Mortgatha: The Complete Series

By Donna Hawk

WHERE DARKNESS WALKS
Clarie’s world is about to change for the darker. Clarie couldn’t believe it when her boyfriend broke up with her, not only breaking her heart, but doing it at the prom. However, when she uncovers a secret in the hidden back of an armoire, and meets Patrick, who is determined to help her forget her broken heart, she starts to realize that things could definitely be worse. When she is accidentally pushed against a set of dark doors into the shadow realm of Mortgatha, everything she fears is set into motion to keep her away from her beloved Earth world. Even with Patrick’s help, the doorway home moves randomly, evil characters beset them at every turn, and the way home seems farther away than ever.

TATTERED HEART
Joseph Paul returns to Mortgatha to understand what happened to his dad. With his friend, Bitsy Hubbs, he sets out on a dangerous journey, only to be hounded by Mortgatha’s dark entities. They follow a trail of disease and disaster inflicted on Mortgatha’s citizens by the Darkness’s Shadowed Hands. Even if they find what remains of Michael, Joseph has no understanding how the Earth rift works to return home. It’s Bitsy’s unusual visions that help locate the door... until they are confronted by the Shadowed Hands themselves.

SHADOWED HANDS
Darkness has come to Earth, invited, but without Clarie and Patrick’s knowledge. It isn’t until Clarie comes face-to-face with the Darkness that she realizes the danger their beloved Earth world is in. Their fate lies in the shadow realm of Mortgatha, the home of Darkness. They must help Joseph fight the deadly Shadowed Hands; their actions are governed by a centuries old myth that has taken young people who are innocent of the dark realm. With the assistance of an indigenous Light creature, they cause a chain of events that could destroy the hands of Darkness forever or deny Clarie and her friends any chance of returning to their beloved Earth world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Donna Hawk
• Release date: Sep 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310740633

Donna Hawk

I am a retired school teacher, of 33 years, from Kansas. I enjoy writing, riding my bike, taking long walks, and spending time with my family. I am an avid photographer and photoshop user.

Book preview

MORTGATHA

The Complete Series

WHERE DARKNESS WALKS

TATTERED HEART

SHADOWED HANDS

By

Donna Hawk

Elizabeth Hawk Publishing ~ Lake Charles, Louisiana

COPYRIGHT 2012, 2013, 2013

All Rights Reserved - Donna Hawk

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any informational storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing from the publisher/author.

WHERE DARKNESS WALKS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

TATTERED HEART

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

SHADOWED HANDS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

WHERE

DARKNESS

WALKS

ONE

DARKNESS PEERED through the wall between worlds until its attention landed on the Earth world. In its devious way, it chuckled, causing bolts of black lightning to crackle across its own enslaved lands. This Earth world, with its simple people, would make a good conquest. Darkness was restless. Light was nearly extinguished in its own shadow realm of Mortgatha, and Darkness was hungry. Anger shook Mortgatha as Darkness growled through the misty shadows of its skies. It couldn’t just enter the Earth world; it would have to be invited.

THE WIND BLEW SHARPLY OFF THE LAKE. It was cold for May, bringing in rain from the east. The clouds that gathered in the sky were black with grief, booming out sorrow in the spring storm. At least, that’s what it felt like to Clarie.

Sixteen-year-old Clarie Perl held a crushed paper in one hand. Running under the football bleachers behind the school, she sank to the ground, scraping the back of her dress against the metal posts. The metal was rusty and sharp but her legs simply would not carry her any farther. This hidden underside was dirty, filled with abandoned popcorn bags and forgotten programs. The edge of the field was dotted with t-shaped light poles that swayed dangerously in the wind.

The weight of the note she carried anchored her fingers to the ground under the bleachers. Though the ground was smooth, it was bare of grass and weeds, even when the weather encouraged growth. As a light rain drenched her face, black mascara streamed down her cheeks, leaving streaks of soot on her skin. Tears and rain splashed on the note and mixed with the spreading ink as water saturated the paper. She couldn’t read the writing on the note any more. The rain had washed away the words but not the message.

With her knees drawn to her chest, Clarie rested her forehead against her warm flesh, ignoring the once-beautiful satin prom dress she wore. Like the dress, her heart crumpled into a ruined mess. Would she ever be able to love again?

As she slipped into her first formal, she’d felt like a princess. Was that only a few hours ago? It was supposed to be the best night of her life. How quickly things changed.

The rain began pouring in earnest. Clarie held the crushed note against her chest.

Water rushed down around her ankles and turned into mud. Thunder crashed overhead and rain poured out of the sky with the same passion that tears flowed down Clarie’s face. Her beautiful dress was soaked through; her mother’s vintage slippers were ruined.

Clarie leaned back against the metal supports behind her and inhaled deeply to catch her breath. Then she noticed, near her in the soft mud, there were several little seed pearls scattered about. She fingered the sweetheart neckline of her dress, touching the threads where the pearls had once been. Like her life, the dress was no longer perfect.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d gotten ready for this momentous occasion: her high school prom. Her date was her boyfriend, Rand. They’d been steady companions for more than a year. However, tonight of all nights, she’d noticed a difference in the way he looked at her and in the way he looked at others. It was a subtle difference, but one she should’ve seen coming.

As they danced, his eyes traveled across the crowd, following the glittering, colored strobe lights from the DJ’s equipment. He never looked at her, never said she was beautiful, and even the flower she wore on her wrist looked sadly last minute. Did anyone else notice Rand’s distance and preoccupation? No, to them he was as cordial as ever, always the gentleman. But to her, he was cool and aloof. She could’ve been his sister.

To bring his attention back to her, she had patted his shoulder, then slipped her hand around his neck affectionately. What are you thinking about so hard? she asked, but his attention remained on the crowd. For the first time, she was filled with doubt. Rand, please tell me what you’re thinking about. Are you mad at me or something? Clarie tried to laugh, but it sounded strained even to her.

