Killing Darkness Read online

  Killing

  Darkness

  Jay Heavner

  Canaveral Publishing

  Killing Darkness

  by Jay Heavner

  Copyright © 2018 Jay Heavner

  Second edition © 2019 Jay Heavner

  All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other way or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage system, without written permission from the author.

  Canaveral Publishing, Cocoa, Florida

  Mr. Heavner can be contacted at [email protected]

  “I Will Rejoice (Habakkuk 3)” by Mary Barrett, Copyright © 2009 Sound Truth Publishing. All rights reserved. Used with Permission.

  Cover by Fineline Printing, Titusville, Florida

  Killing Darkness is the fourth in the Braddock’s Gold Series by Jay Heavner.

  Braddock’s Gold, Hunter’s Moon, Fool’s Wisdom, and Killing Darkness

  Mr. Heavner also has a growing Florida Murder Mystery Series.

  Death at Windover, Murder at the Canaveral Diner, and Murder at the Indian River

  To Frances and Bessie

  Acknowledgment

  Thanks to everyone who helped me with Killing Darkness. To my wife, Vivian, for her encouragement, support, and proofing. A special thanks to JoAnn Peterson and Bill Rowland for editing and suggestions. And my first readers, Marsha and Brian Tressler, Dutch Staggs, and Sharon Foulk. Thanks.

  And a special acknowledgment to Susie Long, who was the first person to figure out the true identity of Tom’s antagonist. Congratulations.

  Jay Heavner

  Killing Darkness

  Chapter 1

  Where am I? How did I get here? He grabbed at the steering wheel in front of him and jerked it to the left, barely avoiding a tree with strands of barbed wire running out of it. The truck bumped around on the narrow county road lacking a centerline or a shoulder. The one headlight working attempted to pierce the darkness around him. Fences hemmed the road in tightly. There was no room for error. He touched the brakes, and the rear tires slipped on the asphalt. After a moment, they grabbed the slick pavement, and the truck slowed to a safer speed, that is, if there were no sharp turns on this country lane. He saw no road signs at all. Where was he?

  The second headlight flickered on for a second. A large form stood in the road. Deer! He slammed on the brakes. Too late. With a sickening thud, they hit, and the flickering headlight went out. He slid to a halt and backed up to where he’d struck it. After putting the truck in park and seeing no other activity on the road, he grabbed a flashlight lying on the seat and got out. The front of the old pickup had been damaged severely, but it was still drivable. Blood ran and dripped from the point of impact. Coarse brown hair clung to the twisted metal and glass. A large buck with broken legs and other injuries tried to get up, but could not. He walked to a few feet from the maimed animal. To his surprise, he found a handgun in a holster at his side. He pulled the gun out and pointed it at the wounded animal. Its eyes followed his movements. The deer let out a horrible cry, a death-cry. It knew what was coming next.

  The abominable bellow shook him to his core, but he knew what he must do. With one shot, he extinguished the animal’s life. He looked around into the night blackness but saw nothing. It was still again, too still. He gutted the deer and with great effort, managed to get the bloody carcass into the truck bed. For some reason he could not explain, he left the gate to the truck bed down.

  A dim light barely visible shown on what he believed was the horizon. Perhaps soon, with the coming day, he would find out where he was, assuming too, the light was not from a farm on a distant hill.

  He drove on. It did seem to be getting brighter. Patches of fog laid at ground level, and a misty cloud hung above the truck. It cut through the fog and made surreal spinning vortexes. The day was getting slightly brighter. Off to the left, he saw many paired points of light. Eyes were staring at him, the accusing alien-like eyes of many goats all looking at him, and they whispered, “Murderer, killer, assassin.”

  The piercing eyes sent chills through him, but he did know where he was now, the goat farm along Dans Run Road near his home at Short Gap, West Virginia. And he knew where he was going and why.

