Dark Light

By Richard Pieters

Actor Carter Collins returns to quiet Avebury, Ohio to find his father's stroke may not have been a stroke at all. A new evangelist is spreading a dark kind of salvation and silencing those who oppose him. The town holds an ancient secret, a power that nefarious forces not of this world want to control. Now Carter must find his place as leader of the resistance to this invasion. The cost may be steep and demand great sacrifice, but failure could plunge the whole earth into darkness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WillowStream Press
• Release date: Dec 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9780692585559

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

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Carter Collins turned west off the interstate onto the old road into town. Fuck Thomas Wolfe. A late afternoon sun glared below dark, ominous clouds, and he squinted against it. He drove past chain hotels and strip malls lining the road where cornfields used to stretch. A faded for-sale sign hung askew on what remained of the old drive-in's giant screen. The Avebury of his youth felt distant and dead as the decayed theater. Ahead, in some kind of nightmare, the family was reaching out, pulling him back into what he'd avoided his whole adult life. Ohio. The family business. Maybe you can't go home again; sometimes you have no choice.

Fate had played a strong hand. Only last week he was in LA wanting so badly to get the hell out when his real estate agent called to say his house had finally sold. Offer, counter-offer, deal. Not ten minutes later his sister phoned, but this time not to tease over some shirtless ad he'd done, or for gossip served with a side-dish of guilt. Her voice had a panicked edge.

Carter?

Susan, what's wrong?

It's Daddy. They say he had a stroke.

Carter went silent. His dad, Big Jim Collins, indestructible media king, a stroke? He wanted to reach out, run home, run away, to puke. He wanted to hang up.

Carter? Come home. Please? He's alive but it's bad. She paused. Carter, I need you.

Susan would never say she needed him. There had to be more.

How's Mother? She all right?

Physically, but ... oh, Carter, please come back. I can't handle all this alone. She took over for Daddy at the station, but she's not herself. You remember that creepy evangelist preacher I told you about? It's like he's got her under some kind of spell. And not just her.

He laughed. Some kind of spell.

No, Carter. It isn't funny. Please? Something really weird is going on here.

Carter told her okay, his house had just sold. He could fly to Ohio, and then return to LA to pack. Susan said no, the timing was fate. He had to come home to stay, at least for a while. Do whatever he needed to do now. A few days wouldn't make any difference. Just pack up and come.

Carter and Robert hadn't decided yet where they'd go when the house did sell. Maybe Santa Fe, maybe Ohio. This preempted Santa Fe, Robert's home town, and based on a few visits, Robert wasn't all that sure about Ohio. But neither was Carter.

For fifteen years he'd fought getting stuck in the Midwest, heir to his family's small-town media empire. He'd gone as far west as he could to attend USC and built a life the complete opposite of what his father wanted. He'd gotten a personal trainer, an older student, Robert Perez, gotten in shape, and in the process, developed a long-term, loving partnership. But with every trip home came the guilt. Move back, they'd harp, give up acting and modeling, take his place in the business. The trips home grew farther apart. Now this. Fate trumps desire. Loyalty trumps self-interest. But he did remember the changing seasons, the slower pace and gentle countryside. Or was that fairy-dusted nostalgia? Anyway, he wouldn't have to stay, once he got things handled.

Movers packed up the LA house the next day. Then he and Robert caravanned as far as Albuquerque, where Robert turned off to see his grandmother and old friends in Santa Fe. Somewhere in Oklahoma, where the landscape became green and the humidity rose, Susan called with an address. She'd signed a lease and put up the money for a house their old friend, Renee, a real estate agent, had grabbed in the family's old neighborhood. The Davies house with the amazing Tiffany window—old Mrs. Davies's special treasure, which she pointed out for Carter's admiration every time he came collecting as her paperboy.

Driving down South Grand, Carter knew exactly where to go. Instead of Susan, it was Renee, with her jet-black hair and Elizabeth Taylor eyes, as pretty, curvy, and clingy as ever, who waited with the keys to the house and an apology from Susan.