At last, she stopped dancing and Rand finally looked down at her in surprise. Do you want to stop dancing? he asked. Even his voice sounded flat.

Clarie decided to try a different tactic. She frowned at him, then turned her face away trying to look as angry as she could. I thought I’d ask you the same thing. If you don’t want to dance with me, then just say so.

She was met with a stony silence. Her heart skipped a beat before she gave up and looked back at him. To her chagrin, he had continued to scan the crowd all around them. Oh, I see how you are, Mr. Rand Ayers. You’ve got eyes for everyone but me. What’s the matter? Do I have dirt on my face or are you just tired of looking at me?

Finally, Rand looked down at her again. There was no sparkle of affection in his handsome blue eyes. Are those my only two options? he asked. I know my timing is horrible, but Clarie, you don’t really know me. No one does. The vacant look on his face turned into a mild frown. Nothing in my life is turning out the way it should, he murmured more to himself than to her.

She gulped loudly, though it couldn’t be heard over the pounding music. Clarie tried for a smile. You’re scaring me, Rand. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were breaking up with me. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, praying he’d deny the possibility.

His answer was to smile and nod at one of their classmates as she walked by. Her heart raced inside her chest. Surely, he didn’t mean it! Clarie curled her fingers into the lapel of his suit to keep his attention. Listen, I’m going to check my makeup. Take a deep breath so when I get back, we can talk about this. Nothing is going badly for you. Our lives together are just beginning. Please, she pleaded. "I want my Rand back!" She turned and left him staring after her.

When Clarie emerged from the restroom a few minutes later, she stopped in her tracks in stunned silence. Rand was on the dance floor, wrapped tightly in the embrace of another girl, slow dancing to Clarie’s favorite song. His blonde head was bent close to the girl’s face.

Clarie’s chest tightened painfully. Several students jostled playfully nearby, bumping into her and breaking her attention. When she looked back up, Rand was nowhere to be seen, and someone had slipped a note into her hand. She read the words but couldn’t quite believe their meaning: it said simply, I’m sorry. Clarie had carefully woven her life to suit Rand, tried to be all that Rand wanted. She was devastated.

There was barely daylight left when she ran out of the school, ignoring the shouts from one of the supervising parents, and into the dark football arena. Thunder rumbled overhead. The air was heavy with an oncoming storm.

Now, under the bleachers, she fingered the fallen pearls that had decorated the bodice of her dress. She knew the chaperones had called her dad, so when he found her, she wasn’t surprised. Clarie stood, giving her dad a wet hug and burying her face in his shirt.

Why, Dad? she croaked against his chest. Rand just dumped me. Why would he do this tonight? It was supposed to be the best night of my life.

Even good people sometimes do mean things, kiddo, even if they don’t intend to. The only thing you can do is pick yourself up and move on the best way you know how. He shook his head sadly. "Rand was just doing what he needed to do to be happy. It wouldn’t do to force him to hang onto someone when his heart isn’t in it. When your mother left, I thought they might as well cut my head off and throw me over the back fence. I didn’t care about nothin’. And then I looked at you, with the sparkle in your blue eyes— Sam kissed her forehead affectionately —and I knew I had to stay strong for my little girl. You were so tiny and couldn’t understand what had happened."

Clarie wrapped an arm tightly around her father’s waist and leaned against him all the way back to the house. Sam Perl was a rock: a strong person, emotionally as well as physically. He was the only person she had left in her life that meant anything to her. Daddy, she whispered, If it wasn’t for you, I’d have nothing left.

I know that’s the way it seems, he sympathized quietly. But baby doll, you’re only sixteen years old. I know you were fond of Rand. But that’s way too young to give up on love.

When Sam got Clarie home, she silently bathed and got into bed. Though she was warm and dry, she could still feel the cold rain pelting her skin and see the satin dress fall to ruin under the unforgiving downpour. Closing her eyes, she fell asleep easily, praying that she’d never have to wake up and remember that Rand didn’t love her anymore. Just when my life was getting good, she mused as sleep claimed her, it just figures something would come to bite me in the butt.

LIFE DID NOT CHANGE all that much for Clarie. She couldn’t see herself ever going to another prom, however, knowing Rand was never going to dance with her again. She spent most of her time in the woodshop, scouring old finishes off discarded furniture, only to make them shine like new. This passion was now her obsession.

Two years before, she had begun taking an interest in the old furniture Sam often refinished. Though she was young, Clarie had soaked up everything he taught her. His infectious enthusiasm for woodworking, specifically refinishing furniture, turned into a business, small but lucrative, and Clarie spent hours in the garage helping him fix, sand and finish.

Sam had recently quit his job at Castle Truck Line to devote himself to refinishing the furniture; he’d hated being a salesman. Finally, he had more time on his hands but even more things to do. With Clarie’s interest in woodworking to help him along, he began turning a bigger profit. He built a woodshop to work in beside the house. The shop turned out to be Clarie’s haven: a place that gave her some freedom and the chance to work late into the night if her schoolwork allowed it.

As much as Clarie stayed busy with her work, she cruised through the end of the school year as if it didn’t exist. She ignored the elbow jabs as she walked by a group of girls who had thought Rand was crazy for chasing such an ordinary girl as Clarie. He could have his choice of any girl in the school and to them she didn’t measure up against the competition. She ignored the taunts in the cafeteria as she walked by certain tables. She was anxious to get school over with.

Because of the breakup with Rand, she had other problems to deal with. Every guy she never wanted to know stopped her in the hallway and wanted her attention. Had Rand sent them her way in an effort to distract her attention from him? She sneered angrily. Particularly persistent was a guy by the name of Bulldog Shue. Genetically unfortunate, having inherited the worst features of both his parents, Bulldog acquired his nickname as a young boy because of his striking resemblance to his pet.

