As Darkness Falls

By Peter Matise

As Darkness Falls tells the story of Layla, a young girl orphaned at birth due to an unexplained car accident. She’s delivered still born in the operating room of a New York City hospital. As she lay growing cold and stiff, a caring nurse, overcome by an unconscious bond, began to cry over her small lifeless body when something miraculous happened. As her tears caressed the child’s cool listless frame; Layla began to grow warm and glow like a bottled sun. Her cries filled the operating room with life and a haunting echo that forever changed the lives of those in that sterile white room.

Five years later, Layla finds herself in the same hospital she was born in when she’s admitted as a victim and a witness to an attempted sexual assault and brutal murder at the foster home where she’d been placed. Within hours after her admission, Layla’s adopted by the same critical care nurse who cried for her in the hospital when she was born.

As Darkness Falls is Layla’s coming of age story. Book one follows our reluctant protagonist from birth through age seventeen as she goes from an outcast to what appears from the outside to be a reluctant high school senior with a loving mother, adopted uncle and wise counselor who all help raise her. But Layla is not normal and neither are the people who care for her. What secrets are they keeping from her? More importantly, what secrets are they keeping from each other? The reader is taken on an intricate ride as they watch Layla grow up through her eyes as well as those who love her. Layla is special, but so are those who surround her. As Layla grows, so do her powers. But will she be strong enough to face the darkness that’s coming?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Matise
• Release date: Apr 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301264445

Peter Matise

First time novelist, first time father of one awesome little nine month old and general lover of all things creative.

Book preview

Chapter One

Sacrifices

So dark, so warm, so comfortable, she thought, before the dark, windowless room jerked back and forth as if being violently shaken by an oversized reptilian movie monster. She lay snug in her cocoon, and her thoughts meandered through a jumbled maze as awareness crept its way to the surface.

Drip…splash. Drip…splash. The sound of trickling blood echoed off into the all-consuming darkness. The sound forced her out of her serenity and into the stark reality of her present. Something wasn’t right. It was too soon to be awoken. The pause between the drip and the splash sent a wave of fear up her tiny spine to the very tip of her ears. Strange and unfamiliar voices.

Dr. Lax, I’ve just received a call from the ER requesting a surgical intervention for an inbound crash victim. Female in her late twenties arriving from the scene of a single-car accident. The husband was pronounced dead at the scene. The wife flat-lined while en route. ETA two minutes, a tall nurse said with a slight smile. Her scrubs sagged a bit and wrinkled as they fell over her tapered waist, the dull florescent light of the hospital reflecting the growing redness in her corneas and the perceptible droop of her eyelids. Her eyes hadn’t quite sunken in yet, but they would in an hour or so. Fifteen hours in the ER of a New York City hospital would’ve made Miss America look like a half-eaten picnic lunch left out in the sun. Although she wasn’t Miss America, she was damn close in the looks department, before and after the lunch. The long legs and red hair helped with the former, the I-need-sleep eyes with the latter.

Lax placed his clipboard on the desk of the nurse’s station and folded his arms. He faced her with one eyebrow raised and both eyes narrowed.

Okay, Nurse Reed, he uttered, the words dragging off his tongue. If she’s already dead, she’s no longer a patient. So why are we even having this conversation? He stared at her, anticipating a response.

The wife appears to be at least eight months pregnant, Reed responded while maintaining a smile that showed signs of cracking at its edges. She was raised to always be polite, even when dealing with a horse’s ass as her grandmother would say.

Lax’s facial muscles unclenched. His eyes widened as the creases of his mouth began to unhinge. Shit! Why didn’t you say so? We better cut the kid out, or we’ll be holding three memorials tonight.

Dr. Lax and Nurse Reed ran down the hall to intercept the paramedics and the portly on-scene officer at the hospital’s emergency entrance. Lax’s short stocky legs had to move twice as fast as normal to keep pace with the long strides of his statuesque running mate. As they hurried down the hall to the sliding glass doors of the ER’s main entrance, Reed flagged down a dark-haired nurse to assist with the intake.

