her now?

BY THE TIME Edward dumped Cynthia and returned home, it was 4:30

a.m. His first class, Legal Writing, was less than a few hours away. Shit. The

last thing I want is to ruin my buzz. He decided, instead, to take a road trip to

Las Vegas. It would be a luxury to escape the bloated, dull Seattle clouds and

the stresses of being a student.

Edward turned onto I-84, heading east. He debated how long he wanted

to be on the road. Most times, he drove to Vegas. He’d lose himself in reflective

thought, dissecting his behavior and mood. Sometimes he’d focus on finding

the next woman. Today, he felt like driving for its own sake. Take in the

scenery. Enjoy the desert heat.



Law school was a goddamn albatross. First, it was time-consuming, and

second, at thirty, he was the oldest in the class. It would be hip to say he was

an attorney, but he hadn’t realized the work involved in becoming one. Shit.

Why not drop out of school and just say he was a lawyer? How hard would

it be to add law books and fake files to his office? It’s not like he needed the

money.

His long-lost grandmother had skipped his bitch-of-a-dead-mother and

had left her fortune to him. The six million-plus allowed Edward to live well.

He had an estate on five acres, and women adored the seclusion—that is until

they screamed for help, and nobody came. The pool, the screening room, the

home gym, and the woods that surrounded the 4500-square-foot house were

only a few features his luxury home offered.

Edward decided he’d stay at the Bellagio. Sometimes he’d meet a woman

at the pool, take her to Sinatra’s for Veal Parmigiana, maybe catch a show, and

walk her back to the hotel. But this trip, he’d spend time at the casinos, shop

at Caesar’s, and cruise the streets. There are always women in Vegas looking

for some fun.

After two days, the death of a hooker, and three thousand in winnings,

Edward headed back to Seattle. Instead of working out in his home gym, he

stopped at his health club near the University.

CHAPTER 2

AFTER A BUSY Monday at work, twenty-six-year-old Cate Derry headed

to the gym. She’d been a nurse at the University of Washington’s Harborview

Medical Center for a month and was now familiar with the protocols.

Although worn out, she convinced herself to get on the elliptical trainer for

thirty minutes. She put in her earbuds, turned on her music, and claimed the

last open machine. Next to her, a Dylan McDermott look-alike glanced at

her, smiled like he knew her, and returned to his workout. In trendy workout

clothes, he looked like new money. His tousled dark hair—shaved close on the

sides and longer on top—highlighted his haunting blue eyes. His cheekbones

were high fashion. Oh, yes, she’d seen his type before and was certain women

threw themselves at him.

But not Cate.

She pulled herself back to her workout and kept her pace while Lady Gaga

sang. Perspiration cleansed the stress she carried in her neck and shoulders.

Critical care was for strong-willed and tough-minded nurses. Cate, however,

vowed she would leave her career if she ever felt hardened.

Cate’s workout slowed from the fifteen-minute cooldown to a complete

stop. The guy next to her wound down as well.

“Looks like you worked your butt off,” he said, his voice casual.

Cate pulled the earbuds out. “I’m sorry, I . . . ah . . . what did you say?” She

blushed. Her lack of experience with men presented as social awkwardness.

She didn’t like small talk. Didn’t have the gift.

“You’re new here?” The Dylan-McDermott-of-the-gym asked.

“Nope. I usually come around six. I didn’t realize the gym would be empty

later in the evening.”

“Don’t get used to it. It’s an off-night.”

“Right.” Cate stepped off the elliptical and blotted her face with a towel.

“What do you do that keeps your workout late?” He grabbed his towel.

“I’m a nurse.” Her anxiety revved to high, and she glanced toward the

locker room. Okay, Gotta run, she thought she’d say. But he’d steered the

conversation forward before she could speak.

“Impressive. Hey, I like the ponytail.”

She’d pulled her straight hair back that morning—part of her daily

routine–and put her ponytail near the crown of her head. Made her look

spunky, which she liked. The scrubs in her locker were a cheery blue with a

small-rabbits-and-carrots design. The blue pants matched. Cate felt cartoon

tops made her less intimidating to patients and highlighted the difference

between her and the bully nurses who ran the fifth-floor Critical Care Unit.

Well, say something. Don’t just stand there like an idiot. “Keeps it out of my

face.” Cate glanced at the two yellow balls in his elliptical’s cupholder. “What

do you do with your balls?” Holy cheeses. Did I just say that? Cate felt her face

heat.

He laughed. “Well, that’s an interesting question.”

“I know. I meant . . . I didn’t think before—”

“Works out my hands,” he said with a wink. “I like to keep them strong.”

He picked up a ball and squeezed it. “I’m a defense attorney. You never know

when you might need to punch an obnoxious prosecutor.”

“Smart and funny.” Fine. Enough small talk. It was the perfect time to

untangle herself from this conversation. “Gotta run.” She headed toward the

women’s locker room.

“Hey, wait.” He hurried to her side. “Is your name Caitlyn Derry?”

“Do I know you?”

“We . . . uh . . . had a class together. I dropped it after three days, but I

remember you.”

“Really?” Cate eyed him. “What class?”

“What class?” he repeated. “Biology. I thought about medical school.”

“Good memory.” How could he possibly remember me? Cate thought. But

it didn’t matter—not really. “Well, nice to see you again,” she mumbled, still

walking.

“How about dinner Saturday night?”

“Sorry.” She felt her face flush as she shook her head.

He caught up with her. “Lunch?”

“I don’t date.”

“Coffee and a bagel?”