Even if Bulldog hadn’t smelled bad, she hated everything else about him. He stole cigarettes from the local convenience store, he was a bully, he ditched school regularly, but most of all, she didn’t like the way he always looked at her as if she were naked. Most of the time she could pretend he didn’t exist, but he always seemed to know where she was.

The last few weeks of school were a never-ending test of strength and torture. The weather finally warmed up, and with the beginning of summer, Clarie finally came to the conclusion that Rand was truly gone from her life. As the numbness started to wear away, she began to face the days of getting her life back to normal. She needed a new normal where she felt like she was in control again and Rand wasn’t eating up every thought in her head. Each day she was able to breathe a little easier and smile a little more. With the right attitude, she could ignore the hole Rand had left. For her, maybe life would go on.

With school finally out, the summer days heated up rapidly. Clarie now focused so much of her time on helping refinish furniture. Every hutch, chair, and chest they’d had backed up against the wall of the shop, and even the pieces spilling out into the garage, had been fixed, finished, and sold.

Clarie even found the energy to go to auctions with her dad to look for more furniture projects. One auction, the estate sale of an elderly librarian who had recently passed away, Clarie decided to find something worth refinishing that would allow her dad to see what she was capable of; she was ready to do more than just help.

Clarie could see that much of the furniture, which had been collected over the years, had fallen to disrepair. To most people, it was just old furniture and not good for much, except perhaps a college dorm or frat house. To her, however, it was a treasure trove of richness waiting to be rediscovered and restored to its proper place.

She studied several pieces she thought could work for her projects, mentally assessing the damage or wear. She tallied up a timetable for repair and refinishing, creating a mental inventory of materials she would need. With the ongoing list growing inside her head, Clarie caught sight of an old armoire sitting off to the side. She knew immediately it was the perfect piece for her project.

It was in terrible shape. The outside layer of paint was a faded seafoam green, but it was just the last of many colors. She dug a thumbnail under a flake of paint peeling from the door at the front and discovered the beautiful red/brown hickory wood that was hiding underneath. One of the handles was missing from the door, and the front of the bottom drawer had been knocked off and reattached crookedly.

Even so, the armoire looked stately, elegant. Clarie could see the majestic lines through the pauper’s disguise. Finished, it would be worth a fortune, by far the most ambitious project she’d ever brought back to life. Eyes gleaming, she knew she had to have it.

She impatiently waited for the smaller items to be sold. She counted over thirty small appliances and dozens of boxes of knickknacks. Lamps, dishes, linens… the list was endless. Always, she kept a possessive eye on the armoire.

Sam had driven a separate vehicle here and was busy checking out some power tools. Clarie kept looking out for him, thinking she’d show him the armoire. Unfortunately, she mostly caught glimpses of Bulldog Shue skulking about, always in shouting distance, and always with an eye on her.

When the auctioneer finally made his way to the larger furniture, Clarie forced Bulldog’s rough face out of her mind and absently patted the bid number inside her breast pocket. From the corner of her eye, she at last saw her father standing in the crowd, looking around for her. He gave her a thumb’s up, causing her to grin self-consciously. She waved him over. Then, taking a deep breath, she waited for her turn to bid.

Adrenalin surged through her. It was the first promising emotion that had broken through the empty cocoon she’d wrapped around herself. She paused for a moment, though she nearly missed the beginning of the bid for the armoire, as she felt the piercing stab of guilt. How could she forget Rand? How could she be in high spirits without him? Then, just as quickly, Clarie shoved the pain aside and frowned in concentration. Losing this armoire would not make him love her.

Sam squeezed her elbow as she nodded to the auctioneer. She smiled to herself, knowing how pleased he was that she was finally smiling again.

She knew her spending limit, and she also knew that the armoire did not show very well. Still, there were other interested bidders, one older gentleman in particular. He smiled often and nodded but bid only hesitantly, as if he didn’t want to drive the price up. In the end, she paid a little more than she intended for her treasure, but it was all hers. Clarie was thrilled she’d got the winning bid and couldn’t contain her enthusiasm for her new project.

The tailgate of her dad’s little red truck had to be lowered so she could hoist the armoire into the bed, with Sam’s help. She gave him a hug then watched him drive away, leaving her to settle with the auction clerk.

The early June sun was sweltering. Clarie paid for her armoire, then sipped at an iced tea as she sat at a table and perused the furniture that had not yet sold. Perhaps there would be another piece she could get to work on when the armoire was finished. She stopped for a moment and closed her pale blue eyes, letting the cool liquid slide down her parched throat. Her auburn hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail, brushed the top of her shoulders. Sweat beaded on her neck and forehead, plastering any loose hairs against her skin.

Excuse me?

The low-pitched male voice came from beside her. She sat up suddenly, afraid that Bulldog had seen her sitting alone and was taking advantage of it.

She looked around and blinked several times to get her bearings. Instead of Bulldog, a guy with intense, chocolate-colored eyes was looking directly at her. She recognized him from school, but she couldn’t bring his name to her mind. He was, she thought, a year older but new this year. He stood with the posture of someone used to attracting the opposite sex. Though he was not a popular jock, like Rand was, he was attractively self-confident. He had no end of girls longing for his attention. He was attractive in a way that made sexy look easy. He appeared laid back and secure in who he was.

Clarie didn’t reply, but watched the young man warily as he leaned against an old oak dropleaf table.

I watched you bid on the old armoire. I thought about bidding myself, but I could see you had your heart set on it. His voice was smooth and melodious. My dad and I have an antique store, and sometimes we go to auctions to see if we can find something for the shop. His eyes were bright. Smiling slightly and tilting his head a little to one side, Clarie noticed he needed a haircut. Several strands of untamed curls bounced playfully around his ears and down his neck. His arms looked powerful in a way that came from physical labor or perhaps being a gym rat. Wide shoulders, narrow waist: he was the kind of attractive that most girls were drawn to… very sexy, Clarie mused, for anyone in a mind to be distracted. She swallowed hard and forced her gaze to his face. What are you going to do with the armoire?