They entered the ER’s main intake area, and the glass doors slid open. Two familiar faces appeared, the first pulling a gurney with one hand, the other keeping pace alongside and holding a clipboard. They stopped in front of the newly formed trio. The middle-aged tech appeared somewhat winded but composed.

Female crash victim. By her abdominal measurements she’s at least eight months or so pregnant. DOA, but the child still has faint life signs. She’s been down four minutes, the paramedic said.

A young female tech who was straddled over the victim continued chest compressions. Reed’s gaze cut from left to right in rapid secession before walking over to the dark-haired nurse.

Take over the chest compressions from the EMT, Reed said. We have to keep the blood circulating in order to give this child a chance. She needs oxygen more than anything else right now. Four minutes in, two more and things go bad. We’re on the clock. She turned in the direction of the emergency room’s OR. Her dark-haired colleague nodded in compliance then relieved the exhausted and beleaguered female tech and initiated her own chest compressions on the pregnant blonde corpse.

The crash was a bit of a freak occurrence, the portly officer with a clipboard said. No obvious mechanical failures to the car, no ground moisture, clear skies. No open bottles in the car or signs of alcohol on the driver. Clear night with high visibility and just one cloud in the sky.

Thanks for the update, Ross. And Jerry, tell your sergeant he still owes me for those Knicks tickets, Lax said. He signed the white form on the clipboard and took possession of his next patient. He slid his left leg forward, slipping his twitching right hand to the rear as he handed him back the clipboard. The officer, Jerry, looked over his longtime acquaintance and furrowed his brow as his lip turned up into a nearly imperceptible frown.

I will. By the way, get some sleep. You’re starting to look worse than you sound, Jerry said, shaking his head at his train wreck of an acquaintance.

Fuck you, Lax said, clenching his right fist as he abruptly turned his attention away from the officer. With his left hand, he signaled two nurses’ aides to wheel the gurney into the OR before he ran to the adjacent washroom to scrub in. Lax meant no harm, but it had been a rough week, and getting his balls busted just wasn’t high on his to do list.

You kiss your mother with that mouth? Jerry said to Lax’s back before he started to laugh and then stopped himself cold. He watched for a moment as Lax went from polished turd to ER general. He slumped his shoulders and walked toward the sliding-glass emergency room doors, the weight of the city heavy that night. Ross and his road-worn partner had already left.

Lax rocked back and forth while scrubbing in, curling his toes in his crocs to relieve the pressure in his arches. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his right forearm. He lowered his arm and stared at his right hand for a moment. Shaking settled to a slight tremble. After reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a small worn picture and gazed at an image of a little girl with big dark-brown eyes and a wide, toothless grin.

Jessica, he whispered. He caressed the picture’s contours with a shaky hand before placing it back in his pocket. The picture was of his daughter at age seven, before the divorce and all the ugliness. Frozen in time as a freckle faced seven-year-old, she was his reminder of what it meant to still be happy. Lax rubbed his eyes with the back of his palms then rescrubbed his hands. He put on surgical gloves and protective gear before heading next door.

Hurry up, this child isn’t going to save itself! he yelled out, before muttering a prayer in Hebrew under his breath. It was a remnant of Hebrew school and an unconscious comfort following a long week. Lax ushered his team into the operating room. Reed was already present. She had connected the patient to a blood oxygenator, prepared the operating room, turned on the monitors, and obtained obstetrics support from Dr. Kwan, who was prepped and ready, in addition to putting the pediatrics ICU on standby. The room hummed with the buzz of machinery. The crash victim lay motionless beneath three over hanging spot lights strung from a curved control arm. A panel of portable white monitors on rolling stands behind her tracked the baby’s vital signs. The patient’s clothes had been cut away. Tubes had been inserted into both wrists, drawing blood out of one arm through the oxygenator and back into the other. An intermittent beeping sound and the slow whistle of compressed air being forced through a pump filled the air in the background. Visceral lacerations and swollen bruises marred nearly every inch of the woman’s body. Her broken right collar bone protruded through the skin. The bone had been taped down, but there was no need for such niceties now. The medics had dressed the lacerations to her hands, arms, and abdomen. Her body was covered with surgical masking with the exception of her exposed abdomen, which had been coated with betadine.

