What Lurks Behind Real

By LD Marr

Dark supernatural horror with a happy ending. Teens in New York are disappearing, so a recovered drug addict returns to her dark past to find out why. Her hunt leads into an even darker place. And she doesn't know if strange psychic experiences are real or all in her mind.
My hangout was Club Cain in New York. An underage dance club where runaways met people who gave them drugs, food, and shelter in exchange for sex. Now I'm a counselor in a clinic for recovering teen addicts. But my new life is about to change. Young people from the clinic are disappearing.
Strange visions point me to the kidnapper and the disturbing truth about what's really happening. So I have to go back to Club Cain and into the past I want to forget.
Time flows in a different way now too. I'm having weird mental experiences, but I don't tell anyone. It's hard enough to convince people I'm not crazy. I can't let anyone stop me from looking for the missing teenagers, but a hot but wrong guy keeps distracting me.

** This book was previously titled "Tenderloin" and also "Club Cain."

Excerpt from Stalked in the City:
The queasily dangerous sense of the man I stalked grew stronger when I walked into the Tenderloin Club. I knew he was at the bar. He was waiting for me, but there was uncertainty in his mind. I'd angered him or turned him off with my persistence. I knew I'd have to play this pickup carefully, but I didn't have a clue how to do that.
Luckily, I didn't have to know. As I began dancing randomly among the crowd of other paired and solo dancers, the driving force in my mind pushed me back into that fuzzy watching place and took over. I was there, but I was just going along for the ride.
Other dancers tried to connect with me, but I moved closer and closer to the bar where the big man sat. Again, he faced away from the bar, toward the dance floor. This time, my former client Stella sat on the stool next to Claude. But most of her was leaning onto him.
There's no way she's going to leave here with him tonight. I told myself. Even if have to inject her in this bar—or him.
Claude sat accepting Stella's attention but not returning it. He sipped his drink and stared with dark hooded eyes at the crowd. Watching for me, I knew. But not willing to show any sign of it.
Farther down, Steve sat at the bar too. He faced the dancers but showed more interest. Smiling. One leg bent with the foot resting on a rung of the bar stool. The other straight out with the foot flat on the floor.
I made my sinuous way over to Steve and got up close. I was careful not to look at Claude, but I sensed his attention turn like a spotlight in my direction.
"Myrna!" said Steve. "You're still around!"
He threw his arms around me in a tight hug, and I hugged him back. Because he was sitting, and I was standing, it was an amorous kind of hug with his face pressed into my breasts.
I felt the change in Claude's energy from several seats away. Anger and desire mixed.
It wasn't normal physical desire, I realized. The feeling was predatory. Feral and hungry. As if I were prey to be devoured.
I would have been terrified if the mental change in me wasn't numbing me, calming me unnaturally as it took over my thoughts and actions.
But I was still there. I pulled back from Steve and sat on the stool next to him without his invitation. Then I leaned over close and spoke into his ear.

More books by LD Marr:
Have Teeth, Will Bite - a cozy vampire mystery
In the 1880s, attracting the wrong type can be undeadly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LD Marr
• Release date: Jan 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393148913

Book preview

What Lurks Behind Real

By LD Marr

Copyright © 2019 LD Marr

Published by LD Marr

All Rights Reserved

Includes short excerpts:

Have Teeth, Will Bite, a cozy vampire mystery, prologue

Alien Pets (Xeno Relations part 1), chapter 1

By Trisha McNary (a pen name of LD Marr)

Cover by Trisha McNary

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Have Teeth, Will Bite

Prologue

Alien Pets

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

In the near future ...

Great news, Chloe, your tests today show no new alcohol or drug use, I said to the teenage girl sitting a few feet away from me in my miniscule counselor’s office. That’s fantastic. I’m so proud of you!

In fact, I was ecstatic. I was a new counselor at the voluntary clinic for at-risk teens, and Chloe was my first client to stop using.

Thanks, Chloe answered.

She was thin like everyone else, from the food shortages as well as her past drug use. But the slight smile of her dark-lipsticked mouth made dimples on cheeks still chubby with baby fat.

So I think you’ve gone more than a week without using. How’s that going? Anything you want to talk about? I asked.

Well, you know, Chloe said.

I sat in silence and waited to see if she’d say more. I knew better than to push too hard. No one knew that better than me, and I tried to curb my enthusiasm. Chloe plucked with a black-painted fingernail at a loose thread hanging from one of many holes in her frayed jeans.

I know it’s hard to stop, I said, after it was clear that she wasn’t going to talk first. And hard not to go back too. So if there’s anything that’s putting pressure on you to keep using, maybe I can give you some ways to cope. But if you don’t want to tell me, that’s OK. I don’t want to pry into your personal life, I just want to help you. You know that, right?

I knew there was always more than just drugs going on. And the other stuff was usually more embarrassing than the drugs. Prostitution, shoplifting, and other crimes they didn’t want to tell me about. And why should they trust me?

I believe you want to help me, said Chloe.

Then more silence. We stared at each other. Two teenage girls who didn’t look that much different on the outside. But I was eighteen, and my dark past was behind me. Chloe had only taken the first small step toward recovery. Still at risk.