You aren’t going to get me to sell it to you, in case you were going to ask. Clarie didn’t want to sound tactless and blunt, but more than that, she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, in case snagging her find was what he had in mind.

She didn’t expect him to chuckle. No, I wasn’t going to ask you that. I was only curious about what you planned to do with the armoire once you got it home. It’s a beautiful piece. He smiled slightly again and waited for her answer. The look in his eyes held her captive, making her feel, just for a moment, that there was no one else in the world. Wistful thoughts filled her head as she lost her breath in the chocolate-colored eyes. She had to remind herself to breathe. When she did, her heart pounded against her ribs until she was convinced he had to hear it. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip to keep a silly grin from spreading.

She ignored the way his hair danced in the breeze as if to catch her attention. He was silent and waited for her answer. Pulling her gaze away from his hair, she swallowed hard, suddenly having trouble remembering how to speak. She forced herself to concentrate on her words, Dad and I have a small business where we refinish and restore antique furniture and sell it. After I’m done with the armoire, it will be worth quite a bit of money. She bit the inside of her lip, wondering if she had volunteered too much information.

He looked thoughtful, though his eyes danced with amusement. I see. Most girls your age don’t want anything to do with refinishing furniture. How old were you when you learned the trade? Five? he teased.

Clarie laughed out loud. "I was born knowing the business, she replied waggishly. I wasn’t aware there was an age limit to being good at something. Her heart sang to this young man. How had she thought losing Rand would end life as she knew it? What about you? You get to take over the business soon?" She couldn’t stop smiling. She loved, finally, feeling as if she might be able to allow another love into her life. It was pleasant to have a flirty conversation with a guy that wasn’t Rand. Enjoy the moment, she reminded herself.

He looked around as if he was struggling to keep the grin off his face. I’m already the boss, just don’t ask my dad about it! I can’t believe I get to talk to the best-looking girl here. I thought maybe I could buy you a coke. He silently studied her face then winked and grinned shamelessly. Besides, our children would be gorgeous! It was an outrageous proposal that made her laugh, elevating her mood. She could feel his interest, and though it was thrilling, it terrified her.

Look, ah…––she still didn’t remember his name––"I really can’t stay. My dad is expecting me home soon. I––"

The young man raised an eyebrow in question. "I see. You have a jealous boyfriend who will appear at any moment to kick my butt? Do I look like that’s possible?" he asked confidently, patting the hard muscles across his stomach.

Clarie’s eyes suddenly darkened with anger and hurt. Unexpected visions of Rand pushed their way forward until she dropped her face. She waited several moments to see if the familiar pain in her heart would disarm her, but the moment passed and she didn’t feel the burn. Breathing heavily, she resurrected her composure.

I’m so sorry, he murmured, studying her anxiety. I didn’t realize there really was a boyfriend problem. I saw you with that older guy, I thought he was your father.

"He is my father, she whispered coarsely, rolling her eyes at the ridiculous statement. His name is Sam. I don’t have a boyfriend. Not any more."

"Jeez! I recognize you now; you’re the girl that Rand Ayers dumped––sorry! I figured that man was your dad. I was just trying to make you laugh. I didn’t mean anything by it. He backed away from her several steps, yet he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Rand Ayers is an idiot," he offered.

At last, she shook her head to clear Rand’s face from her mind. Listen, I’m sorry. I don’t know what gets into me sometimes. I’m not always like this. And anyway, I really do have to go.

He smiled curiously and turned to leave. She was so pretty. It was a shame someone would put that kind of sadness in her eyes intentionally. I’m really sorry, Clarie. Good luck with the armoire. I’m sure you’ll do an awesome job on it. He nodded and smiled, his deep chocolate eyes lingering on her face. He walked away, though when he was halfway across the lawn, he turned around and yelled, I’d never leave you, Clarie Perl!

Clarie watched him go, hiding a smile. It was interesting, she thought, that he had remembered her name while she couldn’t think of his. Of course, everyone knew Rand and she had been lucky to be his girlfriend, even if it didn’t last. Wow, that wasn’t so bad, she whispered to herself, grinning. I think I’m gonna live.

She took a deep breath and straightened her back. I can be strong, Clarie decided, firmly pushing Rand into her mental backseat.

TWO

A SHORT HOUR LATER, Clarie drove the beat-up little red truck home with her treasure. Once there, her dad helped her prop long planks of wood against the tailgate like a ramp to lower the armoire gently to her shop floor. She was very excited to get started on it. It could possibly be the most beautiful piece she had ever worked on.

After Sam left her to her work, Clarie set the armoire on a rubber mat beside a sink and drain hole. She slipped on her rubber elbow gloves and opened the chemical paste. Normally she would use a liquid spray-on because it was easier than other methods of removing paint and varnish, but she could see the multiple layers of old paint and suspected that the spray would not be powerful enough to get all the layers. Her hope was that the wood underneath was as lovely as the exposed wood she could see.

Hours later, a cool breeze puffed gently into the building. Clarie looked up, startled to see that it was after midnight. Most of the ugly paint and varnish had been stripped away; the rest would need to be scraped again and sanded.

Clarie cleaned her work area, then stood back and looked at her prize. She was dreadfully tired. So far, the armoire still had the promise she’d hoped for. She washed her hands then turned out the light and locked the shop door. Pausing for a moment, she could hear a distant, rhythmic tapping noise coming from inside the shop. Puzzled, she opened the door again and leaned her head inside. The shop was almost empty. All she could see was the armoire sitting alone in the middle of the floor. Tired down to her bones, she ignored the persistent tapping and locked the door once again. As she headed for the house to see if her father was still awake, she didn’t witness the little vibrations straining the armoire’s backside, as if something inside were desperate to get out.

CLARIE WAS STILL TIRED the next morning when Sam stuck his head inside her bedroom door and said, Get up, baby doll! Church in an hour!

