Darkness From Light

By J Von Ree

So Beautiful. So Disturbing. So Determined to make a life for herself. The first time someone sets eyes on Darcie they think 'Oh that poor girl.' Even in Stranger, Washington, a place known for weird happenings, Darcie is an odd girl. Her father is in prison for Darcie being so tragically injured and for the death of her mother. As for Darcie, she doesn’t see herself as odd or tragic. She’s just a girl trying to find her place in the world

• Language: English
• Publisher: J Von Ree
• Release date: Jun 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310952029

Book preview

THE LOOK-AWAY GIRL

Series

Book One

DARKNESS FROM LIGHT

by

J Von Ree

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY

J Von Ree on Smashwords

DARKNESS FROM LIGHT

Copyright © 2017 by J Von Ree

Thank you for downloading this eBook. Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Dedication

To Renee’

Thank you for your amazing support and for the incredible help and inspiration you provided to bring this story to life.

PROLOG

Seattle

August 31st, 1990

1

Although Don McMasters had been commuting on his bicycle for only a few days, the streets were dry and traffic was good enough that he let his mind shift from his riding to the day’s surgery schedule. Most everything was routine, with a triple bypass logged in for ten o’clock. If things went right, there was a chance that he could be heading home before the evening commute began. Home before dark, and he’d have a good jump on the...

On your left, a voice shouted out, followed by a shrill whistle blast almost in his ear.

Jolted back to the present, Don realized that he’d been drifting out of the bicycle lane and his speed was down to a crawl. He corrected his course enough to give the rider behind him room to pass. A brief meeting of the eyes and Don knew that the lady going by considered him a first class rube. For the tick of a couple of seconds they were face-to-face as she passed him on her bicycle, and Don could actually feel the arc of her having to deal with some goofball on an clunker ten-speed. He wasn’t keeping his line, so she called, On your left, and added a blast from the whistle jutting out of the corner of her mouth.

Chagrinned at his laps, Don refocused enough to correct his course, giving her room to pass him by and at the same time take him in with her eyes. She was already accelerating, her slender body generating enough power to get away from him. Then she went up on her peddles and it was like kicking in the afterburners. She was riding off into the dark so that all he saw was her long blonde ponytail hanging down her back, swishing from side-to-side as she disappeared into the night.

Without realizing it he tagged her Ponytail.

In the following days, Don saw that both he and Ponytail seemed to have the same pre-dawn commute. Their paths often crossed, if only briefly. After getting a better look at her, Don saw that she was in her late thirties, with a handsome face and intelligent eyes. Also, her hair wasn’t really done in a ponytail; it was a braid of silver-blonde.

Before his encounter with Ponytail, Don McMasters treated his commute from home to Harborview Hospital as just a way to avoid getting stuck in Seattle’s traffic. Ponytail, on the other hand, rode her bicycle with an easy grace and remarkable speed. She was adept at dealing with cars, pedestrians and other bicyclists.

Don hated that someone thought of him as clumsy and went to work on making the transition from being a bicycle goofball to an accomplished commuter. He started out small by finding the same kind of whistle that Ponytail always had in the corner of her mouth. It was chrome and shrill enough to be heard even inside a car with the music on. Waiting until his wife and daughter were out, he walked around the house with the whistle carefully positioned between his lips. As he worked on his chores he practiced blowing the whistle and calling On your left, on your right, until he could do it without thinking.

Next was to get rid of the old BMX helmet he’d been wearing and buy a cool commuter helmet similar to Ponytail’s. Also to go were the old sweats he’d been wearing. They were replaced by clothes more appropriate for riding in Seattle’s constantly changing weather. He bought riding togs, glad that they didn’t show too much of a tummy bulge, he hoped. The only thing was, he’d look silly with such fancy gear and still riding his rickety old ten-speed. He soon came home with a new helmet, red and blue riding togs, matching riding gloves, and a very pricey bicycle. One more item that he hadn’t counted on was a pair of special riding shoes that clipped into the peddles.

Don worried what his wife Sara would say, but she was a good sport about his new interest. Before venturing out of the house, he self-consciously modeled his new outfit for her, and was relieved when she didn’t laugh too much.

Believing in preparation, Don spent from Friday and on through the weekend familiarizing himself with the bicycle’s gears and clipping his shoes into the peddles. Monday morning he set out on his commute. It took a few days, but him and Ponytail’s paths crossed and as usual she passed him with ease, leaving him far behind. Don couldn’t put his finger on why what she thought of him mattered, but he was glad when Ponytail didn’t look at him in a way that made him feel ridiculous. It took him several days to get comfortable with being seen in his new getup.