  The dense fog stymied the sun's efforts to illuminate the darkness. He drove on with the goat voices nipping at his ears and crossed a narrow concrete bridge that looked and was nearly a century old. A shiny plaque on it read Ferris Bridge Company, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 1912. The road snaked left and closely paralleled railroad tracks. A bright light appeared, and a piercing train whistle cut the darkness. One hundred cars roared by. The ground shook, and the truck swayed in the turbulence created by the thundering behemoth. His heart pounded in his chest as he drove on. The road pulled away from the tracks and twisted up a hill. Through the fog, a nightlight eerily illuminated an old farmhouse in a cove to the right. The road descended the hill, and the tracks were again by his side, but it was quiet now. He could hear the sound of water rushing over rocks. Yes, he knew where he was. That was the Potomac River, and he was sure he knew where he was going.

  The road ascended the hill again. He drove on the serpentine road till it crossed the high ridge, and he took the rutted farm lane to the right. A gate barred his path. He stopped twenty feet away, and it swung in ominously as if it had been expecting him. Terror filled him out as he watched. This was not an automatic gate, and there was nothing visible to explain what he saw. He did not want to go in, but he knew he would continue like a moth heading to the light even knowing he would likely die.

  The rising sun and its light gave the area an otherworldly look. He stopped the truck near the old farmhouse. It was here he had nearly been killed, not once, but twice. With his hand, he touched the scar on his head the round from a pistol had made. He should have been shaking, but strange calm permeated him. He got out and walked toward the structure. Something brushed against his ankle, and he jumped back. A calico cat looked up at him and meowed.

  He heard a vehicle coming up the farm lane. A large, dark blue, almost black Chevy SUV stopped fifty feet from him. The cat hissed, took off running, and disappeared around the house. The driver shut off the engine and got out. He was of medium to short height and average build. The expensive dark suit he wore was impressive. It contrasted to the old flour sack with two eye holes cut out, which covered his head. He stopped twenty feet from Tom and looked at the bloody deer in the back of the truck, but did not comment on it. The newcomer spoke, “Good morning, Mister Tom Kenney. Somehow, I knew I would find you here this morning. I trust you are well,” the electronically altered voice said.

  “I believe you’re the one who phones me and identifies himself as ‘the Benefactor.’”

  The sack nodded. "I am he, and you know why I am here.”

  “You want this to be over. You want the treasure. You want Braddock’s lost gold payroll.”

  The sack nodded again, “Why, you must have read my mind. I trust you have an answer for me.”

  “I do. I want this to be over too.”

  “Good. Now we are getting somewhere. What do you have?”

  Tom reached under his jacket and pulled out a pistol he pointed at the man known as the Benefactor. “I’ve got this for you.’

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk, and after all, I have done for you. Surely you would not shoot an unarmed man?” He opened his suit jacket slowly to show he carried no weapon.

  “This is going to
end right, here right now today, and no more games.”

  "Do you think my death will end it, Mr. Kenney?”

  “I believe so. I’ll risk it.”

  “Then do what you must, but remember this. Like a phoenix, I will rise again."

  Anger gripped Tom. His face twisted as he took a shooting stance. He braced for recoil and squeezed the trigger time after time until the clip was empty. Round after round had found the body of the Benefactor. Blood flowed from the many wounds, but the Benefactor remained standing.

  “Did you think it was that easy to rid yourself of me, Mr. Kenney?”

  Tom's mouth stood open in disbelief, and a flame-like one on a candle arose on the sack that covered the head. It quickly spread into a funeral pyre over the whole body that continued to stand. The body turned to grey ash and crumbled, starting at the head. It fell to a heap, and the fire went out entirely. Tom looked at the ashes as a cloud of black smoke began to come from them. It had a sulfur odor that bit as his nostrils. The smoke took the form of a menacing winged bird, and it spoke, "I told you I would rise again. I would be reborn. No mortal can take my life."