She groaned loudly and opened an eye experimentally. The bright June sun was already hot, even though the bedside clock said it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. A shower and bowl of cereal later, Clarie sat in the church pew next to her dad.

As Pastor Dave began his sermon, her mind almost wandered. She nearly gave into the familiar sadness that crept up on her when she had too much time to think… until the pastor caught her eye. He wasn’t smiling, but the look on his face was so sincere, it felt as if he were talking just to her. …wait for that special feeling that comes with finding the perfect friendship… Clarie gulped and looked quickly around her. Pastor Dave continued, including his congregation in his sermon, Bad things happen, but we don’t know how God will come to our rescue. He has purpose for us, just as we have to find our own purpose. We can’t just sit around and expect life to find us. God helps those who have the daring and energy to help themselves. Trust… trust your instincts, trust your heart, and listen to the voice you can’t always hear. The right path will show up when you least expect it, in a form that you may not recognize.

Pastor Dave finished his sermon. Clarie couldn’t shake the feeling that he was trying to tell her something. Finally, he spoke again, waving his hand outward. I’d like to welcome some new members of our church family.

A voice directly behind her spoke up. Clarie melted down in her seat a bit thankful to see his attention was on someone else. He wasn’t talking to her! She knew her face was bright red, but no one was watching her––they were looking at the owner of the voice.

Then it occurred to her that the voice was slightly familiar. Not one she’d heard all her life, but one she’d heard recently. She shifted slightly in her seat and looked over her shoulder. Gasping, she turned back to the front, eyes wide in surprise.

The guy from the auction! Pastor Dave was welcoming him and his dad into the congregation. How odd, she thought in a rush, that she’d seen him twice in one weekend. She hadn’t seen him much more than that the whole school year!

The entire rest of the service, Clarie was tense and uncomfortable. She couldn’t fathom why this particular guy made her edgy, though she could feel her own interest in him heighten. When the service was almost over, he reached over the back of her seat and pinched a lock of her hair. Giving it a gentle tug, he whispered, See you around, Clarie.

The moment Pastor Dave left the room, Clarie turned around and smiled, but the guy with the intense chocolate-colored hair and eyes was gone. She was disappointed, but not discouraged. He wanted to see her around; he’d said so.

The neighborhood church was only a few blocks from home. As she and Sam walked slowly home, he broke into her thoughts, So, you know him?

Clarie startled with a gasp then frowned up at her dad. Who?

Patrick, he answered. There was a little knowing smile on his face as he spoke.

Patrick… Clarie let the name slide off her tongue as if tasting it. Patrick Howerton. He’s from school, but I don’t think he’s in my class. She was glad she finally had a name for him and glad she had finally remembered what it was. "Do you know him?"

Sam looked ahead and smiled again. He seems like a good kid. I don’t know much about him, but I know his dad. They have an antique shop across town. They sell all kinds of strange stuff. I have no idea what most of it is, though I know a lot about junk and antiques. They must do a good business even if I’ve never seen anyone there when I’ve stopped by. Want to check it out some time? Finally, Sam looked down at his daughter and grinned. He knew that look––she was interested in the Howerton boy and it was about time, he mused. Rand was gone and she would be better off forgetting him.

All Clarie did was shrug noncommittally. Sure, if you want to. Her face was a mask of indifference, but her heart was strangely joyous.

When she finally got back into the shop, after changing from her church clothes, she studied the armoire. She took a deep breath and grabbed a fresh sandpaper to attach to the electric sander. The sander whirred quietly as she ran it along the back in an effort to get some of the remaining paint off. The back was in bad shape.

A moment later, her worst fears were confirmed when the sander hit a soft patch of wood and splintered a small hole in the back behind the shelves. She swore in frustration. Turning off the sander and yanking the mask off her face, she surveyed the damage. The back would have to be replaced.

Since the armoire was already lying on its face, Clarie reached in her toolbox for a screwdriver and removed the screws from the back. Then, picking up the wood file, she began to pry the glued back off.

A delicate thump from the inside moved the back slightly. Clarie yelped, throwing herself backward as she dropped her tool. For several moments, she stared at the armoire; she heard the noise again. The sound had not been her imagination and it made her wonder if a small animal had gotten trapped inside it. Then she shook her head, puzzled.

Gingerly, she lifted the side and peeked under the armoire, but immediately she could tell the cavities, shelves, and drawers, were empty. She could see back to the hole where daylight shined through. Still, as she set it back face down, she felt other slight thumps vibrate the wood, increasing in urgency. She smiled curiously. It wasn’t common, but also not unheard of––perhaps this armoire had a secret compartment; perhaps it had a false back.

Once again, she grunted and managed to pull the armoire onto its side and studied the inside. Where the drawers slid in, the back looked thicker than where the shelves were. She let it fall back down onto its front.

With some effort, Clarie was able to finally remove the back entirely. When she finished, she sat back on her heels and inspected the inside, not quite believing what she was seeing. The old armoire did have a false back! How could she have missed this? Behind the drawers on the bottom, someone had built in an extra partition so the drawers weren’t actually as deep as the shelves on the top. Plus, the secret compartment wasn’t empty. She grinned despite herself.

She was startled when something knocked deep inside the unusual compartment again. She hesitantly reached into the cavity with shaking fingers, and, fully expecting to pull out a mouse or rat’s nest instead, touched a dusty burlap bag. A heavy cloud of dirt and grime erupted as she lifted it free. When the filth settled, she set the burlap on the floor and examined it. What she, at first, thought was burlap was actually some kind of dried, tightly-woven plant material, like thick papyrus: its surface was coarse and uneven under her fingertips. It looked incredibly old, much older than the armoire. Whoever did this had meant it to remain hidden for a long time.