I think the hardest part is when all your friends are still using, I filled in the blank for her. If you’re hanging around with the same people and going to the same places, you keep getting that pressure. Right?

Yeah, that’s right, said Chloe. I still go to the after-hours club. All my friends are there, and the music’s cool, and I like to dance. Club Cain. You know that place?

Yeah, I know it, I said. I used to hang out there too.

Chloe’s eyes widened.

Cool! she said.

She looked at me with new respect. I decided it was time to let Chloe in on some secrets of my own past.

But I stopped going there when I stopped using, I said.

She didn’t say anything, and I kept talking.

Yeah, I went there all the time. I loved that place too. But I kept caving in to the pressure. ‘Come one, it’s just one line,’ my friends would say. And then I’d feel awful the next day. So that’s why I’m worried about you going there. Maybe you could find some other things to do, other places to go.

Chloe sat back and crossed her arms. Crossed her legs.

There’s nowhere else I can go, she said. That’s the only club that doesn’t card for underage. But I know that’s not what you mean. You want me to stop going to clubs, look for a job, go to school. You know a crappy place in Jersey or Brooklyn you can send me to live with some weirdos, right?

I laughed. This girl was no dummy. That’s why she’d figured out that the drug lifestyle was bad. I’d spent hours talking to her, and I knew she had a sharp mind. That was the level I had to reach her on now.

I’m not telling you to stop going to the club, I told her. I’m just saying that it will make it harder for you to get clean and stay that way. The options I have sound boring, but I think if you give them a chance, you’ll be glad you did.

Chloe lifted both hands above her head and started finger-teasing her long platinum-bleached hair while I was talked. I’d noticed her doing that in some of our other sessions.

Does it mean she’s bored, or I’m not getting through to her? I wondered.

The answer to that came into my mind. She teases her hair when she disagrees with something, and she’s not going to do it.

Somehow I knew that was true, but I didn’t question where that answer came from. Sometimes my mind worked like that. I’d ask a question, and there would be an answer. Or I wouldn’t ask a question, but I’d suddenly have information I needed. Or I’d be told to do something that turned out to keep me from getting hurt.

I had some other weird mental episodes too. Times when reality seemed to change to something less real. But I never told anyone about these things anymore. When I had in the past, my school and family hadn’t reacted well. Then I had to run away, and I’d ended up homeless and using drugs. So now I kept quiet, but I still paid attention to those thoughts.

Now I turned my attention back to Chloe.

OK, I said to her. You have to decide what you want to do, and I can’t make you do anything. You’re here voluntarily, right?

Chloe stopped working on her hairstyle and crossed her arms again.

That’s right, said Chloe. Anyway, I can still go to the club and hang out with my friends and dance and not drink or take anything. I did that all last week. It wasn’t hard. Just because you couldn’t do that doesn’t mean I can’t. I’ve decided to quit drugs, and I’m going to, and that’s it. We’ve talked, but you don’t know everything about me. And one thing about me is when I make up my mind to do something, I do it.

OK, I believe you. I want to believe you, I said. You sound like you’re determined, and everyone’s different. I hope you’re right because honestly, I’m thrilled that you want to get clean. Because I was there too, and I know how bad it was. To be using and stuck in that life. That’s why I care. Do you believe me?

Yes, Chloe said.

A tear dripped from the corner of one of her eyes. My own eyes felt moist too.

OK. I won’t tell you to stop going to the club, and I won’t keep talking about jobs and halfway houses, I said. You know we have them, and I’ll wait for you to ask me if you ever want to.

OK, said Chloe.

Our hour is up now. Can I schedule you for the same time next week? I asked.

Yes, said Chloe. I’ll be here.

I’m really happy for you, I said again.

I stood up and smiled. Chloe stood up too. I reached out a hand for her to take or not. It was the only physical contact the counselors were allowed to make. The meeting was recorded of course. But it would never be watched unless there was a need. A client’s complaint about the counselor, for example.

Chloe didn’t take the hand I offered. Instead she leaned forward and gave me a quick hug.

Thank you, she said in a teary voice.

Then she rushed out of the room.

She’s going to stay clean. I know it. The thought went through my mind.

But that thought was followed by a cold chill that ran up and down my spine.

No. I’m just imaging things this time, I told myself. Or that chill means something else.

Chapter 2

After work that day , I stood on tired feet on the subway train home. At this hour, the train was always packed. There were no empty seats, so I swayed back and forth and held onto a bar for balance.

Through the train’s windows, in between long passes through dark tunnels, I watched the lit-up stations flash by.

The train pulled into the Bowery station—the last Manhattan station under the unflooded part of the city. Everything on Manhattan island south of here was now under water from the rising sea levels of the last hundred years. Scientists said the rest of the island would go under in time, but for now, it was still there.

The underground train tunnels and all the subways were supposed to be watertight. Our government assured us that the subway walls were supported with the latest flood technology. But it didn’t look like any work had been done in this aging station—not lately or ever.

I tried not to think about that when I rode on the train. And I wasn’t thinking about climate change in the future. My thoughts were on Chloe.