All through high school and on to college, Don was a top athlete, managing to get a track scholarship. Even in med school he kept in shape. Working out on his bicycle weekends and pushing himself while commuting, Don gradually improved his riding. He knew Ponytail recognized him, or did she? And again he wondered why that would matter.

2

One day Don saw Ponytail ahead of him, and to his surprise he was gaining on her. Head down, legs pumping, Don used every ounce of his energy to turn on the speed. Soon he was only a few yards behind her. Without knowing he was going to do it, Don found himself calling out to her I’ll get you today, Ponytail!

To his surprise, she rose up from her riding position and looked back at him and said, Ponytail? Then she waggled her hand, signaling him to bring it on.

An unexpected joy caused Don to break out laughing. He knew nothing about this lady, and yet her acknowledgment of him gave him a physical rush. A moment before he was close to exhaustion as he raced to catch up to her. Now he felt a burst of energy go through him.

Don had his eyes locked on Ponytail as he tried to peddled faster. She was looking right at him, a hint of a smile on her face.

And then, without warning, the world turned to madness.

3

Appearing from a dark side street came the blurred shape of a car. Only when it was on them was there the whoosh of tires as a black SUV came speeding through a stop sign. There was a loud thud of impact as the center of the SUV’s grill struck Ponytail, forcing the air out of her lungs. She made a ghastly moan that was drowned out by the sound of her bicycle being crushed under the wheels of the fast-moving vehicle.

Slack-jawed, Don watched in slow-motion disbelief as the terrible image was seared into his memory. One moment Ponytail was up on her pedals, coasting as she looked back at him. The next she was launched into the air. Her body limp; she was like a rag doll, arms and legs askew, torso twisted, her head tilted to the side at an improbable angle.

In the early morning darkness, the sodium streetlights made the blonde braid under her riding helmet look like a comet’s tail as it showed the trajectory of her brief and heartbreaking flight.

Although he had logged many hours in the ER, it didn’t take a medical degree to know the score. By the position of Ponytail’s head and neck, Don knew that he was an eyewitness to a fatal accident.

His heart in his throat and fighting down his emotions, he tried to help as best he could until the paramedics arrived. Several people were gathered, watching as Don checked first her wrist, then her carotid artery for a pulse. There was none to be found.

Don wanted to ride with Ponytail in the ambulance, but a paramedic told him no.

It’s all right, his partner said, motioning Don inside. He’s a Doc at the hospital.

Even though he knew he couldn’t do anything, he still wanted to be with her when they took Ponytail to Harborview Emergency.

After handing Ponytail off to the ER staff, one of the nurses gave a quick glance at his colorful red and blue riding costume, including the silly riding shoes clicking as he walked on the linoleum floor.

Doctor Don McMasters knew the meaning of that look. If that SUV was a little slower, Ponytail would have been untouched. All it would have taken was the smallest hitch in time and it would be Don’s family facing a somber faced doctor, asking for consent to harvest his organs.

After filling out a report for the police, Don couldn’t find it in himself to ask about the bicycle that he left lying crookedly on its side. Instead he called his wife Sara to pick him up when his shift ended.

4

After changing into blue scrubs Don went to his office. Along the way he dropped his togs and helmet and custom bicycle shoes in a clothing donation bin. His first surgery was scheduled in two hours. He was still rattled from the accident and he could use the time to settle his nerves.

A quick knock then his scrub nurse, Gretchen Sanderson, leaned in the door.

Doctor McMasters, there’s a life flight coming in. Doctor Falco asked if you could take it.

Taking a deep breath, Don held it a moment then let it out. How soon will it be here?

Gretchen looked at her watch. It’s about ten minutes out.

Don took another deep breath then exhaled. Doctor Falco was chief of surgery. The patient coming in on the life flight was his, unless he was willing to tell Falco he couldn’t handle it.

Don stood up from his desk. Thank you, I’ll be right there. Work would help stop the constant replay of seeing Ponytail’s body rag-doll through the air before landing in a crumpled heap. He heard her name in the ambulance and as it was read into the chart in the ER, but he didn’t remember it. His mind had latched onto ‘Ponytail’ and wouldn’t let it go. What a stupid, stupid waste, he said, then made himself get moving.

5

No, no, no, Doctor Don McMasters said to himself, scrubbing in. This was not the way I wanted to turn my day around"

As he used a soapy brush on his hands and up his arms, he watched the charge nurse. Gretchen supervised the transfer of the life flight patient off of a gurney and onto the operating table. The charge nurse handed the chart to Gretchen then left.