More afraid of bugs or spiders than anything else, she gingerly opened the bag. Inside, plaited neatly into snug folds, was a lavish volume of tightly-woven cloth, similar to the type that heavy drapes were often made. However, when she unfolded the material, she discovered it was not drapes at all but a hand-loomed carpet or rug of some kind. Not any kind that she’d ever seen before, she decided as she softly fingered the edge. From the intricate weaving and the slightly uneven appearance of the stitches, it looked to be ancient, though the colors were astonishingly vivid. She picked it up and shook it gently. It wasn’t heavy, and strangely didn’t show any fold marks at all when she spread it out on the cement floor.

Measuring about five feet by six feet, it was made of a luxurious green material with thick gold embroidery around the three-inch decorative border. The center was a resplendent, intricate design of reds, blues, and purples that made Clarie think of something from Persia. The weave wasn’t even, like a modern machine rug, making her suspect it was much older than anything she’d ever seen. There was narrow golden fringe on every side, heavy golden tassels on the corners, and clear, bright red beaded crystals woven into the embroidered border. It was breathtaking.

The wrapping had protected it from the dirt and dust of time. The rug strangely didn’t even look as if it needed cleaning. Clarie studied it and wondered if she should sell it. Immediately, she tossed the idea away. Finders keepers!

Kneeling on the floor, Clarie brushed her hands along the topside where the material was thickest. It was cool under her fingers. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the center design, running her fingertips along the looping swirls woven there. She laughed, delighted with this unexpected find. It was like a gift.

The carpet’s thick topside begged her to stretch out on it. So, caving in to her compulsion, Clarie turned around and lay down in the center, again on top of the design, spreading her hands and legs so they pointed to the corners. She closed her eyes, never losing the smile that stretched her lips.

Once upon a time, she murmured softly, there was a rich king who was very good to his people. He was much loved, and crowds would gather outside his castle doors each morning to pay homage to their great leader–– Her voice very softly trailed off as a vision of a great king came into her mind.

Distantly, she heard the shop door open, then the booming voice of her father. Clarie? Are you in here?

She swallowed hard but didn’t open her eyes. He tried very hard to do the right thing for his people, but they didn’t know he was hiding something––

Clarie! Sam walked around the fallen armoire and knelt down beside her. Are you okay? Are you hurt?

His voice was distant in her ears, while hers was soft and indistinct. "He hid a dark thing, something he wanted to forget. The idea of it grew inside his mind, eating away at his goodness until one day––"

Sam reached down and shook her shoulder gently. Clarie, what are you saying? What are you talking about? Are you sure you aren’t hurt? He picked up one of her arms and began to examine it for bruises or cuts.

Clarie opened her eyes slowly, feeling as if she’d been asleep. She yawned and stretched, then sat up. Sorry, Daddy. I must’ve dozed for a minute. She looked around, confused, until her eyes landed on the rug underneath her. Oh, jeez Dad, look what I found!

Sam studied his daughter for a minute without glancing down at the rug. Yes, I see, he said slowly. Where did it come from? Finally, he dropped his eyes to the rug and brushed the top with his fingers.

She laughed with excitement. "I had to take the back off the armoire because the wood was rotten, and I’d accidentally poked a hole in it with the sander. But it had a secret compartment and this rug was in it! Isn’t it beautiful?’

He nodded but didn’t join in her enthusiasm. Sure is, baby doll. You could sell it with the armoire. Something felt off to him.

No! she said suddenly, vehemently, with her heart racing. Then, she slapped her palm against her forehead in confusion and closed her eyes for a moment. Chagrined, she said, Dang, I don’t know what that was about! I think I’d like to keep it, though, if that’s okay with you.

She could see the frown that flitted across his face before he spoke. Sure, sweetie, anything you want. It’s your armoire, after all. He chucked his fist gently under her chin and stood to leave. I’ll make a late lunch today. You go ahead and work on your project if you want.

Thanks, Daddy. Maybe later; I’m not hungry just yet. Clarie’s thoughts turned inward for a minute with the realization that since finding the rug, her enthusiasm for the armoire had suddenly diminished.

Sam stopped at the door and said, That armoire is pretty old, so I’m guessing the rug is, too. If you want, we could take it by Howerton’s shop and have him take a look at it. See what he thinks…

Clarie grinned self-consciously. She knew it was his way of giving her something she wanted without making a big deal of it. Sure, I guess that’d be okay. Give me a couple of hours, though, Dad. When I’m done here, I want to run up to Doolittle’s to see if they have any knobs that match this one. She held up one of the old knobs that she’d taken off the armoire. After Sam nodded, she turned away from him and started up the sander again, smoothing the rough, dried glue from the edges of the armoire’s back. Her thoughts were entirely on Patrick as she began to work again.

Clarie put the sander down for a moment to let her arms rest. This was the hardest part: sanding, testing the smoothness with her fingers, repeating the process over and over until she was happy with the results. She brushed off her jeans with her hands and set the sander aside. She could rest while she looked for the knob at Doolittle’s.

She was almost across town before she realized that the flea market wasn’t opened on Sundays. Groaning, she turned into a café parking lot to turn around, but the inviting scent of a mocha latte caught her attention. She grinned with selfish pleasure and stopped her car.

She sat alone waiting for her latte to be served. As she sat, she gazed around absently, her mind still thinking about the little rug she’d found. A distinguished-looking gentleman walked by, his shoes making steady clicks on the sidewalk. He hesitated, then walked back to her table.

Hello, young lady. I don’t think we have actually met, but I believe I know you.

Clarie jumped, startled. She had not expected to be approached and had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t seen him walk up to her. The man was very handsome in crisp, black pants and a soft gray sweater. He waited patiently for her to speak to him. He smiled, looking to be about her dad’s age.

Hello, she said quietly. He did look familiar, but she couldn’t place where she might have seen him.

Um… may I? He indicated the seat next to her.

She hesitated and studied his face. He didn’t have the appearance of a man who was apt to murder her, at least not here in broad daylight. She was certain, though, she had seen him before. Do I know you?