I knew I should be feeling happy and excited—my first client to stop using—but I wasn’t. The cold chill that I’d felt earlier had grown to nervous anxiety throughout the day. The more I tried to tell myself it was irrational, the stronger the feeling of dread became.

There’s no reason to feel so anxious, I told myself. Maybe it’s not her. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Am I crazy like people used to say? I wondered. Will I end up in the sanatorium they wanted to send me to after all? Getting a lobotomy or my brain dissected?

My morbid thoughts were interrupted when a small bunch of riders crowded in front of the door next to me. Brakes squealed, and the subway car slowed and stopped. Instead of moving out of the exiting riders’ way, I felt a strange panic and broke out in a sweat.

I have to get off this train! I thought.

I crowded in with the others next to the door. It opened, and we all got off quickly. Experienced riders who moved fast without any shoving or pushing to exit before the doors closed again.

The rest of the exiting commuters walked away. But I took only a few steps and then stopped. I looked up and down the length of the rundown station. The smell of urine and disinfectant hit my nostrils with stronger force than I was used to in other subway stations, but I ignored it.

Now my panic was gone.

Why the heck did I think I had to get off the train in this junky old station? I wondered. Where did that bizarre feeling come from?

As I stood there wondering why I was there, I was overwhelmed by curiosity about the station itself.

I looked down the long length of tracks on both sides of the narrow cement island I stood on. The station was long enough for at least twelve train cars to open their doors and let out passengers.

On both far ends of the station, black metal bars enclosed worn cement stairs that led up to the street. An ancient escalator sat unmoving halfway between the stairs.

Across the tracks from me, another train pulled in. I turned and watched passengers quickly exit and enter. Doors closed, and the train pulled away. I stared at the ancient wall behind the tracks. Grime and dust-covered marble tiles. Empty patches where tiles had fallen off and not been replaced. Odd mini-sized wooden door shapes were built in all along the wall.

For no particular reason, I felt the urge to walk to the opposite end of the station. I started walking, and I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cool dampness of the station air.

As I went along, I looked up at the cameras attached at wide intervals on the dusty, cobwebby ceiling. The cold feeling inside me intensified the farther I walked in this ancient station that had stood for almost two centuries.

Bowery, said a placard carved into the side of the aged marble wall. Thick rust-colored metal columns supported the ceiling. The station was poorly lit, but the round panoramic cameras looked new.

I kept walking and reached the stairs at the station’s end. The stairs were built into one side of a triangular concrete block. A line in the shape of a door was drawn on the side of the block that faced the station.

I stopped and stared at the door-shaped line. The coldness inside me became a feeling of terrible wrongness that somehow gave my mind a razor-sharp clarity. I looked up and located the camera that would record this section of the station.

It was the same as the others, wasn’t it? It looked exactly the same. But when I stared up at it, it seemed like there was something different about this one. A dead feeling.

The subway maintenance people must check all the cameras to make sure they’re working, right? I thought. It must be working.

Then I felt a sudden discomfort at the thought of this camera recording me. I stopped staring at the camera and tried to act natural and casual. As if I just happened to be waiting for the next train at the farthest end of the station for some reason.

I walked over to the rusty metal post nearest to the wedge and leaned against it. I put my hands in my coat pockets and looked sideways at the concrete wedge under the stairs.

My vision seemed to sharpen, and I saw that the door-shaped line was a real door underneath layers of dust and grime. A bare metal door built into the dirty stone.

At the same time, my sense of reality became fuzzy. Time sped up as if I were in a dream. The paths of commuters, entering and leaving trains and the station, flowed in blurred lines around me. The rush hour ended, and more time passed. I waited. I didn’t for know what.



TIME PASSED, BUT I didn’t know how much. Then another odd chill that wasn’t physical jolted me back to alertness. The movements of the people and trains passing by me slowed down to normal speed. My vision blurred. Then it sharpened again.

My eyes fixed on the thin etching of the door shape under the stairs. A bright red line formed and blossomed there. Thick red liquid outlined the door and then oozed down its sides to the floor.

An acrid, bitter smell burned my nostrils and left a metallic taste in my mouth. I recognized the taste from when I’d had my wisdom teeth pulled.

That’s blood! I thought.

A puddle formed and spread toward my feet. I stepped back. Then I walked away and stood near a few people who waited in line along the tracks for the next train. People passed by and walked to the stairs built into the concrete wedge—right through the blood. But none of them seemed to notice it.

My curiosity overcame my revulsion, and I walked through the puddle of blood too, so I could watch people go up the stairs. They stepped in the blood, but I couldn’t see any blood on their shoes. And their feet didn’t leave any marks on the pale, dirty staircase.

I lifted a foot to look at the bottom of my own plain brown boot. There was no blood there either. I walked back around and stared fixedly at the door that was now pouring out streams of blood. It flowed down off the passenger island onto the train tracks. I stood wondering why the liquid didn’t cause any sparks from the live electric bars that ran the trains.

Get away! a voice seemed to shout in my mind.

Another chill shook me, and this time, I felt pure fear. I turned, walked back, and stood among the people waiting for the train again, facing the direction that