The surgical team entered the operating room and surrounded the patient.

Her name is Elizabeth Minor, according to her driver’s license, Reed said. She’s been down roughly six minutes. Despite that, we’ve continued life support to keep blood circulating long enough to save the baby. However, we’re at the critical point. Mrs. Minor has already lost a lot of blood from the head wound and collar bone break. She’s down at least two pints. She looked over the blood-soaked bandages and provided trays of surgical tools to doctors Lax and Kwan.

I’m ready to handle the baby once she’s delivered, Dr. Kwan said. She continued to prep.

Glad to hear it, Dr. Kwan, because this is going to be quick. Lax positioned Elizabeth for a C-section and signaled to doctors Jackson and Gonzales to assist.

Shaking, the room keeps moving, too many strange voices, head starting to hurt, growing cold, can’t breathe, choking, voices in the background growing closer, she thought as she jostled about in her small windowless room. Fear began to set in as it became difficult for her to breathe. She attempted to reach for her airway but could not.

An alarm sounded in the background, filling the room with a panic. Lax tensed up before making his planned incision. Sweat perforated his surgical cap.

Hurry up and get the baby out. I have no intentions of burying a child tonight! Dr. Kwan yelled across to Lax, her gaze firmly fixed on the monitor station.

Closing my eyes going back to sleep, she thought.

Dr. Kwan, check the sonogram! Lax shouted back. The surgical gown shifted unevenly as Dr. Kwan rotated the sonogram wand inside Elizabeth’s birth canal. She stared at the baby’s vitals on the monitor for a fraction of a second before responding.

BP and heart rate are crashing!

We’re losing the kid!

Lax, pull the baby out now! Kwan yelled.

Lax steadied his right hand long enough to make a long, fine incision down the center of Elizabeth’s stomach. With his left hand, he separated the skin and stomach muscles before slicing into the amniotic sac. Lax placed his scalpel on the surgical tray before reaching deep inside Elizabeth with both hands to pull out the baby.

I’ve got it. It’s a girl! he yelled. He handed the newborn to Dr. Kwan who immediately cut the umbilical cord. She clamped the two-inch piece of umbilical cord still attached to the baby, then placed the newborn on a small bed under a heating lamp. As she laid the still body down, the doctors began to gather around.

Shit, she’s turning blue! Lax yelled. Jackson, Kwan, start emergency resuscitation procedures. Reed, get the crash cart. Gonzales, prep the incubator. And, since you still believe in God, pray damn it. Kwan and Gonzales pushed him out of the way.

The operating room filled with a frantic nervous energy as the pediatric team struggled to resuscitate the infant. Lax thought hard, debating his next move. He paced the floor clenching and unclenching his right hand, watching as his colleagues did their work. He removed his glove, pulled down his mask, and then reached into his pocket for Jessica’s picture. He studied her image, his stubby fingers tracing the outline of her face. The other doctors worked in earnest, but it was no good. No heartbeat, no pulse, no nothing.

Gonzales, call it. Kwan sighed as she pulled off her mask before tossing it on the floor near Gonzales’s feet, followed by her gloves and surgical cap.

Gonzales looked up at the large round clock on the wall before removing his surgical cap with his bloody latex gloved hand. He hung his head and parted his lips just long enough for a few words to trickle out. Time of death 11:53 p.m. June 21, 1994, Tuesday. He removed his gloves and threw them across the room. They fell just short of the clock. A weighted hush descended over the room.

Gonzales fell silent as Dr. Kwan placed the stillborn infant in an incubator before covering the small motionless body with a white surgical blanket. She raised her hand to her face, running her thumb and index finger over her closed eyes before tracing the contours of her nose and lowering her delicate hand onto the baby’s blanket. She just stood there for a moment with her eyes closed choking back tears, then turned and walked in complete silence to her colleagues.