He chuckled, a sound that was familiar. "No, of course not. But I’m certain you have seen me before. I was at the auction where you bought that lovely armoire."

Oh yes, she recalled. He was among the other interested bidders at the sale when she bought the armoire. She nodded and smiled. Because of her excitement over finding the carpet, she found her mood more cheerful than usual. It helped that this man reminded her very much of Patrick Howerton. Yes, I remember you now. I thought you might outbid me. You aren’t going to offer me money now, are you? She bit her lip, worried that that was what he had in mind.

Oh no! he laughed. Not at all. No, the armoire is all yours. What are your plans for it? The man smiled broadly, and Clarie was certain she saw his brown eyes twinkle.

Clarie smiled, a little lightheaded, as a sudden picture of Patrick came into her head. She would have to try very hard to keep him out of her mind. What was it about this man that made her think of Patrick? Please stay and have a drink with me, she found herself saying. I’m refinishing the armoire. Actually, I’m sanding it now. It’ll look beautiful when I’m done with it.

The gentleman raised an eyebrow in pleasure. Thank you very much; I’d love to join you. He sat down smoothly and motioned for the waitress to give her his order. When she was gone, he asked, Could I have the pleasure of knowing with whom I’m dining?

Clarie laughed silently at the old fashioned way he spoke; most people didn’t talk like that any more. My name is Clarie Perl. When I’m not in school, I refinish old furniture and sell it. She grinned at him. My dad built a shop that we work in. It’s great!

Hello, Clarie. He grinned back at her and shook her hand. I’m Ernesto. I take it that you don’t waste any time getting started on something like that. It’s quite a project for a young girl like you. Have you already sold it or will you wait until it’s completely done?

No, I haven’t sold it, and I have to say it is one of the biggest challenges I’ve ever attempted. I just want to make my dad proud. Unfortunately, I was sanding on the back today and accidentally destroyed it, er, the back, that is. I have to replace the back now and find a matching knob for one of the doors, if I can. I am considering keeping it for myself. It needs a lot of work, so I may hate it before I get done with it.

Ernesto’s eyes were full of sympathy. I’m sure that’s often the case when one has to put a lot of time into something. Do you think the repairs will take long? If you finish and decide to sell, please find me. I might be interested in that piece after all.

I’ll do just that, she agreed with a smile. If I don’t keep it, I’ll give you the first option for purchase. Deal?

Ernesto agreed with a nod and then beamed at her. Deal! The older man chuckled and looked at her sheepishly. I wish my son would meet a lovely girl like you.

Clarie couldn’t help but grin. Why is that?

He’s a good boy, but he spends entirely too much time at our shop and worries about every detail. Perhaps some day, I’ll have the pleasure of introducing you two.

Clarie could feel a blush crawl up her face. I’m sure that would be wonderful, if he’s as nice as you are. She reminded herself silently that she still missed Rand, though it was becoming harder to remember that. She had loved Rand a long time, but no one had piqued her interest recently more than Patrick.

Ernesto was funny and easy to talk to. His stories kept her laughing until her stomach hurt. He couldn’t know how unusual that was, of recent, laughing as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Ernesto was very much like her father and shared the same kind of honesty. She hoped some day to fall in love with a guy like that.

Long before she was ready to say good-bye, Ernesto rose to leave. I hope I see you soon, Clarie. You are a very nice girl. Like I said, I wish my son would meet someone like you who, of course, would care for him in return. But like you, he is entirely too busy to fall in love. I wish I could stay and visit longer, but my business won’t run itself. I must run my errands and get back to the shop.

Wait! Clarie called after him. How will I know how to find you when I’m done with the armoire?

From a distance, he waved and laughed. You’ll find me, Clarie Perl. Don’t worry about that! Then he was gone.

When Clarie returned home, she pushed the rug off to one side and continued sanding until she was satisfied with the texture of the armoire, front and back. She’d just started on the sides when she heard Sam’s footsteps stop near her. She groaned inwardly, having forgotten about lunch, and turned off the sander.

Turning apologetically, she looked up to unexpectedly see Bulldog Shue’s wide face. Her eyes darted to the door of the shop then quickly back to him. He was smiling, but with a self-satisfied air because he knew she hadn’t heard him or expected him.

Clarie pulled the paper mask away from her nose. Did my father let you in here, Bulldog? she asked abruptly.

His high-pitched giggle unnerved her. Nah, he guffawed, he ain’t even seen me.

Then what are you doing here? Clarie held the sander in front of her in an effort to keep a certain amount of space between her and Bulldog.

The question seemed to throw him off guard. He reached a meaty hand behind his head and scratched. His eyes searched for hers as if looking for the answer to a difficult question. I know that Rand Ayers dumped you. He’s a butt-head anyway. But seeins’ you are free for the pickin’, I figger to ask you on a date. Bulldog stood tall with his head held back, daring her to refuse him.

She sighed. This was definitely not good. Smiling, Clarie put on a cheery, yet sad, face and said, Oh, that’s really nice, Bulldog, but I’m not actually interested in going out with anyone just now. I know it’s silly to hope that Rand will change his mind, but there you are! I’m still hoping! Not exactly the truth, but not a lie either.

Bulldog stood mute, staring at her. He was a big, meaty guy with wide set hazel eyes and a heavy, square jaw. There was always a cloud of body odor that hung around him, and his hands looked as if he’d been rooting around in the dirt. A head taller and twice her weight, he was not someone to take lightly. Bulldog had a quick temper that gave him the reputation of being a bully. More often than not, he would ditch school, especially on Fridays, and was forever in danger of failing.

At last, he grinned, showing his yellow-stained teeth. Clarie could see the dark beginning of tooth decay near his gums. Well, first dibs, then!

Clarie tried to smile, but she was afraid it wasn’t an attractive look. Noncommittally, she answered, Thanks for stopping by, Bulldog.