While the van unloaded, Carter phoned Susan, Mother, and got rid of Renee. Mother was oddly formal, cordial but distant, and unconvincing about being glad he'd come home. Susan sounded relieved and said she'd be over first thing in the morning. Again, the urgency in her voice registered more than stress. First Mother, then Susan. A chill ran up Carter's back. Something was not right. Not right at all.

He managed to unpack a few things, kitchen and bathroom basics and the framed family photos, but the humidity sapped what energy was left. Too tired to do more, he took a picture of the four of them upstairs and set it on the mantel of the bedroom fireplace. Susan was such a little girl, leaning against him barely chest high, and he'd been such a porker. His father stood tall, commanding, robust, and his mother, a stylish lioness of a woman. The younger, happy family smiled from the frame, and despite nagging reluctance, anxiety, and the dread of tomorrow, Carter found himself smiling, happy to be home.

#

Waking early, Carter splashed water on his face, pulled on trainers and running shorts, and, with at least an hour until Susan was due, headed out for a run.

Monday morning in lovely, muggy Avebury. Splashing puddles from the night's rain, he ran up the long blocks of South Grand Street. Cicadas droned in wet trees, stifling air lay thick and heavy, and sweat ran down his face and plastered the hair to his chest and stomach. No wonder he'd left Ohio. And probably because of what Susan had said, something felt eerie, like some old black and white movie shot with heavy, moody shadows. He hoped this would be a short-term mission. Susan had a full plate running the paper—sneaky Susan, signing a lease to keep him here—and with Dad knocked out of the game, the least he could do was to step in at the TV station and take over for Mother. But not forever. Leases can be broken.

Carter ran past the old family house, the stone mansion Cyrus Collins built a century and a half ago, where eight generations of Collinses had lived until his parents downsized to a more modest manse in the east end of town. Avebury's one-time social hub, moldering behind walls of stone and rusted iron, drapes drawn, gardens unkempt and overgrown. Distant memories slowed Carter's pace—running the hallways with Susan, sliding down the long, curved banister. Now it belonged in the black and white horror movie.

At least the rest of the old neighborhood, restored and gentrified, had thrived. Carter ran past well-remembered yards and homes, then cut down a side street toward the river to head back. From atop the wet, grassy crest of the levee, the river's broad floodplain still looked like the magical place of his childhood, a contained wildness of birds and trees, chest-high grasses and wildflowers. The close air and smell of summer dampness felt like home.

Back on South Grand, he passed another runner who nodded a greeting, although Carter caught a question in the man's eyes. A woman in a pink chenille bathrobe, sleep-mussed hair dyed too red, came down the front walk to pick up the paper. As Carter approached, she pulled the robe's lapels together and gripped the paper.

Carter saw apparent shock as the woman scanned his shirtless torso and wet, skin-hugging shorts. The cigarette dangled as her mouth went slack. Cold judgment narrowed her eyes, reprimanding. For what?

Morning, Carter said, but his famously dimpled, disarming, and supposedly irresistible smile had no effect. The woman's thin lips pursed as though he'd invaded her private space by speaking.

Odd, to feel new and out of place in the old neighborhood. Maybe she'd recognized him from the embarrassing cologne commercial, Carter in the surf wearing only a strategic bit of kelp. He cringed. The publicity. The chill from her stare echoed what Susan had said. Something weird hung in the air, for sure.

At last, the huge maple on his front lawn and the house's shady porch came into view, inviting and cool, and Susan, already waiting on the porch swing, more blonde, now, and paler. From the yard, Carter could see distress on her pretty, porcelain face.

Hey, Sis. He bounded up the steps. You're early.

Susan jumped up to hug him but stopped short.

James Carter Collins, if you aren't a sight.

Susan put a finger and thumb on each of his shoulders, as though holding wet laundry, and leaned forward to kiss a stubbled cheek. The princess wasn't about to let him touch her crisp linen skirt and blouse or smear her subtle makeup.

Look at you. She stepped back and gave a head-to-toe scan. You look great. Being out there with no responsibility agreed with you. Everybody talked about you in that commercial. 'Ebony haired Adonis. Eyes to match the bluest lagoon.' Ha.

