Light Hidden By Darkness

By John Bradford Branney

When the face that stares back at Seamus Winshell from the morning mirror is not a face he recognizes, Seamus knows something is wrong. Very wrong!
In exploring his surroundings, Seamus finds his apartment, alien and strange, while the city outside is new and unknown. Hoping to find answers or someone to help him, Seamus ventures out into this new world, a world of which he has no knowledge, recollection, or even a single point of reference. Who is Seamus Winshell and how did he end up in this strange place? Who is Raphael and is he here to help or torment Seamus?
With the help of a diverse range of characters, including a potentially dangerous doorman and an ex-prostitute named Gloria, Seamus pieces together the full magnitude of his predicament. He eventually realizes he is in this place to atone for his transgressions during his previous life. Can Seamus Winshell find his family and right the tremendous wrongs they suffered at his hands? Will he be prepared to pay what may be the ultimate price?
Light Hidden by Darkness is John Bradford Branney’s fourth novel. In 2011, Branney finished his career in the oil and gas industry where he held several senior and executive management positions. He holds a B.S. degree in geology from the University of Wyoming and a MBA from the University of Colorado.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mirador Publishing
• Release date: Jul 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781910104798

John Bradford Branney

John Bradford Branney just completed a successful career in the global oil and gas industry where he held positions in the areas of field operations,sales and marketing, and global supply chain. He holds a B.S. Degree in geology from the University of Wyoming and a MBA in finance from the University of Colorado. Mr. Branney currently lives in Houston, Texas with his wife Theresa and their animal menagerie.

Book preview

Light Hidden By Darkness

John Bradford Branney

First Published by Mirador Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 by John Bradford Branney

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers or author. Excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

First edition: 2014

Any reference to real names and places are purely fictional and are constructs of the author. Any offence the references produce is unintentional and in no way reflect the reality of any locations involved.

A copy of this work is available though the British Library.

IBSN : 978-1-910104-79-8

By the same author

Saving Miguel

Shadows on the Trail

Ghosts of the Heart

Coming soon

Winds of Eden

Light Hidden by Darkness is dedicated

To Bert and Katherine Stieger.

Chapter One

The old man looked in the mirror, a bewildered look on his face. Who am I? He thought. A tired and weathered face looked back at him. The face looked somewhat familiar, but for the life of him, the old man had no idea who he was. To help wake himself up, the old man ran his hand over the loose skin on his chin, a habit he seemed to have somehow acquired a long time ago. He rubbed his chin and was surprised that he had felt no stubble! He continued to rub his chin and found it as smooth as butter, not a whisker poking out anywhere. The old man could not remember the last time he could not feel the gray stubble on his chin, but then again, he could not remember many things.

The old man reached down and turned the faucet handle on to the bathroom sink, expecting the water to flow from the spigot. Nothing happened. He pushed and pulled the handle back and forth as if he were pumping water from an old fashioned well. The old man left the faucet handle on and knelt down on his knees, looking under the sink for the main water valve. Odd, he thought, there are no valves or pipes! Then, a flood of water suddenly shot into the sink, splashing water all over the bathroom. The old man attempted to stand up, but bumped the back of his head on the bottom of the sink. He grabbed his head, expecting it to hurt, but he could not feel a thing. He reached over and pushed the faucet handle back, slowing the flow of water down to a reasonable level.

At least there is good water pressure, his voice echoed through the empty bathroom.

The old man cupped his hands and filled them up with the lukewarm water. He then bent over the sink basin and raising his cupped hands, splashing water onto his face. After he washed, the old man stood up and looked around the tiny bathroom for a towel to dry his face. He found the towel right next to the mirror. He commenced to dry his face on the scratchy towel and then left the bathroom, entering another small room. Where am I? The old man noticed the minuscule bed sitting in one corner of the room and a small dresser in the other corner. His eyes darted back to the top of the bed where above it he saw a window, covered in drapes. The old man walked over to the window and after opening the drapes, he peered out and saw another tall building directly in front of him. He let his eyes roam to the left and then to the right. He noticed the countless rows of windows on the other building, one after another. His eyes looked up and the rows of windows disappeared into what appeared to be a cloudy sky. The old man looked down through the window and saw a street below. Judging from his height above the street, the old man guessed he was on the fourth or fifth floor of the building. He attempted to pry the window open so he could get a better look outside, but the window would not budge. He stuck his nose against the windowpane, attempting to peer up and down the sidewalk along the street. The old man expected to see people on the sidewalk or cars and trucks traveling up and down the street, but both the sidewalk and street were completely empty.