Most of the time, Don loved being a surgeon at Seattle’s Harborview Medical Center. As the major trauma center for Seattle, Harborview received the most challenging cases, many of which came his way if a vascular surgeon was needed.

A worker crushed by a falling tree. A gunshot victim standing at the wrong bus stop. A bicycle rider tragically mowed down by a speeding SUV. The possibilities were endless, and they all came to Harborview.

A few days before, Douglas Newman came through the ER with eighty-five percent blockage in his aorta. Along with a heart attack, Mr. Newman had suffered a stroke and his family expected the worse. Don made sure he didn’t use the phrase ‘routine,’ but the treatment was pretty straight forward. Although it could have gone either way, luck was with Mr. Newman and he made a quick recovery.

You’re the man, doc, Mr. Newman’s brother said, giving him a hug and patting his shoulder. "You are thee man!"

That was a good day with a good outcome. Douglas Newman’s case was a nice challenge. But then there were the cases that scared the bejesus out of him.

After scrubbing in, Doctor McMasters walked into the OR and examined a tiny figure lying on the operating table.

Damn, he hated having to work on children, especially the little ones.

With adults, even the ones blind-sided by a reckless driver, they know the score. Things are big and things move fast, and sometimes people get whacked.

But children were true innocents. It was up to the adults to keep them safe. Keep them around long enough to learn that life was full of surprises, both good and bad.

Darcie Charbonnough, Gretchen Sanderson said as she placed sterile drapes over the patient, then prepared the surgical instrument tray. Four years old. She’s just off a ninety minute chopper ride from Stranger County Hospital.

Ninety minutes? Don asked.

Headwinds, Gretchen said. I guess it was a pretty rough flight.

Okay, Don said as he examined his small patient. Darcie Charbonnough, a pretty name for a pretty girl. Just the day before she had been healthy; laughing, running, filled with the joy of life. Now, thanks to a series of stupid mistakes and an obvious case of criminal neglect, she lay on his operating table. It was his job to save Darcie’s life, no matter what he had to do to her.

For the umpteenth time that morning, the image of Ponytail’s cartwheeling body flashed in front of him. He gave his head a quick shake to cast it away.

Life over limb, Don said, mostly to himself.

Yes doctor, Gretchen said, nodding her head.

While Gretchen was putting things in place she didn’t look at the young patient. Doctor Don McMasters could see why. She was beautiful, and fragile, and a very sick little girl. Her face was a ghostly white and her lips an unhealthy shade of blue verging on purple.

Jerry Wyckoff, the anesthesiologist, was already masked. Specializing in pediatric anesthesiology, Don could tell by his eyes that Jerry was not happy.

Say Don, Doctor Wyckoff said, when we’re done here, what say you and I take a drive up north. We can visit a certain doctor and kick his ass up to his eyebrows.

Doctor McMasters didn’t answer, but he felt the same way. Darcie Charbonnough was in a bad way even before she was stuffed onto a helicopter. During the ninety minute flight she’d became so weak from shock and trauma that her little heart may have given out at any time.

Gretchen was still getting things ready. Although she was doing everything she was supposed to, her actions seemed a little off. She was so upset that she was still keeping her eyes averted from the child they were about to work on.

I can’t take her down too far, Doctor Wycoff said as he carefully adjusted the IV flow. We’re going to have to play this one close to the vest. He let Don take another look at the Darcie’s pallor then placed a pediatric oxygen mask over her face. The other members of his operating team were silent and watching.

There was a lot to do if he was going to help little Darcie. Don was not above asking for help, but the only qualified surgeon available was Winston Falco, his boss. At sixty-three, Falco was still a good surgeon, but lately he noticed that Falco tended to dither. Falco also liked to talk, which slowed down his hands. There was something else, since they would be essentially doing same procedures, Winston Falco would want them to both use similar techniques, which meant planning, and comparing, and agreeing, and discussing. Nothing about that would be bad, except there wasn’t time for it.

The last thing Don wanted to do was to chivy his boss about his speed; it would look like the young hot-shot was trying to show up the old guy. If he knew it would help, Don would call in Doctor Falco, but there didn’t seem to be any upside.

He remembered Mr. Newman’s brother saying You’re the man, doc. Yes, Don McMasters was thee man, and being thee man sucked.

Once he was gloved and gowned, Don took his place at the operating table. Okay everyone, time to go to work. He held out his hand. Scalpel.