Oh, please. He played off the taunt but hadn't missed the dig. No responsibility.

I'm sorry I couldn't get away to meet you here yesterday. Meetings all day, and Daddy and all. Renee was happy to, though. Don't you love we snagged this house for you? Did the move go okay? How's Robert? How was the drive? You must be so tired. Oh, I can't believe you're really here. You'll come for dinner tonight?

Whoa, Sis. Slow down. How're Dad and Mother?

The same.

Carter propped a leg on the porch railing and stretched. He'd have to ease into things with Susan. Well, you and Renee did great. I love this place. Not sure I would've gone for a six-month lease, you sneak, but, wow. Cool old Mrs. Davies's house with that gorgeous window. He stretched the other leg and undid the shoelace to retrieve the house key. I think I jump-started flame-head down the street over there. You'd think I was out running naked, the way she stared.

Well, you practically are, you showoff. I saw her when I drove by. Susan picked up her purse. That's Lucy McCord, wife of Frank McCord, Daddy's general sales manager at the station, killed a couple months ago by a drunk driver. Fishy story though. Sent her into a serious dive.

Carter opened his front door and followed Susan inside. Boxes and wrapped furniture filled the foyer, living and dining rooms. So, everything's here, the drive was okay, and Robert's fine, I hope. He took a Santa Fe detour to see his family for a few days. And yeah, he's a ruthless trainer, thanks for noticing. He stopped and flexed a muscular arm in her face. You like?

She jabbed his shoulder. You're a sick man.

Dinner sounds great. Charlie, too? You're still with him?

He knew she was. Popular ex-jock Charlie Graves, struggling architect, empty ball cap, a mistake Susan wouldn't admit or let go.

Yes I am, and don't you start about him.

Well, Christ, Susan.

You know, he's just as fixated about you as you are about him, so don't put me in the middle. I hate that.

Okay. Sorry.

Carter led through the maze of stacked boxes to the kitchen, filled a glass from the tap, and gulped it down. God, this humidity. He unrolled a handful of paper towels and mopped his sweaty face and torso.

It has been miserable. You'll feel better after a shower.

Okay, Susan. Spill.

What do you mean?

Whatever has you so freaked. He opened the nearly empty refrigerator and took out an apple. Want half?

No thanks. Maybe I'm just a high-strung filly, like Daddy always says. A smile flickered and disappeared.

Right. Carter took a bite of the apple. She looked taut and fragile, and even at five-eight she looked small. His sister, the dynamo head of the newspaper at thirty, always ready to take on the world... afraid. He put a hand on her shoulder. So, how are they, really?

You have to see for yourself.

Okay. Instant coffee's by the kettle if you want. I'll be right down.

Jamie?

Yeah? Carter stopped. It was always either affectionate or serious when family called him Jamie.

I'm really glad you're here to go see Daddy with me. It's so hard. So weird.

Yeah, I got that.

I mean something really strange. Both Daddy and Mother. And that convalescent home Dr. Stanton stuck Daddy in. Forest Grove. Should be Forest Grave. It's that preacher, I just know it. He's infecting the whole town.

Susan paused and Carter saw her drift to someplace deep and unsettled. A shiver of fear reminded him of the woman on the street, the cold stare, the chill.

Anyway. Susan snapped back. You'll see. Go on, now. Clean up.

On the stairs, leaf-filtered morning light fluttered through the huge, arched Tiffany window, bathing the landing in soft, jewel-like colors. He stopped, drawn by the sinuous Art Nouveau curves of a weeping willow beside a stream, swirls of milk and sapphire winding through meadow greens lit by a golden pink sky. A mystically serene oasis in this strange movie he'd stepped into. He understood why sweet, salty old Mrs. Davies had loved the window so.

CHAPTER TWO

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Alone in the darkened upstairs study, Reverend Lowell Hawkin drew on the euphoric power of the small metallic cube glowing in a meaty hand. He drew a slow breath and focused on morning devotion.