Deep within, she felt an undercurrent of magnetism she didn’t understand;

even so, she stopped, turned toward him, and smiled. “I’m sorry. No.”

CATE STEPPED OUT of the gym to the parking lot and moaned. Her back

tire sat flat against the ground. “Oh, sheets!” She tossed her gym bag across

the asphalt. “Now what?” A tear welled in her eye. It was times like this that

she missed her dad more than usual.

“Looks like you’ve got a bit of a problem. Let me give you a hand.”

Cate turned to find Dylan-of-the-gym right behind her. He’d crept upon

her without making a sound. Oh God, did he see me having my tantrum? She

tried to be nonchalant as she walked across the lot to retrieve her bag.

He squatted next to the tire. “There’s a nail in the sidewall. You got a

spare?”

“Yes, but I have no idea how to change a tire.”

“Don’t you worry. The cavalry has arrived.”

Cate watched the chivalrous stranger take off the flat and screw on the

spare. She had to admit; he was gorgeous with his contagious smile, sculpted

nose, and commanding eyes. The right height for her five-foot-five frame—he

looked just under six feet with arms as strong as her dad’s. And the guy seemed

just as sweet.

After he finished changing the flat, he stood and stretched. “How about

that coffee and bagel?”

And what could Cate say after he’d rescued her from what would have

been an exasperating night? “Just coffee and a bagel?”

The man nodded and crossed his heart. “I promise.”

“Sure, okay.”

“You know where Bean and Bagel is?” He wiped his hands together.

“Fortieth and fifteenth, right?”

“Does tomorrow morning work for you? Say, seven?”

“See you then,” Cate replied. “Hey, thanks again.” Already, she wished

she’d said no. She imagined them at a table for two at Bean and Bagel. What

would they talk about? The pressure would be excruciating. The small talk

unbearable. What would he think if she had nothing fascinating to say?

CATE ENTERED BEAN and Bagel, her strawberry-blonde hair in the

ponytail he’d liked. Tiny, pink-elephant barrettes captured most of the stray

hairs. Her ivory skin showed-off her Pacific-blue eyes, her nose was lightly

sprinkled with freckles.

He was already at a table. A bouquet of daffodils lay on top.

“For you.” He stood and handed her the lemon-yellow flowers.

“Oh my, they’re stunning.”

Although this gesture suggested more than “just coffee,” Cate no longer

cared. Once again, she felt that same familiarity as she had at the gym. It was

as if they were cohorts sharing a secret no one else knew. Why?

“I might as well tell you my name, Caitlyn.” He laughed. “I’m Edward.”

He offered his well-manicured hand.

“I go by Cate.” She liked his firm handshake. “Last night, I realized that I

hadn’t gotten your name. Goofy, huh?” Goofy, huh. What a ridiculous thing to

say, she silently admonished herself.

“I like Caitlyn.” He smiled. “So, you’re a nurse.” He seemed to appraise her

scrubs as he pulled out a chair for her. Cartoon elephants decorated her top.

The pink pants matched the color of the elephants.

“I work in critical care.” Her voice cracked.

“Next time I need critical care, I’ll be sure to ask for you.” Edward winked.

“Not so fast. Gosh, I’d feel awful if I accidentally killed you.” She giggled.

“Do you like being an attorney?”

“All smoke and mirrors,” Edward said.

“What’s your specialty?”

“My specialty?” His voice was as silky as expensive stockings. “Federal

criminal defense—forfeiture.”

It surprised Caitlyn how easy it was to chat with Edward. He exuded

confidence while remaining humble. A take-charge man yet respectful. Every

subject he mentioned, she had a response. He made her comfortable. Enjoying

herself, Cate almost relaxed.

“I’m thinking sesame bagel, toasted. And cream cheese. What about you,

Caitlyn?”

“I go by Cate,” she repeated, her voice firm. Ever since they took her father

away, she went by Cate. Period. “I’ll have the same with coffee.” As Cate

placed her menu back in the slot, the back of her hand knocked over her glass.

Water soaked her pants.

“Sunny beaches. That’s cold.”

“Sunny beaches?” Edward laughed, blotting the table with paper napkins.

“I don’t swear,” she replied. She pulled a wad of napkins from the holder.

“My dad never swore. I liked that about him.”

“So sunny beaches is Caitlyn talk for son of a bitch?” He emphasized the

“lyn” in her name.

“It’s Cate,” she mumbled, looking down at her wet lap.

“What got you into nursing?” Edward sopped up the water on the table

with a handful of napkins and waved to the waiter.

“I’ve always wanted to help people. It’s my life’s purpose.” She peeked at

the clock. “Heck. Where did the time go? I’ve got to get to work.”

“Jesus, it takes forever to get a waiter,” Edward complained.

Cate shrugged and stood. “Sorry, I can’t stay.”

“How about a picnic Saturday instead?” Edward asked. “You know, a

raincheck?”

“I—”

“It’s only fair.” Edward handed her a napkin and pen.

Cate hesitated. Would she regret giving him her number? She glanced

at his foot tap, tap, tapping against the linoleum floor. Obviously, he was as

nervous as she was.

She scribbled her number and her name, Cate, which she underlined

several times to reinforce that she went by Cate not Caitlyn.

Edward picked up the napkin, said the number out loud, and repeated her

name. “Caitlyn.”

“Cate,” she said, irritated that he refused to use her name correctly. Was he

stubborn? Not listening? It was enough for her to consider canceling.

But he looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Caitlyn—a beautiful

name for a beautiful woman.”

Cate reached for the bouquet and smiled.