Watchful of his young patient’s reaction, he drew the blade of the scalpel across her upper right arm.

Thank god, she didn’t flinch.

Heart rate just took a jump, said Jerry Wycoff, his eyes surveying the monitors.

Damn it, Don said.

Hearing a muffled sniff, Don looked at his scrub nurse and saw tears in Gretchen’s eyes.

From behind his surgical mask he glared at Gretchen, willing her to get control of herself.

She’s just a little girl, Gretchen said, her hands shaking as she held them above the instrument tray.

Ah, crap. There was one other thing about being the man. Too often being the man meant having to be a hard-ass.

Are you going to be able to assist me in helping this patient? Doctor McMasters asked, hoping to get his scrub nurse to snap into shape. She had a daughter the same exact age as the patient. Both girls even had the same dark hair. Gretchen, I have to know if I need to get somebody else in here.

Gretchen’s hands clenched, then she took a deep breath. She stared back across the operating table. Yes, Doctor. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.

Thank you. Good. With Gretchen back on track the rest of the surgical team would stay focused on their jobs. Jerry, we need to take her down further.

Jerry Wycoff’s eyes flicked over the monitors as he placed the palm of his hand on the patient’s chest. I know, Don, but I can’t give her much more without her shutting down on us. The anesthesiologist made adjustments to his equipment. This should have been taken care several hours ago.

Doctor McMasters nodded, taking Jerry Wycoff’s hint. If he didn’t get to work right away, then his fragile patient may not survive.

Doctor Wycoff kept working until the monitors showing heart rate and respiration settling into a normal range. "Okay, Donny boy, that’s as far down as I dare take her.

Positioning his scalpel above his initial incision, Doctor Masters made a silent vow. He would make sure that the yokel doctor that had passed on such a sick little girl to him was going to stand before a review board. Sticking a four year old child on a helicopter for an hour and a half flight, just so someone else would have to do the dirty work bordered on the criminal. He could only hope that Darcie Charbonnough was sedated enough that she wouldn’t remember what he was about to do.

God bless you, doctor, Gretchen said from across the operating table.

Oh, yeah. It was going to be a tough one. Thanks. I can use all the help I can get.

God help the miserable bastard that let this happen, Doctor Wycoff said. May he rot in hell.

Don took his own deep breath. I’m sorry, Darcie, he said, then went to work.

CHAPTER ONE

August 30th 1990

The Darkest Day of All

1

Even as he drummed his fingers on the box from the NAPA auto parts store, Chester Charbonnough had all but forgotten about replacing the starter in his rusting Ford pickup. Instead his attention was on Reverend Marvin Jones, who was fueling his car at the self-service pumps.

It was Tuesday, the day of the week that Marvin would drive into the Texaco gas station, use his credit card at the pump, and fill the tank. The gas station was the second stop that Chester saw Marvin Jones make. The first was Old Billy Paine’s grocery store down the street from the Texaco station. Marvin would come out of the store carrying a paper bag, which disguised the men’s magazine he’d just purchased. A short trip from the store to the gas station put Marvin at the pumps. While his tank was filling with gas, Marvin would take his newly acquired magazine—discretely rolled into a tube so no one could see the cover—and go to the men’s room. Marvin would be in the restroom for a time ranging from several minutes to sometimes half an hour, depending on how stimulating he found the pictures in the magazine.

Constructed just inside the city limits of Stranger, Washington, Reverend Marvin Jones’ church had a small but loyal congregation. Although Chester had never attended any of Reverend Jones’ services, Betty, his ex-wife, had told him about some of the hellfire and brimstone sermons that rained down on the congregation every Sunday. Not wanting to cut off the supply of free magazines, Chester kept quiet about Marvin’s Tuesday routine.

Chester wondered if any of Marvin’s sermons concerned resisting lustful desires. Desires caused by looking at naked women in dirty magazines. If so, the man had certainly done enough hands-on research.

Today the magazine must have been particularly good. Marvin left his car unattended for almost twenty-five minutes. When he finally stepped out of the men’s room he took a furtive glance left, then right as he blotted sweat off of his face with a paper towel. On the way back to his car he dropped the magazine in a garbage can. But instead of driving away as he normally did, Marvin opened the car door, bent down to slide behind the wheel, then stood up again.