Lax slumped down in the corner of the operating room with his eyes fixed on Jessica’s picture. His eyes began to water as he traced the edges of the worn picture with his thumb. Number six, he thought. The sixth poor bastard this week I couldn’t save. Why did it have to be six? Why did six have to be a fucking little baby? A tiny little innocent baby girl. As he sat in the corner with his knees tucked under his chin staring at Jessica’s picture, the tears came unannounced, but not unexpected.

Reed looked over at Lax as he struggled to bottle up a week’s worth of dammed-up grief. She turned her head to see Kwan, Gonzales, and Jackson standing together in an awkward semi-circle, almost too afraid to show any real emotion, not knowing how to console the grief they all felt and wore on their faces. The thought shuttered her. She stood immobilized for a few moments then walked over to the incubator, one hesitant step after the next. She didn’t quite know why she had to view the body, as she was no fan of gawking at tragedy, but something deep inside was drawing her in, something familiar. Reed stared down at the white surgical blanket, holding her open palm over her stomach and caressing her womb. A long suppressed sense of pain began to bubble deep within her. Her first tear came with an unexpected urgency followed by a great many more. She sobbed over the pale white blanket, her tears trickling down her slight face, tracing its rounded contours and landing with the gentleness of morning dew on the child’s blanket. Jackson stood in solitude and began to write up the report.

Getting warmer, becoming brighter. The darkness of her small room gave way to a warming glow.

In the midst of Reed’s tears, the blanket began to jostle. A muffled cry crept out from under the blanket, shattering the silence of the room.

Everyone come here now! Reed yelled. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder to her colleagues. The temperature in the room started to rise as a faint glow emanated from beneath the newborn’s blanket. As the light grew in intensity, beads of sweat began to form on Lax’s receding brow, but he didn’t move from his corner. As Reed’s eyes widened, her pulse quickened. She raised her left hand to her heart. It beat with the same rhythm as the pulsating light. Her lips curled to a smile. Her body relaxed as she lowered a hand toward the familiar warmth of the light. As she pulled back the blanket, the room filled with the wails of a newborn child entering this world all alone. The newborn opened her eyes for a moment fixing her gaze to Reed’s.

Reed froze for a moment as a dark chill entered the depths of her soul before being replaced by an overwhelming sense of tranquility and an unexplainable sense of closeness. Dr. Kwan stood with her left hand covering her mouth. Her shock was shared by all of her colleagues except Reed. The infant’s wails invaded the space of those listening. Lax’s shoulders tightened. His chest stiffened.

Could she be? he thought. Jackson and Gonzales shared a glance and stepped back from the infant. As he stepped backwards, Gonzales made a cross from his forehead to his navel before crossing both shoulders, kissing his hand, and raising it to the sky. The room fell silent except for the screams of the newly re-born.

It’s a miracle! Reed yelled, breaking the silence of the onlookers.

Lax relaxed, strained a smile, and wiped his brow before coming to his feet. He shook off his previous fleeting thoughts and decided to be thankful that his number was now five. He placed a hand over his heart.

Layla jumped out of bed, moisture soaking her small frame. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead and cheeks, pooling under her eyes and slipping under her chin. Her jet black curly hair matted and stuck to her face and back, creating a stark contrast with her milky mocha skin. Her eyes were red from the sweat and the strain of the images that have haunted her subconscious for the past seventeen years. Lucky for her tonight’s mental re-runs were tame. She looked worn in the darkness of her cavernous room. As her sheets fell away from her, she wiped away the sweat from her face and glanced over at the clock.

Only four, she muttered to herself.

Lying back down, she already knew that getting back to sleep was a waste of time; it always was on nights like these. So she just stared at the ceiling until dawn and watched the sun come up from her fire escape before climbing back inside and starting her morning routine.