The old man finally gave up on the street and focused his attention on the miniscule bed in front of him. Spreading his hand like an eagle talon grabbing a fish from a lake, the old man tested the bed by pushing down on it. For the briefest of moments, the mattress felt as solid as a rock. The old man pushed hard enough for a grunt to escape his lips, but the mattress did not budge. Then, his hand suddenly sunk into the mattress, wrinkling the gold-colored bedspread.

A knocking sound gave the old man a start. He peered around the room, trying to orient himself to this strange bedroom. He located a doorway and walked through it, entering a somewhat larger room. A rap of knuckles on a door led the old man’s eyes to his left where he saw a door. He started to walk towards the door, but then stopped and hesitated. Then, after a third knock and after taking a deep breath, the old man approached the door. He noticed the door had a peephole and he peered through it. He saw an eye looking back at him, an eye surrounded by a rather large face. Startled, the old man jerked his head away from the peephole. Then, a fourth knock came, this time much louder than before. The old man brought his eye back up to the peephole and peered through it. For a fraction of a second, the old man saw the reflection of his own eye looking back at him. Then, suddenly a bright light zapped his eye and he jerked his head away from the peephole. When the white spots in his vision cleared, he took another gander through the peephole and this time he saw a woman, from the waist up, standing on the other side of the door.

A fifth knock came, followed by a high-pitched voice asking if anyone was home. The old man surveyed the room around him, not even sure, if this was even his home. Before his mind could evaluate the situation, his hand had reached down and turned the doorknob. The old man pulled the door wide open and he stood there staring at a woman standing in the middle of the hallway. His eyes roamed from her stiletto high heel shoes to her outdated beehive of red hair.

May I help you? the old man asked the woman, his mouth barely able to form the words, as if he had not spoken for decades. His eyes further scrutinized the woman while waiting for her reply. He noticed her dress, obviously too short for her age, and her sagging body. Hooker instantly popped into this head, and not a very desirable one at that. His eyes moved to her bright red hair piled on top of her head. Dyed or a wig, the old man thought. In front of her pile of hair, the woman had tied a bright, rainbow-colored scarf.

Hi! What’s your name, neighbor? the woman inquired.

I am sorry, but do I know you? the old man inquired.

No, I don’t think so, the woman answered.

I am really not interested.

You are really not interested in what, bud? the woman asked.

Whatever it happens to be that you are selling, the old man replied.

The old man’s stare migrated to the source of the woman’s shrill voice. He noticed that the woman’s face was plump, yet her skin still sagged, the noticeable results of age and gravity. The old man raised his nose and sniffed the air, much like you would expect from a dog passing by a butcher shop. The old man was sure that any woman who looked and dressed like this should smell of cheap perfume and sweat. To his surprise, the old man smelled absolutely nothing. The old man gave her a disapproving look, anyway.

I am here to welcome you to the neighborhood, bud, the woman explained her visit.

The old man glared at the woman with eyes that could melt steel. Who was this woman and why was she welcoming me? What neighborhood is this and did this old worn-out floozy actually call me by the name of ‘bud’? No one had ever before had the nerve to call the old man by any other name except sir or mister, at least to his face. Although his memory had gigantic gaps in it, he somehow recalled that people addressed him with respect and deference. Even his enemies, which he remembered he had a few, would never refer to him with an idiotic name like ‘bud’.

May I help you? he asked again, deciding to start the conversation over from the beginning.

What’s your name, bud?

After hesitating to ponder the woman’s benign question, he replied with the only answer that his mind could fathom, I don’t know.

You don’t even know your own name, bud? the woman questioned.

The old man stood there, perplexed by the situation at hand. He knew that it probably appeared unusual that he did not know his own name, but why was he even giving this moronic woman the time of day. After waiting for a response from the old man that never came, the woman offered an explanation, I guess you have just not found yourself, bud.

Found myself? the old man replied. Why in the hell would I need to look for myself?

You don’t even know your own name, bud, the woman declared. That’s a pretty good indication that you have not found yourself.

I don’t know who you are or what kind of nonsense is going on here, but–, the old man never finished his comment. He stood there, confused and shaking his head, as if he were trying to wake up from some kind of weird dream.

Don’t worry, bud, everybody in the city started out a little bit confused, the woman proclaimed.

The old man wanted to ask the woman what city he was in, but his pride prevented him from asking. He did not want to admit to anyone that he did not have a clue where he was, especially this old floozy. His mind was reeling out of control and he did not need anything else right then to make it spin any faster. He decided to ask this woman about herself, not because he cared one iota about her, but because he wanted to divert the attention off his own ignorance.

Who might you be, madam? the old man inquired. I mean, do you have a name?

My name is Gloria, the woman responded. I have lived in this neighborhood for a very long time.

The old man cleared his throat and then asked, And what is this particular neighborhood called, if I might ask?