Turning her back on him, she covered her face with the paper mask again and turned on the sander. She didn’t hear his receding footsteps as she worked. Fearing he continued to watch her, she kept running the sander up and down the armoire sides until a light touch on her arm made her flinch.

She whirled around, frowning, until she saw that Sam, not Bulldog, was trying to get her attention. Immediately, she turned off the sander and pulled the mask off her face. She looked at her father questioningly.

I brought you a sandwich. Sam nodded his head, indicating a plate sitting on a nearby worktable. As soon as you’re done, we can go to Howerton’s.

She had forgotten that Sam was going to make her a late lunch. She wasn’t hungry, having just enjoyed the latte. She took a bite of the sandwich anyway, though, just to make him happy.

Clarie looked around the room, then peered through the shop door. Did you see anyone before you came in here?

Sam shook his head. No. All was in the clear. Why? He handed Clarie the plate and a can of soda.

She bit into the sandwich and swallowed a bite before answering. Bulldog Shue was in here earlier.

As soon as she said the name, Sam became tense. What did he want?

Clarie shrugged. As far as I can tell, he wanted to ask me out on a date. Don’t worry, Dad, I told him no.

Sam stared thoughtfully for a moment. You actually told him no or you made up some excuse so you wouldn’t hurt his feelings? He knew his daughter too well to think she’d intentionally hurt someone.

She grinned. "Okay, I told him that I was still hoping Rand would come back. I hate just to tell him no. But he isn’t my type at all and he stinks. I can’t imagine why he would want to ask me out anyway. Surely he knows I’m not interested. Especially after the football incident."

Sam laughed with her, but that had not been a laughing matter at the time. Shortly after Clarie had started dating Rand, Bulldog had caught up with her after a football game. She was sitting in the stands, alone, waiting for Rand to get out of the showers. However, as the star player, he’d taken his time horsing around in the locker room with the other guys, celebrating their win. Bulldog, finally seeing Clarie alone and lonely, dragged her under the stands to steal kisses.

She’d given him a black eye. At the time, he hadn’t hit his growth and they had been on equal footing in size. Now, he towered over her and in the same situation, the result would’ve been much different.

Rand had finally stepped out of the locker room and called to her. While Bulldog was reeling from the punch Clarie had dealt him, she scrambled out from under the stands and ran over to Rand. She hadn’t said anything to him, but the incident had produced more than one night of sleeplessness and she had ended up confiding in Sam. After that, she’d finally been able to sleep, but Sam had never trusted Bulldog since.

A final bite of sandwich and drink of soda later, Clarie cleaned up her shop area and then folded up the little rug, stuffing it into a big shopping bag. Holding the bag in her lap, she could feel her stomach muscles tighten in anticipation of seeing Patrick.

Like a wiggling puppy, the weight in her shopping bag twisted and moved, as if trying to get more comfortable. Clarie stared out of the window, too deep in thought to notice.

THREE

IT WAS CALLED Dealer of Unique Antiquities. The interior was dark, but the door wasn’t locked. Sam opened the door, and Clarie stepped in ahead of him. Antique bell over the door announced their arrival.

The shadowy room smelled dusty. It had a long-ago feel, too, as if it should be colored in shades of sepia. The small windowpanes were frosty with dirt, and she couldn’t actually see outside. Dust motes danced in the diffused sunlight that filtered in through the filthy glass, giving the place an eerie quality. It was crammed full of an odd assortment of items and gadgets of indiscernible origin. There was one of everything and yet nothing in particular.

One item that caught her eye was a set of strange, metal shackles hanging from a nail sticking out of the wall. The odd look of these, with five circle clamps, made her wonder what they were meant for.

Ernesto Howerton, sitting at a desk at the back of the room, looked up from his newspaper and smiled in mock surprise. Hello, Clarie. It’s good to see you today. I didn’t quite expect you so soon.

Clarie looked up at him, startled when he called her by name. Sam was surprised, too, and he looked between them curiously. Hi, Ernesto! Clarie answered with a grin. What are you doing here?

Ernesto chuckled. Welcome to our shop, Clarie. Every time you dad has come in here, he’s mentioned you. I almost feel like I knew you before I saw you at the café. And I believe Patrick has mentioned your name a time or two. He winked at her, then shook Sam’s hand.

She laughed and shook her head. It was no wonder Ernesto had reminded her so much of Patrick––he was his father! It all made sense now, in retrospect. Ernesto had been at the auction with Patrick, had been interested in bidding on the armoire, like Patrick, and was owner of the antique shop––with Patrick!

Clarie looked around at the strange and wondrous devices laying haphazardly around the floor and leaning against the walls. None of it seemed to make any sense to her. As she looked around, though, she wondered if she’d see Patrick.

Well, do come in. There’s no need to just stand there by the door. It isn’t just anyone who can come into our shop. Ernesto set the newspaper aside and got up from his desk. Motioning them forward with a wave of his hand, he said, Now, I won’t believe for a minute that you just happened to be in the neighborhood. Tell me what brought you here.

She looked at her dad for help, but he had drifted to another part of the shop and was examining a small object made of iron and wood. Well, I just wanted to see your shop. Dad and Patrick both told me about it… of course, I didn’t realize at the time that you were the owner they were talking about. Since I help my dad refinish antique furniture and sell it, it seems like we have something in common, sort of. Clarie smiled at him.

Ernesto patted her hand and leaned in to talk seriously. Clarie, I don’t mean to startle you with what I’m about to say, but I’d like you to tell me what you found in the back of that armoire.

His comment did surprise her––how could he know she found anything? Her first reaction was to deny it, but it would have been such a big lie. Obviously he’d known there was something hidden in the armoire all along. Instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own. How did you know I found something?

Ernesto sighed deeply and sat back down. "Because Patrick and I were looking for it. We weren’t sure exactly what might be there, but we had it on very good authority that something of Importance was there. We had been on the lookout for a piece of antique furniture that could