The Tower

By L.D. Hardin

When thoughts become death. What face would it wear?
 

A philanderer and a liar, James Milton is far from a perfect husband, and he's about to have the worst night of his life. After an argument with his wife and a terrible accident on the highway, he awakens in a strange otherworld. In this place, the sun burns black and the sky is stained a dingy yellow. Here among shadows and secrets, James meets a man of few words with a dark secret. Pursued by unrelenting creatures, he searches for an escape.

Meanwhile, his wife, Annabel, learns a terrible truth about her husband that shakes her to the core. Broken and lost, she takes the first steps to mend her heart and mind. While on her journey, she uncovers a brutal secret that spans generations and undoes all she thought she knew.
With a team of paranormal investigators, she confronts a pair of
malicious entities bent on punishment and revenge.

Where shadows tease truth and blade and claw hunger for blood, will James escape this bizarre prison or become a permanent resident?

 

Among friends, old and new, will the burden of truth crush Annabel, or will she ascend and take control of her destiny?

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. D. Hardin
• Release date: Dec 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201120917

L.D. Hardin

L. D. Hardin is a poet, writer, and author of the recent novel Duskbreaker Volume One: Inferno. A Disabled Veteran, Hardin spends his time raising his children, writing, and indulging in all things geeky. In 2012, Hardin completed a series of creative writing courses at Yavapai Community College and earned the Outstanding Creative Writing Student Award for 2012. A lifelong writer, he first began creating other worlds and characters in the third grade. Now, you can find him working from his home in Phoenix, Arizona or on the web at https://www.facebook.com/leif.hardin and https://www.patreon.com/LDHardin

Book preview

Chapter One

Tears Don't Fall

Awash in the dusty glow of the evening, an upper suburban home sat in silence. An unassuming building nestled among rows of similar homes, a quaint facade that concealed a hungered darkness and the jagged remnants of a broken marriage. Here, in a home of fragmented dreams and shattered memories, James and his wife Annabel had their last argument.

As he hurried through the living room in a frenzied huff, he passed dust draped photos on a mantle, paying little mind to his surroundings. A neglected gallery of two decades of marriage. All mementos of when the couple was happy; with warmth in their smiles and a joyous glow that illuminated their being. The mad rush continued past an ottoman and into the bookshelf near the bedroom door. Several of the photos fell to the carpeted floor in a crash of glass and wood. Short of time and temperament, he stacked them in a hurry and placed them on the shelf with little care.

The pile was a profound slice of their lives, from a vacation to Ambergris Caye, Belize, and another to a ski resort in Colorado. There were dinner parties with executives in a five-star restaurant and one of them on a romantic picnic, complete with blanket and basket of food. Still, others showed trips to Las Vegas and a birthday party at a nightclub with Hollywood millionaires. All distant memories left to their dusty banishment as he scrambled into the bedroom. Nearby were more photographs among the clutter of a decorative desk. These were of James and Annabel on excursions apart from one another. The expressions were somber, indifferent, and void of the warmth of love.

While he had attended a conference in New York and shook hands with the Mayor, she went with her friends to the Grand Canyon. At one point, they were a happily married couple, now they lived separate lives. A marriage soured, expressed in subtle frozen moments whose worth was little more than a knickknack.

Strands of crimson hair swept across her face as she sat on the edge of the bed. Alone and nervous, she picked at her nails, waiting for her husband to come into the room. Pained worry graced her frail face as she fought tears and the dagger thoughts in her mind. When he came in, she sprang from the bed and approached him, a distant wanting in her eyes. Without thought or consideration, he waved her away as he headed to the master bath.

That shirt you really like, it's ironed, she said, eager for some acknowledgment. Do you have to go? Can't you just do this over email or something?

With an indifferent shrug, he continued into the bathroom.

Yes, dear I do, he said, we've been over this. The merger is indeed important. With a business deal like this, I'm obligated to do this in person.

When she stepped to follow him, an outstretched hand blocked her way.

Look, this thing goes through, I'll take you out to dinner. Okay?

The sour note of insincerity passed over his lips as he continued.

Until then, I need to finish getting ready before I'm late.

The door closed without another word between them, and left her alone with the company of her thoughts. Defeated, she returned to the edge of the bed and sat. The struggle to stave off the rush of tears was lost. The heart knew but, her mind resisted accepting the barbed truth.

Elsewhere in the house, the grandfather clock struck six. Like a haunting melody, the chimes echoed through the still house. As sound dissipated from perception for the briefest of moments, the air chilled, and breath became visible. So subtle was the change that Annabel didn't notice the cold and that the time had rung early.

Inside the bathroom, Soft, cotton plumes of steam rose from the faucet and obscured the glass surface. The droplets of condensation collected on the mirror, turning the reflection into a mosaic of color. With the last swipe of the blade, he paused and stared into the blob of his clouded form. The razor was still clenched in his hand when her voice called through the door and interrupted his thoughts.

Let me guess, it's a party, isn't it, James?