That’s a really good question, bud, Gloria replied, but, I am afraid I cannot give you a really good answer.

What do you mean, you cannot answer me? the old man demanded. Have you forgotten the name of the neighbor-hood you supposedly have lived in for a very long time?

Not exactly, Gloria replied.

Not exactly, what?

Well, bud, it is pretty hard to forget something you have never really known in the first place. I have never quite figured out what the neighborhood is called and the city we are in.

Gloria, is it? It sounds like you are as confused as I am, the old man proclaimed and then laughed at the woman.

Not quite, bud, Gloria replied after the old man stopped laughing, at least I know my own name.

The old man tried to conjure up a withering response but the mud in his mind mired his thinking. Instead, he just stood there, his mouth hanging halfway open, waiting for his mind to release the comeback response to his mouth.

Bud, I just came over to welcome you to the neighborhood so here it is, welcome! Gloria stated while waving her arms in the air.

Thank you, Gloria, the old man murmured, but I would truly appreciate it if you did not call me ‘bud’.

What should I call you then? Gloria asked.

Well, hopefully we won’t be seeing each other in the foreseeable future, there is no reason to call me anything.

Gloria’s laughter echoed up and down the hallway. She laughed until her sides hurt. The old man just stood there, embarrassed by the woman’s impolite outburst. He actually contemplated slamming the door in her face, but her laughter finally stopped, as suddenly as it had started.

We are going to be seeing a lot of each other, bud, Gloria declared.

The old man stood there unable to speak. He was confused and angry at the audacity of this wretched woman.

I like the name ‘Bud’ for you, Gloria continued. You remind me of a brand new rose bud, on the verge of blooming.

I would appreciate that until I remember my own name, which I am sure will be very soon, you call me sir or mister, the old man spoke quietly.

"Then, Mister Bud it is," Gloria replied.

The old man was completely convinced that talking to this woman was an exercise in futility. He really did not appreciate this woman calling him Mr. Bud, but it was a big world out there and he would just make sure that he avoided her at all costs. He had no place for this type of woman in his existence.

Gloria, I am going to say this one more time and I hope you have the good manners not to laugh, the old man declared. I doubt that we ever see each other again, so please do not worry about what you shall call me. If we happen to see each other on the street or in the hallway, we should just politely nod our heads and smile. There is really no reason to contemplate anything beyond that.

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Gloria burst out laughing again, her head gyrating back and forth like a bobble head.

"You really are a newbie, aren’t you, Mr. Bud?" she added once the laughter died out.

Newbie? I beg your pardon, madam! Mr. Bud questioned Gloria. What did you just call me?

Newbie, new guy, tenderfoot, greenhorn, rookie, newcomer, new kid on the block, Gloria replied.

I do not wish to see this conversation going any further, Mr. Bud insisted. Good day and good bye, madam.

Madam? Gloria responded with a smile. That’s what they used to call my boss!

Gloria howled with laughter. She then turned and walked up the hallway, waving her hand over her shoulder as she disappeared. Mr. Bud walked out in the hallway, his hands on his hips, fuming over this encounter with this red-haired floozy. He walked back into his apartment and slammed the door behind him. He stood there in the middle of the living room, looking around for the very first time. The walls of the living room were painted brilliant white and were completely bare, not even a cheap painting to grace the walls. He walked over to a small wooden desk and pulled open its drawers, one by one. The drawers were completely empty without as much as a scrap of paper or an abandoned paperclip. There was no evidence that anyone had ever lived there.

***

After tossing and turning on the most uncomfortable bed in the entire universe, Mr. Bud finally gave up and got up. He had not slept one wink, yet he was not tired at all. His mind was drowning in questions about what had happened to him and who he was. From the bedroom, he walked out into the tiny living room. He looked around the living room again, looking for anything he had previously missed. He checked out the coat closet, but it was completely bare, not even a single clothes hanger. Everything in the living room looked brand new from the paint on the walls to the carpet on the floor. Mr. Bud sniffed the air, expecting to smell fresh paint or new carpet, but there was no smell at all. Mr. Bud’s prominent nose had never failed him before, until now.

Mr. Bud then walked over to the couch and inspected every inch of it with his eyes and fingers. It was not an expensive couch. A person would find this kind of couch in one of those furniture rental stores. He leaned down and let his eyes inspect the burnt orange and brown plaid fabric of the couch. He searched in vain for a worn-out thread or a stain where someone had spilled food or coffee. Mr. Bud found nothing. The couch was obviously brand new, yet there was no new smell. In fact, there was no smell at all, anywhere. He reached down and touched the cushion with the tips of his fingers. His fingers disappeared through the cushion. Then, the cushion swallowed his entire hand. Then his wrist and arm disappeared as Mr. Bud fell forward into the couch. He pulled his arm out of the cushion with the same urgency as someone touching a hot stove. Mr. Bud held up his retrieved hand, expecting to see his fingers missing, but there was no damage. Then, Mr. Bud gathered his courage and delicately touched the couch cushion with the tip of his index finger. The cushion shimmered like the ripple of water on a mirror-like lake. He pulled his finger away and then retouched the cushion. This time the cushion acted normally, showing the right resistance to the pressure of Mr. Bud’s index finger.