Fill me with the strength to do your work.

But his mind began to list, sort and prioritize.

Get to Martha Collins about more air time. Push the builder to finish the tabernacle. And that McCord woman. Lucy McCord popped into his head like an alarm. Disturbed. Dangerous. Get her handled.

Another deep breath drew in the smell of bacon.

Lowell. Breakfast, Betty called up.

Hopeless.

Be with us, he said aloud. Make us strong. He dropped the cube into a pocket, pushed his bulk out of the chair, and went down to the kitchen.

Morning. Lowell kissed his little wife on the cheek and took the coffee from her hand. Smells pretty near good enough to eat.

I made fresh biscuits, but I didn't realize you'd finished up the applesauce.

None put back? A meal without sauce?

Only some store-bought.

Well, I guess that'll have to do, won't it?

I'll have some cooked up by lunch, if you're coming home. Betty set a full plate of fried eggs and bacon in front of him.

Not sure. Have to go over to the TV station. Could be a while.

I was going to make a stew. Betty plucked hot biscuits off the baking sheet and dropped them into a bowl. Don't know if I'll have time, now, with going to the store, doing up the apples and all.

Then do it after lunch and just fry up some pork chops. Name of the Lord, Elizabeth, things are complicated enough without you making them more so.

Jaw clenched, Betty pushed up her wire-rim glasses, smoothed loose, gray curls, and banged the bowl onto the table. Sorry.

Lowell took a biscuit and slathered it with butter.

It's a wonder blood gets through your arteries at all, Lowell.

Don't worry, my dear. He sopped up orange yolk with a biscuit. The Lord takes care of his own.

Well, I do worry, Lowell. The Lord helps those that help themselves.

Lowell swallowed the sodden biscuit. Are you doubting me, Elizabeth? Are you contradicting what the Lord tells me? Don't you do that. He stood, picked up his jacket, and fixed Betty with a warning stare. Don't you ever do that.

#

Carter's black BMW cruised out South Grand past the edge of town, past the old budget motels, decrepit and weedy.

Hardly anyone comes out this way now, with the highway and all, Susan said. I don't know how these guys stay in business, except for the tabernacle people on Saturday nights.

Tabernacle people?

The New Tabernacle of the Righteous Way, Susan said with mock gravity. Avebury's new claim to fame. The Lord's come to town, darlin', and he's going to get you. She jabbed his arm.

They passed the Dayz N Nites Motel, a seedy, L-shaped row of rooms opening onto a parking lot, an office at the end. A scrawny, heavily tattooed young guy stopped skimming the pool and leaned against the chain-link fence to watch them pass. Above his head a sign read Free HBO, Pool, Vacancy, Serve the Lord.

Cousin of Charlie's? Carter said.

Carter, stop it. You see that sign? See what I mean?

'Serve the Lord'? Yeah. Got to serve someone, huh?

Susan laughed, but her face clouded. You might want to hold off on those jokes.

Not far past the Dayz N Nites, they came to expansive, manicured grounds surrounded by arrow-tipped wrought iron fencing. Inside sprawled a featureless yellow brick building, blank walls broken by regimented rows of small windows.

Here we are, Susan said, and over there is the tabernacle.

Down the road, a large tent sat in a cleared field. Near it, a huge cinderblock building, stepped like a Babylonian ziggurat, swarmed with men pounding and clanking.

Carter turned in onto the long driveway between high iron gates announcing Forest Grove Convalescent Facility. Wow. This is cheery. Looks like a prison.

I know. Mother hated to bring Daddy here. Susan fussed with damp strands of hair. At first, anyway. It gives me the creeps. I wish we could get him out of here.

Carter parked near the entrance.

What do you mean, at first?

Susan got out and straightened her clothes.

I'd like to think she's just not adjusting to Daddy being like he is. She's here all the time. And that tabernacle Reverend. There's her car. You'll see. She's really acting strange.

And you wouldn't, if it was Charlie? Of course, that might be a good thing.

Susan pinched his arm. Stop that.