  It flew into the sky, and as it flew, Tom could hear it speak in an evil way. "You will see me again, Mr. Kenney. I want the treasure you have, and you will give it to me.”

  It became a dot and disappeared. All was still, too still. Tom heard a rustling behind him. He turned around. Standing directly behind him was the monstrous creature. Its eyes looked like flames, and it spoke to Tom. "I am Darkness. Trust me. I will save you.”

  Tom heard someone wailing, “No, no, nooo!”

  He recognized the voice. He was the one screaming like a wild man.

  Chapter 2

  “No, no, nooo," Tom heard himself cry out. The ground underneath him seemed to be falling away, and he felt himself falling into a deep, dark abyss. "No," he screamed, "Nooo.”

  Tom’s body convulsed as he hit bottom. His breath came in gasps. His heart pounded like an Indian war drum as the warriors danced themselves into a frenzy before a coming battle. His eyes began to focus in the near darkness. They darted from side to side. Where was he? His hand touched something, cloth. It covered him from the waist down and was also under him. It was the sheets of his bed in the old farmhouse he called home along Highway Route 28, Short Gap, West Virginia. He was in his own bed. It had all been a dream, a bad dream, one of many he’d had in his life. In years gone by, they’d often been of the horrible battle in the Ia Drang Valley where he had nearly died while a soldier, but lately, they'd been about Braddock’s Gold and real and imagined threats on his life.

  He felt around in the bed for his wife, Joann, but she was not there. He let out a sigh of relief. When the PTSD dreams invaded his mind as he slept, he would sometimes react like they were real and strike out at the threat. He’d warned her not to touch him and to get away during these episodes for her safety when these night terrors came. He’d once blackened the eyes of his first wife, Sarah when she’d clenched his arm during one of his nightmares. She never did that again, and Tom was profusely sorry for his defensive reaction. How he loved her. Tragically, she died after being hit head-on by a drunk driver on a local highway.

  Tom spoke to the darkness, “Joann, are you there?”

  Her quivering voice came from somewhere on the other side of the room. “Yes, I’m here.”

  “How bad did I scare you this time?”

  “About an eight and a half on the scale of one to ten.”

  “Pretty bad, it was then?”

  "Yeah, it was. It’s been some time since you became that animated in your sleep.”

  “Do you have the baby with you?” he asked.

  “She’s over here in her cradle sleeping. She was crying, hungry, and wet, so I took care of her, and I had no more than got her back down when you started to thrash around. I thought it best to see what happened from the safety of the rocking chair over here,” she said.

  “I’m glad you did. You know I’m a mess when I get like this. Glad you’re safe.” He stopped. “I believe I told you about how, during a disturbing nightmare like I had tonight, I once punched Sarah between the eyes and blackened them. I thought she was a Viet Cong grabbing me. I felt so bad about that and hoped never to have anything like that happen again. She covered for me by saying she had walked into a door during the night.”

  “Yes, you told me several times to make a point, and I never wanted that to happen to me either, so I try to keep my distance when you get like that.”

  “You’re a smart lady. Consciously, I’d never want to do that to anyone, especially you, but I know what I’m capable of when the horrors come to me as I sleep.”

  "What was your dream about this time? The battle in Vietnam or something else?”

  “Something else newer, present time 1998. It concerned the fellow who calls himself the Benefactor.”

  “Another one of those, huh?”

  "Yeah, it was bizarre. I can remember most of it. It started out with me not knowing where I was, driving an old beater truck and hitting a deer. I shot the wounded animal with a handgun I was packing, gutted it, and threw it in the back of the truck.”

  “A true West Virginian, you are Tom. Bringing home your roadkill.”

  He smiled. "Yeah, I guess so. Then I drove up to the gate of the old farm where I was nearly killed twice, and the gate opened on its own, drawing me in."

  “Like the white whale drew Captain Ahab on.”