She looked at her reflection in her dresser’s mirror to examine the condition of her eyes, as blood shot and hazel didn’t go well together in her opinion. She tied her nearly waist-length hair into a bun before retrieving a weighted fitness vest from the bottom of her closet. She normally kept about two hundred pounds in the vest. This morning she decided to add an extra hundred. Layla made a fist before lowering herself to the floor. As soon as her bare knuckles touched the cold hardwood, she kicked out and brought herself into a militarily precise handstand. Pointing her toes perfectly straight at the ceiling, she bent her elbows and lowered her knees slightly before pushing off into the air and spinning to form three finely honed circles. She landed back in her starting position, her feet coming within inches of her fourteen-foot ceiling. Barely being five foot two helped to avoid hitting the ceiling. Holding her legs together, she lowered them to the floor into a pike position before sliding her feet back allowing her legs to straighten into a flawless plank. Layla proceeded to complete several sets of push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups before taking a shower and heading to the breakfast table in her typical uniform, yoga pants and a t-shirt. Per her own usual morning routine, Reed was already in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

I heard you get up again last night, Reed said. It couldn’t have been more than four or four thirty. I know the nightmares keep coming, but you’ve gotta try to get more rest. It’s probably one of the reasons why you’re still so small. Growing young people need their rest you know. She kissed Layla’s forehead. Layla left Reed at the stove with a hug, walked over to the kitchen table, and took a seat, folding her legs into her lap as she so often did. Layla knew Reed was concerned about her; she was good at reading people. Despite this she was happy that Reed never pushed too hard or stopped being as loving and supportive as she’s always been.

I’m fine, Reed, really. Besides, what seventeen-year-old girl do you know who’s stronger or faster than me? she said, smiling and making a muscle a la Hulk Hogan. Despite all the exercise and her exaggerated posturing, she was still built much more like a yoga instructor than a body builder.

Reed turned from the stove to face Layla. She frowned and crossed her arms. That’s true. God only knows where you get the strength and endurance from. But you know I’m not a fan of you calling me Reed. Outside of the fact that Reed looked too young to have a child that old, the casual onlooker would never know. Reed adored Layla and Layla returned the sentiment. She just had some minor malfunctions, more like quirks when it came to expressing affection. Reed knew this and accepted her as she was, but being called Reed, even on occasion, reminded her deep down in that empty unconscious place that Layla wasn’t hers.

Layla raised her hands in surrender. I know, I know, but it sounds cool. I like the one name thing. Madonna, Jagger, Reed! Layla said, throwing her hands in the air making an invisible banner upon which to hang the moniker.

Reed lowered her hands in exasperation. You could try Allison or god forbid, Mom.

Layla stood up and walked toward Reed, who took a half step back with a questioning look on her face. Layla wrapped her arms around Reed’s waist and squeezed before hoisting her over her head and into the air effortlessly.

Ok, but you know I love ya! Layla said with a laugh as Reed kicked her feet, trying hard not to laugh at her daughter’s willfulness.

Put me down! she said, snorting, unable to hold back the laughter any longer. Layla placed her back on the floor before turning to go back to her perch. Reed popped the back of Layla’s neck with her thumb and middle finger as she walked away. Layla giggled then plopped back in her seat.

What have I told you about picking me up like that? Reed said.

I believe you’ve mentioned something about not showing off.

Uh huh. And? Reed asked.

But you’re just so cute! Layla said with a wink before Reed burst out laughing again.

You shouldn’t even be able to do this. In every sense of the word you’re a medical miracle. I’ve never been able to fully explain why you’re capable of doing what you do.

I’m not mysterious. I’m unique!

The moment Layla uttered the words she knew they weren’t true. She had said them more for Reed’s comfort than her own. Reed wasn’t ready for the truth. She had been a kind caretaker; she even named her in the hospital when no one came for her. Since she believed that no child should be without a name and found herself deeply taken by the events of the night of her birth, Layla was named after the night itself, that miraculous night, the night that changed everything.