Ouch. No, you stop it. He pinched her back. Keep pinching and poking me and I'm going to have to wear long sleeves or confess my sister's a brother-beater.

No, come on, Carter. I'm serious. She paused at the glass entry and took a deep breath. Okay, let's go.

A reception desk dominated the lobby and a large woman with short, steely hair dominated the desk. When she saw Susan, her sour, doughy face softened into a smile.

Good morning, Susan. How are we this morning? Your mother's already here, honey. She glanced at Carter.

Susan pulled Carter forward. I'm fine, thanks. Helen, this is my brother, Carter. Carter, this is Helen Dillard. Pretty much head honcho around here.

Carter nodded. Nice to meet you.

Well, it's nice to meet you, too. Your sister said you were coming. We all saw you in that commercial. She gave him the once-over. You just go on back.

Thanks, Helen. Susan put her arm in Carter's, turning him from Helen's stare to the doors to a hallway.

Helen dropped her smile, punched a button and said into her headset, She's on the way, and her brother's with her.

#

Lucy McCord slapped the rolled newspaper onto the breakfast table and grabbed the coffee pot to pour a cup. That audacious, half-naked runner. Put in a lifetime and these young people come, change everything. The green, yellow-headed parrot chattered atop its cage. A raucous screech made Lucy jerk the carafe and pour scalding coffee on her hand.

Shit. She dropped the cup.

The parrot squawked.

The cup hit the table, coffee soaking the newspaper. The bird's volume escalated.

Shut up, Lucy snapped.

Pilot answered with a shriek.

Lucy's hand throbbed and her rage grew. Coffee dripped to the floor.

Shut up!

The parrot did not shut up. Lucy swung the roll of soaked newspaper and knocked the bird from the top of the cage to the wall with murderous, neck-breaking force.

As quickly as the rage possessed her, it subsided. The bird lay dead on the floor. What had she done? Pilot had been Frank's idea. Their son, Steve, was so busy with high school friends and sports, Frank said the bird would be a companion, a reminder of his love when he was on the road. Probably screwing. Not a month later Frank was dead. Lucy bent to touch the soft nape feathers where the bird had loved being scratched.

No cereal, Mom. Just a couple protein bars, Steve called from upstairs.

Steve's voice snapped her back from sentimental reverie to the reality, the dead bird at her feet. Steve would be down any minute and always, first thing, Steve let Pilot hop onto his shoulder and ride while he grabbed breakfast. He'd almost taught Pilot to say good morning, repeating the words until Lucy wanted to slap them both.

She pushed open the breakfast room window, rolled the limp bird inside the wet newspaper, and hurried to the outside trash can as Steve's feet hit the top of the stairs. Laying the bundle gently under some papers, she quietly closed the door.

Steve! She yelled. Steven! She ran to the open window and called, Pilot!

Steve rushed into the kitchen, saw the empty cage, and realized the bird was gone.

Mom. What happened? How did he get out? I told you he needed to be clipped. You knew he was flying in the house again.

I didn't think, Lucy said.

But why'd you open the window? The air conditioning's on.

I just thought some fresh air, after the rain—

"You just thought? You mean you just didn't think."

Excuse me?

I said—

I heard what you said, young man. I'll thank you not to stand there and accuse me. It could have happened to you, always leaving the door open.

Steve wheeled around, defiant.

But it didn't, did it?

Don't you dare talk back to me, young man.

Lucy raised a hand to slap his face. Her boy's stormy gray-blue eyes mirrored her fury. Before she could strike, Steve grabbed her wrist.

You lost Pilot. His words came like a slow volley of poisoned arrows. He was the last thing Dad gave us.

And I'm sorry.

Steve let her wrist go, grabbed the back pack from the hook by the door, and turned his back.

Yeah, right.

Steve stormed out.

Steve, Lucy called.

Go to hell, he muttered.

#

Oh, Miss Collins. A young woman at the nurses' station looked up from the computer. We're finishing up with your father. Go on in. Your mother's already here.

Susan tugged Carter to a nearby door. Here's Daddy's room. Ready?