Snapped back to the present, he shut the faucet off and, annoyed, tossed the shaver into the sink with force. Ready to explode, he paused and ran his hand across his forehead and down his face. A sigh of exasperation punctuated his snatching of a hand towel from a nearby rack. As he toweled off, he entered the bedroom; the frustration was buried beneath his frigid exterior. The chill retreated from the room with the clack of the door latch. Neither aware of the subtle phenomenon.

Hey, hey, Annabel, it's nothing like that. A boring dinner with a bunch of leathery old men sipping bourbon and smoking those fat pungent cigars.

Each time their eyes met, James reflexively averted his from her pained look. With a crooked smile, he caressed her cheek, then continued to dress. Methodically, he focused his attention on every button as he fastened them with meticulous care while continuing to avert his eyes.

In the pit of her soul, Annabel knew he was hiding something. All the red flags were there that he was lying to her, but in her head, she still refused to accept the possibility he was cheating. Almost anything would be easier to endure. From drugs, gambling to a host of other illicit activities. Within all the turmoil of her mind, deep down, her heart knew the truth of it.

Do you promise?

Surprised for a moment, James froze, unable to answer. When he did, it was without looking up from his task.

Yes, of course. Look, he said, dropping his arms to his sides. Look, I don't want to fight anymore. Okay? Now I must be off or I'll be late. The conversation ground to a frigged halt. As her mind went blank, she flopped onto the bed and picked at her nails in sullen silence. Hurriedly, he finished affixing his cuff links, then donned his dress jacket as he moved about the house toward the front door.

From the counter, a silver watch was collected along with his keys and cell phone. Time was his only concern. With eyes fixed on the floor, Annabel followed and then waited nearby to see him off. Neither noticed the thin figure watching them from the murky darkness of the adjacent hall. For a moment, it watched in silence, tracking James as he moved across the living room. Without a sound, the form slunk into the dusky shadow as the pair approached the door. With a forceful sigh, she gathered enough courage to speak again.

Look, it's just, you're never here anymore. When you're always off somewhere, and I'm here... alone.

With a flick of his wrist, he checked the time, never breaking his quickened stride.

I know, he said in a flat tone.

The words were short, cold, and stuck in her gut like a knife. Yet she clung to hopes and dreams, to care and compassion for her husband. Even though he showed little desire anymore to reciprocate the feelings, she invested in him.

Maybe take your umbrella, she said, gesturing to one sitting in the rack. Does looks like rain.

The idea was waved away, and her heart sunk a little more.

Nah, it'll blow over, he said.

With the anticipation of a reprieve to the torrent of emotions swirling around her being, she opened the door for him. At that moment, as she shifted her weight back and forth, she was the embodiment of frail and defeated. A forced smile pulled at her face as she fidgeted with a locket around her neck.

Okay, that's fine, she said, brushing a lock of hair from her face. Drive safe, I love you.

With a slight peck goodbye, James grabbed his briefcase and hurried out the door.

Yeah, love you too. Don't wait up for me.

The briskness of his walk carried him to the car in a flash. Before entering, he gave a swift, discourteous wave that reeked of being an afterthought.

If her shoulders could droop any further, they would have scraped the surface of the ground.

Right, I never do anymore, she said as she closed the door with a sloth-like effort.

For what seemed like an eternity, she waited, hoping beyond all reason he would change his mind and come back inside. The cascade of sour tears flowed with ease at the sound of the engine drifting away. Without so much as a second thought, James drove away and headed from his quiet suburb toward Interstate 90.

The sun was setting, and hovered just above the horizon as he took the on-ramp and sped along the freeway. Alight with blazing chartreuse yellow, and scattered clouds, the sky resembled a blanket of fire that stretched for miles. At first, the traffic was dense but thinned away as he reached the outskirts of the city.

At considerable speed, his luxury sedan wound its way along the lonely road. The thick tree line nuzzled up to the shoulder like a waiting stalker. The underbrush jutted around the guardrails like hands reaching from the ground. Leaves and branches swayed in the wind as a storm approached.

When the deluge hit, it brought with it a gray blanket of gloom over the landscape. The tops of evergreens pierced the veil and sets of buds seemed to hover in midair. The gale had come at a phenomenal speed, but James paid no mind. As sheets of rain cascaded over the windshield as the wipers struggle to fend off the torrent. With crackling thuds, large raindrops pounded the car as lightning illuminated the sky in brilliant arc-light. The fierceness of the storm increases with each mile.

As he sped along the interstate, a scant few cars pass him heading in the other direction. A streak of electricity arced across the gray veil as he passed under highway signage for the East and West Summits exits as he continued around the bend. The tires squawked and squealed across the damp asphalt in protest at their speed. The car jolted and pulled, wanting to break loose and toss itself into a skid. Too fast for the weather, he fought to maintain control of the car's bucking mass. A moment of struggle and it was restored, accompanied by his arrogance.

Emboldened by the near catastrophe, he accelerated, adrenaline stripped any inhibition. A few miles further, he tapped along to the beat of the classic rock music played over the satellite radio as the jolt waned. The carefree mood resembled that of a teenager eager to arrive at prom than the cold distance of his earlier self. At the moment, he was relaxed and recent worries drifted into distant memories as he continued to speed along. Any of the previous warnings belted by his tires went ignored. Instead, his attention was on the phone nestled in the hands-free dock.