What the hell? Mr. Bud mumbled under his breath.

Mr. Bud spread his fingers into an open claw and pushed down on the couch cushion even harder, testing it with his weight. Without warning, Mr. Bud’s hand and arm shot through the couch cushion, banging into the floor below. His body followed his arm, falling forward into the couch. Mr. Bud bumped his head on the wooden armrest of the couch as his body landed on the wooden frame of the couch. Mr. Bud rolled off the couch onto the floor and lay there, staring up at the ceiling. He knew he was in trouble. An image came to his mind of the last time that he fell like this. He had broken his femur. Like most old people, Mr. Bud’s bones were as brittle as glass. He lay there on the floor, too frightened to move and too scared to find out which bones were broken. Mr. Bud focused his mind on determining where the pain was coming from. He wiggled his toes and they felt fine. He moved his legs and they felt good. He raised his arms above his head and they seemed all right. How could I be fine? Mr. Bud rolled over onto his stomach and, using the wooden frame of the couch as a crutch, he rose to his feet. He tried to locate pain in his body, but there was none. Lucky fall, he thought.

Then, another sound of rapping knuckles drew his attention to the front door. Mr. Bud walked over and peered through the peephole. He saw a pair of eyes behind large black horn-rimmed eyeglasses staring back at him. The eyeglasses appeared attached to a rather large, bulbous nose. Then, another rat-tat-tat of knuckles tapped on the front door.

Who is it? Mr. Bud roared through the closed door.

Joey, sir, a voice replied.

Joey? Mr. Bud queried. I don’t know any Joeys!

No, sir, we have never met, Joey answered, loud enough for Mr. Bud to hear him clearly through the closed door. I am the doorman for this building.

Oh great, another member of the welcoming committee, Mr. Bud mumbled, peeking through the peephole.

Joey, move away from the front door and I will open it, Mr. Bud shouted through the closed door. When Mr. Bud was sure that Joey had backed away from the front door, he opened it.

Good day, sir! Joey bellowed at Mr. Bud.

Yeah, what’s so good about it? Mr. Bud challenged.

Well, Joey mumbled, not expecting the question.

Mr. Bud gave Joey the twice over with his eyes, the same thing he had done to Gloria. Joey was wearing a maroon polyester and wool overcoat. Mr. Bud noticed that the doorman had his overcoat buttoned to the very top button.

Is it cold outside? Mr. Bud asked.

Uh…no, sir, Joey responded.

Then, are you cold?

No-no, sir.

Then, why the hell is your coat buttoned all the way to the top?

I do-don’t know sir, Joey sputtered. It is always that way.

Mr. Bud went back to inspecting Joey. Like a sagging balloon, Joey’s bulging triple chin rested on the upper collar of

Reviews for Light Hidden By Darkness

[branjohb · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

In his latest novel, Light Hidden by Darkness, Author John Bradford Branney presents his ideas on the nature of the afterlife and redemption through the struggles of one Seamus Winshell who awakens one morning only to find a stranger’s face staring back at him in the mirror. From this book’s startling beginning, Author Branney weaves a satirical tale rich in philosophical ideas and peopled by a diverse range of characters, including a potentially dangerous doorman and an ex-call girl named Gloria. Together, they piece together the full magnitude of Seamus’s predicament. Seamus eventually realizes he is in this place to atone for his transgressions during his prior life. Can Seamus Winshell find his family and right the tremendous wrongs they suffered at his hands? Will he be prepared to pay what may be the ultimate price?“This is quite an unnerving book and a definite change of direction for John,” said Sarah Luddington, Mirador Publishing’s Commissioning Editor. “It is a brave author who is willing to tread a new path when it would have been very easy to stay with a popular series a while longer.”“The story behind Light Hidden by Darkness crept into my subconscious mind at a very young age, at a time when I began to question a few concepts raised during my religious upbringing,” author Branney said, “I wanted to know specifically how things worked in the afterlife and what these places looked like. Since it was impossible for me to obtain a round trip ticket to these places to find out answers, I wrote my own version of the journey. Of course, I have added what I believe is an intriguing, and sometimes lighthearted, story with enough twists and turns to keep the reader on his or her toes.”