Yeah, I think so. He pushed the door open for her.

Inside the spacious private room an older nurse, bone thin with gray hair pinned up, was making the bed while a young blond man in scrubs gathered used linens. Across the room, Jim Collins sat on a dark green vinyl sofa, Martha next to him, holding his hand, both still and expressionless. Big Jim, at six three a full inch taller than Carter, looked almost slight, full head of silver hair combed but lifeless. Carter's mother, slender and elegant in navy suit and pearls, was an older version of Susan. Always energetic, strong, and magnetic, Carter saw her now as never before, subdued, eyes downcast.

Mother, look who I dragged along, Susan said too brightly.

Carter. Martha stood, embraced Carter, and offered a cheek for his kiss. Jim. Look, darling. It's Carter. She led Carter to the sofa. I told him you'd be here today, and I could see he was excited. Her entire demeanor, despite the smile, played distant and detached.

Hi, Dad. Carter sat and put an arm around his father's hunched shoulders.

His father's head turned slowly to search Carter's face, to reach out the only way he could, and then, as though even this small act were dangerous, he turned away.

Carter didn't know what to say. An unspeakable recognition hung in the silence, the horror of coming face to face with his father's incapacity. Susan's eyes studied Carter's.

Martha broke the quiet, voice falsely bright.

Carter, we can't believe you've decided to come home, can we Jim? All of us together. Doesn't your father look fit?

He sure does. Carter patted his father's knee. Like you should be up bossing people around again in no time.

And meanwhile, Susan said, Mom gets to boss him around for a change. Right, Mom?

Yes, and it's time to get him back into bed. Carter, could you help? Your father gets chilly, and Lowell should be here for his morning visit any time.

Lowell? Carter said.

Reverend Hawkin. Susan gave Carter the stare. The preacher.

The young attendant moved into position beside the patient, reached under an arm, and nodded to Carter to do the same. When Carter took the other arm, his father looked at him, imploring. But what?

The two guided him to the bed, the young man making sure the effort was coordinated. Carter noticed his father moved as though his strength were intact, coordination fine. Only the will or decision to move needed prompting. The attendant seemed to understand and offer just enough help. The two leaned the patient against raised pillows, and Carter pulled up the sheet and thin cotton blanket.

Thanks, Carter said.

No problem. The guy wheeled the bedside table over. My pleasure helping your dad.

The older nurse returned with a breakfast tray and placed it in front of the patient.

There you are, she said. Now we'll leave you folks alone to visit. Dennis, can you get those linens please?

The young man picked up the pile of sheets. Grappling with the door, arms full, he smiled at Carter. Great to see you.

Wait, Susan said. I didn't even introduce you. Carter, this is Dennis Russell, Renee's little brother. He was a kid when you left.

Oh my God, Carter said. Really? You used to make me give you piggy back rides.

Yeah. Dennis blushed and stuck his hand out from the armload of linens. I remember.

Well, it's great to meet you. Again. Carter shook Dennis's hand, made the linens tumble, caught and tossed them back into Dennis's arms.

Thanks. Dennis backed out the door.

I didn't even recognize him, Carter said when the door closed. God, he was annoying.

Renee says he idolized you, Susan teased.

Carter's mother had gone to the bedside to feed his father.

Mother, can I help?

Oh, thank you, Carter, but we do this every day.

He isn't really paralyzed, is he? He could move and walk when we helped him.

True, she said. It's some kind of disconnect. See? She put the spoon to her husband's mouth. His eyes were fixed on Carter. He doesn't get the food to his mouth, but if you put it there for him, he can eat perfectly well. Can't you, dear? That's very encouraging.

Carter heard a falseness in his mother's explanation. The calm demeanor, the patience, the quiet optimism were all hers, but there was something else, and not her familiar vagueness for covering up or avoidance. It was different, odd. She spoke as though she were voicing someone else's thoughts.

Susan came to the bed. It's wonderful. She rubbed her father's leg. He'll be back on his feet in no time. Isn't that right, Daddy?

She glanced at Carter with raised eyebrows that asked you see?