Hitching up his slacks, Marvin surveyed the pumps. There was no one nearby, other than Chester pretending to ignoring him. Placing his hand on the roof of his car, Marvin took another look around, then walked back towards the men’s room. On the way he reached into the garbage can and fetched out the magazine. He stayed in the men’s room for an additional ten minutes. When he emerged again he looked even more distracted than before. He walked quickly towards his car, the magazine once again rolled in his hand.

Whatever worries Reverend Jones had of someone watching him had disappeared. Standing next to his car, he opened the magazine just enough to peek at the centerfold.

Come on, Jonesy, Chester said, watching from the corner of his eye, it’s just a magazine. You can leave it behind. It’s better than having your wife catch you with it.

Finally Marvin walked back to the garbage can and threw the magazine in. He wiped the palms of his hands on his pants, then went back to his car and drove away.

Waiting until Reverend Jones was out of sight, Chester strolled out of the gas station’s front door and started collecting garbage from the cans placed near

Reviews for Darkness From Light

[lynnb_64 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is the story of George Webb, failed police officer turned private detective. His life has been turned around by one case: the murder of Mr. Nash by his wife. Mrs. Nash hired George to follow her husband, who was cheating on her. George was drawn to her, and two years later, is still totally wrapped up in her life. Graham Swift has done an outstanding job of painting a picture of George: his personality, hopes, fears and longings. The book takes place over a single day, but with flashbacks to cover George's life. The writing is fast-paced, even though this is primarily a character study. It definitely made me want to read more by this author.

[samsheep_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I gave this four stars because....I was engaged, I liked it, I kept reading, some beautiful turns of phrase, some interesting characters. It had the quality feel to it. BUT sometimes it dragged - he really spun it out a bit too much, the pacing not quite what it could be. Also a silly small thing that really grated on me - the way that he used "sweetheart" a lot when speaking to her in prison. Somehow jarred with the rest of it.

[adrianburke_1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

No. I cannot get on with this. Reading it is like listening to two radio stations at the same time. Two much cross interference. And really I feel the complication is all to do with the method of telling rather than anything else. One long fragmented flashback is intercut into a boring car trip. Did not finish. Life being too short.

[coyote99_1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

What an awful book. Mesmerized by his own words, Swift manages to spin ever slower circles around events we already know happen with needless jumps forward and backward. Early on he decides that his tale has so little merit that his only chance is to make his narrative so confusing that the reader may mistake obfuscation for brilliance. A complete waste of time.

[booklistener · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I have mixed feelings on this book. Author painted a very convincing picture and the imagery sticks with me. On the other hand, it did seem the story moved excruciatingly slowly at times. He would dwell for a long time on the mood of a scene and then, almost in passing, mention key plot details.

[sanddancer_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Amazing! It plays with the conventions of the detective story and romance. We find out almost immediately who committed the crime, and the rest of the book is about piecing together the events that led up to it, all seen from the point of view of a detective, who has fallen in love with the murderer. That summary doesn't really do it justice. It is about relationships, secrets and love - all big themes, but it is beautifully written and griping.

[gocam_4 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Moderately more engaging than watching a slow paint dry, the book nonetheless explodes very occasionally with flashes of incendiary writing. 'Light of Day' indulges for most of its length in endless, insistent, circular, inevitable, here-again/there-again repetition surrounding a violent act that puzzles and initially intrigues and the back story detailing how our private detective protagonist ended up 'the man he is' - using a series of flash-back and -forward sequences we are led through a life that collides in a conclusion that should satisfy but rather stultifies . The form does tend to pull Webb's plight and life arc into tight focus, but honestly neither make for particularly engaging reading. As a treatment of a slow-burning drift into insular obsession the novel succeeds in generating a modicum of sympathy, but little more. Swift can write tremendously compelling almost poetic sequences (particularly when detailing the relationship with his daughter, and a cop whom he faces as nemesis then acquaintance), but they are buried deep in far too many words describing far too slight of a narrative where, frankly, there is little to care about. In reading this book I found myself at one point reminded of the power of selective repitition in Edwin Morgan's "In the Snack Bar" - a poem that achieves more in a few hundred words than this novel does in its entirety. Disappointing as I had high expectations after a punchy opening chapter, and having enjoyed "Last Orders".

[cliffagogo · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Ex-cop and private detective George Webb reflects on his past and revisits his old relationships, to find meaning in recent tragic events. The author’s knack for readable, believable dialogue makes for a compelling, addictive novel that pleases from start to finish. This, mixed with an incredible sense of structure and atmosphere, places Swift head and shoulders above the competition.

[piefuchs · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A good book that failed to live up to the high expectation I had developed for this author based upon Last Orders.