Beyond the Darkness

By Dorita Williams

Finally, I am writing the story I have wanted to write my whole life. I guess it could be said that I was always destined to tell this tale. Mostly I believe that this story is one of courage, And of course, the things that build that courage: love, hope and faith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jul 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456873455

Book preview

Beyond the Darkness

Dorita Williams

Copyright © 2011 by Dorita Williams.

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4568-7344-8

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4568-7345-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United Kingdom.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

0-800-644-6988

www.XlibrisPublishing.co.uk

[e-mail]

301611

Contents

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

CONTENTS

PART 1

Chapter 1 9

Chapter 2 19

Chapter 3 27

Chapter 4 35

Chapter 5 43

Chapter 6 44

Chapter 7 56

Chapter 8 61

Chapter 9 63

Chapter 10 68

Chapter 11 74

Chapter 12 83

Part 1

Chapter 1

16 February 2006

Finally, I am writing the story I have wanted to write my whole life. I guess it could be said that I was always destined to tell this tale. Mostly I believe that this story is one of courage. And, of course, the things that build that courage: love, hope and faith.

Thinking back to the beginning of all this it is hard to pinpoint the exact time and place when I realized that I was lost. I desperately needed to be found, but back then I would never have admitted this to a single living soul. Rebellion was my master and anger was my weapon of choice. I had hoarded all the misfortune in my life and had created a collage of blinding rage.

It is funny the things you remember when you start to look back on your life. At first it’s the deeply fundamental building blocks that formed who you are. It is only after you’ve moved passed all that, that you can start unlocking the little, seemingly insignificant memories; happy moments that once were lost.

8 July 1991

My memories of that time in my life are hazy, but one picture has always stayed with me all these years: Two little dark-haired girls standing in the rain. Their black dresses look similar as they hold hands and stare dull-eyed at the coffin before them. The lid of the casket is open and inside lays a woman in her mid thirties. You can see that she must have been beautiful once, but now there is little sign of it left on her worn face. Her dark hair that had once been so shiny is now dull and lifeless. She looks like a shadow of her former self. The sparkling personality that she once possessed is now gone.

Tears are running down the faces of the little girls. Although they don’t yet understand the full repercussions this day will have on their lives, they both understand that their lives have just been changed forever.

Another memory plagues my mind from time to time, but I’m still hoping that it is only my imagination playing tricks again. I can see the two of us, my sister and me, sitting at the top of the stairs. Hiding behind the wall and listening with frantically darting eyes as we hear our parents fighting. We can hear their muffled voices; a shout every now and then; my mother’s voice shushing my dad when he starts getting to loud. Then there is a crash, glass breaking, loud swearing, and running footsteps on the wooden floor. My dad’s muffled voice as he talks on the telephone, the continuous muttering and footsteps as he waits. Later we hear sirens, lots of voices, lots of people in uniforms. Confusion. I do hope it was just a dream.

They ruled my mother’s death was accidental. Apparently she had slipped and fallen through one of the glass doors in the den. My father witnessed the whole thing. Nothing was ever questioned. It all must have been only a dream.

My sister and I never spoke of what we saw that night. I think in our own way we were trying to pretend that it had never really happened that way at all. We chose to believe my father’s version of the story. I think it was our way of trying to cope with the knowledge that our father had killed our mother. No child should have to live with a secret of that magnitude. We thought that was the worst thing that could happen. We were wrong.

7 January 2004

Alone and sick, Kathryn Sinclair, known to her friends as Cat, laid on the sofa wondering whether it was worth it to get up to go and get a mug of tea. Her face was drawn and pale as her listless eyes stared up at the ceiling. She had started with chemo a week before, but was wishing that she hadn’t bothered. It wouldn’t help much anyway.

Suddenly there was a knock at her door and Cat closed her eyes, hoping that whoever had come to intrude upon her solitude would think that she wasn’t home and leave. Just when she thought that her brilliant plan had been a success the second knock sounded. Reluctantly she got up and made her way to her front door to see who this insistent intruder was. As she opened it she had to lean heavily against the door to stay upright. Peaking around, she saw Margaret Thomson, the mother of her best friend, Derrick.

Derrick had been her best friend since the first day of primary school, when she sat on the bus with a split lip and a shiner decorating her left cheekbone; a frightened and lost little girl of seven, staring dazedly out the window with a sad look on her delicate face. Out of nowhere a boy suddenly appeared next to her and he was even rude enough to sit down without asking if he could. She can remember now how she had looked up at him with fire in her eyes. Instead of putting him off and making him cower in shame for intruding, it actually had the opposite effect. He gave her a big smile, showing off the gap where his front two teeth should have been. He was looking over at her happily and stated that his name was Derrick Thomson and asked whether she wanted to be friends with him. So, taken aback by this show of kindness from such an unlikely source, all she could do was nod in the affirmative. Everything had started right there. The influence he would have on her life was decided at that very moment she nodded her head.

‘How are you dear?’ Maggie questioned with a worried frown between her eyes. Cat loosened her death grip on the door to give her a hug. ‘Hey, Maggie. So good to see you.’ And she meant every word. This woman had been like a mother to her all her life.

Cat crawled very deeply into Margaret’s heart the very first time Derrick brought her home. At the time Kathryn had a broken rib, a split lip and her right eye was swollen shut. Margaret took one look at the poor girl and immediately took her into her arms. From then on she’d make it a priority to hug Kathryn whenever she’d come to visit. She had also started talking to the girl and really listening to what she had to say.

Donald, Derrick’s father, is a big man with a loud booming voice and had scared Cat in the beginning. She could not understand why a man as powerful as Donald would not like to show his strength by beating her. At first Kathryn would walk circles around Donald to avoid him. It took some weeks for him to show Kathryn that he wasn’t like