  "You got it. I pulled up to the old farmhouse, got out, and soon a dark SUV pulled up. The Benefactor got out. He had on a suit, and the cloth sack with two crude eye holes cut out I told you about was on his head. I told him I wanted this to be over. He said he did too.”

  Tom was silent.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense, Tom. And then what happened?”

  “I shot him.”

  “You shot him?” she said, surprised.

  "Yeah, I shot him, over and over again, round after round from my handgun. Six or seven times. Blood poured out of the wounds, but he just stood there like nothing happened.”

  “That’s very scary.”

  "Tell me about it, and it gets better. He told me I couldn’t kill him. His body caught fire and then crumbled into ashes. Smoke came from them, and it formed a winged beast like a phoenix and flew away laughing hideous like at me. It disappeared, and the next thing I knew, it was behind me. I turned, and it spoke to me. I think it said, ‘I am the Darkness. I will save you.' That’s when I woke up screaming. It took a few moments to figure out where I was and realize it was just another bad dream.”

  “That’s really weird. Any idea what it meant?”

  "No, maybe it'll make more sense in the morning, but right now, it's just another horrible dream." He stopped. “And I can’t believe the baby slept right through all this.”

  “She did,” Joann said. “Little Brook was dead to the world and sawing logs during your unpleasantness.”

  Tom said, “My dad would tell me how when I was that size, and he built this house from the basement up, my baby bed would be in the same room, and I could sleep right through all the activity, all the saws going and hammers pounding."

  “Well, Brook does have half your genes, so I guess it would be natural she reacted in some of the same ways.”

  "Yeah, I guess so. She’s our little blessing, alright. The doctors said you would never carry her full term. Even if she was born a few months early, it’s still a miracle she made it.”

  “There were lots of people praying for us as you well know, Tom. Never forget that.”

  "Yeah, besides your earthy doctor, you had a heavenly Physician who deals in miracles.”

  "How right you are on that. Doctor Brown said as much. He's a super doctor when it comes to prenatal, but pretty hardcore when it comes to his feelings about God, religion, or the supernatural. I knew his reputation on this and almost went elsewhere because of it. Just the same, I knew I could not have gotten better care anywhe
re than from Doctor Brown.”

  “You’re correct on that. I was satisfied very much with his care. He bent over backward to see you had the best available. I think your faith and example affected old Mister Hardshell.”

  “He told me as much one day when he stopped in to visit my room at the hospital.”

  “I think our little wonder affected everyone at the hospital. We had more than our share of nurses and doctors stopping in. The whole wing of the hospital was buzzing like a beehive because of our little girl. Oh, and one more thing while I’m thinking about it. Padre called and wants to meet you for breakfast at Linda’s tomorrow morning. I told him yes. Hope I did right. I knew you hadn’t heard from him in ages and would jump at the chance to talk. Was I right or not?”

  “You done the right thing. I'd have canceled a meeting with the president to hear what he’s been up to and why he hasn’t called. It has to be important. I’m glad you said yes for me.”

  “Thanks. Glad we were on the same page.”

  “Hey,” Tom said. “Why are you still in that chair? Why aren’t you over here in bed with me? And I’m lonely.” Tom stuck his lower lip out for effect.

  “I can hear and see that even in this blackness,” said Joann. “Are you sure it’s safe for me now?”

  “I think the bad dreams are gone. Very unlikely they’ll come again tonight, but is it safe for you in this bed? You never know what kind of hairy animal you might find there.” In the darkness, Joann could hear the suggestive tone to his voice.

  “Well,” she said with a slight purr. “I’ll just have to take my chances." With that said, she crossed the room, sliding across the bed into Tom's waiting arms and cuddled up to his warm bare chest.

  “Much better. Nothing like having the mother of your child snuggled up next to you.”

  She squeezed him a little closer. They were quiet as they enjoyed the moment. She turned her head and asked, “Tom, do you still think we made the right decision, you know, no more children?”