The pair lived in a large three bedroom pre-war apartment in Brooklyn. Reed inherited the place when her grandmother passed. Little in the apartment has changed since then. The high ceilings, wood floors, and craftsmanship of the ornate crown molding gave the place a classic architectural feel.

So, any big plans for the day? Reed asked her sleepy-faced companion. Spring looks like it’s trying to come early and since you’re so far ahead in school, you barely need to be there these days. You only have two classes three times a week now.

Yeah, about that—

Don’t start. You know our deal; no matter how smart you are, you’re going to finish high school. After that you can decide what you want to do with yourself. You don’t have to go to college if you don’t want to, but finishing high school is a must. No GED, I want to see a diploma.

Yes, ma’am, Layla retorted with a mischievous grin. She raised her hand in a salute.

So, any plans?

Not really, though I might look for a job and then spend some time in the library.

You and that library. How often are you there, four or five times a week? I don’t think I can name a book you haven’t read.

Could be worse. I could be one of those kids who spend their time getting knocked up by skullduggerous adolescent man whores. I could catch an STD, I could do drugs, I could specialize in the ways of the Lolita, I could—

That’s enough! Reed interrupted, throwing up her hands. You’ve made your point. You’re a good kid who’s way too smart for her own good. Who uses terms like ‘skullduggerous adolescent man whores’ at your age anyway?

I’m on a twelve-hour rotation tonight with a split shift between the ER and trauma. You can call the front desk nursing station if you need to reach me for something important, but beyond that you’re on your own for dinner.

That’s cool. I have money and ghetto Chinese sounds pretty good today for some odd reason. She smacked her lips and rubbed her belly.

You know what I’ve told you about eating so much junk. Skinny people die of heart attacks, too, Reed said, shaking her head in the disapproving way only a mother could master.

I know. But I’m not skinny, I’m petite! Besides, all you cook is healthy stuff. I’ve gotta get my junk food fix somewhere. You’re going to die at the ripe old age of 112 with only one regret, wishing you had eaten more cheeseburgers!

Don’t be a wiseass, Reed said, frowning.

Wiseass! I thought we had a rule about language.

We do, but I’m the boss, which allows me certain allowances. How should I put this? I’m the decider.

I see. Nice touch with the Bushism, she said as she chuckled at the thought.

Well, he had to be good for something. He’s been officially out of office for two years now, but Bush jokes are still funny. Finish your breakfast, and I’ll walk with you to the subway.

It’s not necessary. I think I’m going to walk down to the Comic Book Shack before I’m required to be present within the walls of the fascist institution our society calls school. She grabbed at her throat as if the hangman finally caught up with her and strung her up at high noon for all the townsfolk to witness.

Always with the drama.

I do it just for you.

You can also do the dishes just for me, Reed said with a warm smile.

If you leave them, I’ll do them when I get home.

Your great-granny would kill me if she knew I’d left dishes in the sink that long.

Suit yourself. But I did offer.

Funny. If you’re stopping by the Comic Book Shack, tell Rob I said hi.

I will. You should stop by. I’m sure he’d welcome the company. Layla offered a wolfish grin.

Maybe, Reed responded sheepishly. Her cheeks turned red. She looked away from Layla.

Reed’s shoulders stiffened as she observed a single dark cloud lingering in a picture-perfect spring sky. Her mouth fell slightly agape as Layla caught a glimpse of her from the corner of her eye. She turned to see what Reed was staring at through the window.

The darkness is coming, Reed said. Layla looked at Reed, unsure as to why her mood shifted.

It’s nothing, just one cloud. It might rain, it’s March.

Reed looked down at Layla and ran a hand across her head. Maybe. Reed paused for a long moment before looking back to the cloud. She finally returned her attention to Layla and taking in a deep breath. Finish getting ready for school. She kissed Layla’s forehead gently and watched as Layla left the table and headed to her room. As her bedroom door clicked, Reed walked over to the living room window first stopping to retrieve an antique framed picture of her grandmother that sat upon a small wooden table next to the TV. She stood in front of the large living room window clutching the picture to her chest then whispered, the darkness is coming.