Call Phillip, he instructed.

An electronic voice responded as the signal was connected. Calling Phillip. A moment ticked before an older-sounding man answered.

Hello, James. Are you on your way yet? A deep puff of cigar punctuated the question.

Should be there soon, just passed the Snoqualmie, he said.

Another drag popped through the speaker as he continued his line of questioning.

Good, good. The wife keep you?

Yeah, you can say that. There was a hell of a fight earlier tonight, then came the awkward after-fight debate. The whole thing was more bitter than usual, and she always wants an immediate resolution, he said with a heavy sigh, as he collected his thoughts.

Oh you know, it's always the same, how it's my fault. That I'm too absorbed in my work, too cold. How I'm never there. Then after we fight, she mopes around the house like a wounded dog. When she's the one that picks the fights... damn, that woman, she gets under my skin, he said, rubbing his forehead.

Sounds like you need a distraction, son. The puffing cut through the air as he continued, How does a sampling of some local cuisine sound?

The suggestion made him laugh with childlike giddiness.

Agreed.

Indeed, we'll see you soon then.

Yes, sir.

The call ended as the radio DJ cut in.

"Alright, alright, alright. This is your host, Cool K on KRAZ crazy eighty-eight FM, channel triple nine on satellite. Some killer concert tickets coming up at the top of the hour stay tuned for a chance to win a pair. First, a bit of weather. Outside, it's a chilly thirty-four degrees and raining cats and dogs out there. Don't forget your raincoats, people.

Starting next month folks, I'll be joining the Midnight Hour, limited interruption industrial, EBM, and some sick underground tunes. So if you like the sound of yours, truly be sure to check it out."

The host continued with tour dates and album releases before returning to music. As he resumed drumming out a beat on the steering wheel, another lightning flash illuminated the cab with its electric blue glow.

The ever-growing intensity of the storm unfazed him as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, slid one into his mouth and lit it. The wet blast howled through the opening as he cracked the window before it quieted to a hushed, rushing drone. From the amber cherry, a cobalt plume danced in the breeze. As it scattered about the car, it chased the currents of air in a playful dance.

Propagated across the cab, the misty haze settled, suspended like a still frame. A moment later, the smoke undulated and pulsed as it swirled around the compartment. Tufts of fume streaked through the crack like water rushing toward an outlet. With the cigarette pinched between his fingers, he took several deep drags, then flicked the ash out the window. None of his thoughts considered Annabel nor the road as he raced to his destination with reckless abandon.

Chapter Two

The Road and the Damned

Back at the Milton home, Annabel sat at the table and stared at a plate of half-eaten chicken in front of her. Dejected, she scooped the dish up and rose from her seat. The weight of clouded emotions anchored her feet as she shuffled her way toward a waste bin. Unmotivated, she sighed and slid the contents into the waiting trash. After that, and with little care, she placed the soiled it in the sink, even neglecting to rinse them. Off went the light as she left the kitchen, leaving everything as it was.

A crushing toll of emotional exhaustion bore down on her as she trudged to the couch and flopped down. With a weariness, her hand slid across the coffee table and pulled a cigarette from a nearby pack. With spark came a yellow flame that splashed its glow across her face. After several long drags, her hand came to rest on her forehead. As ash gathered and ember dulled, she sat in the dark in quiet solitude.

The red-orange gleam of the cherry illuminated her face, revealing ruby smears of swelling around her eyes. A groan of sorrow passed over her lips, her mind ruminated on James and their fight earlier in the night.

Like a hammer through glass, the buzzing of her cell pierced the gloomy calm. Ripped from her mental wanderings with a start, she picked her phone up. A lazy swipe of her screen unlocked it and a text notification greeted her from an unknown number. Apathetic, she opened it, expecting a typical scam. The stark light illuminated her face in the darkness.

With mouth agape in disbelief, she stared at what was before her. As tears welled in her eyes, her head shook in disgust. At the sight of it, all she could do was hang her head and sob.

No, no, no. This can't be true. What have you done?

Within the message were photos of James and another woman being intimate. Several more pictures followed in rapid succession, all different women in various locations and distinct times. A sick weight filled her stomach as the pain of recognition struck her. One woman she knew, from a group photo taken at one of James' conferences. Out of reflex, her eyes darted to the image on their mantle. There was a single line of text that accompanied the messages, You should know.

What for so long her heart had denied, was now confirmed. In that bitter moment, the two were in agreement. Peeled away like flesh stripped from a carcass, the facade of denial dissolved with each tear that raced down her cheek.

Oh James, you son of a bitch. I wish you'd fuckin' die, slow and terrible, she said.

The words came with regret from the moment they passed her lips. A heart of compassion, and a benevolent soul who had never wished ill on anyone before now. Time would determine if sorrow was to be her reward for rash statements.

As she tossed the phone to the end table, grief and anguish filled her mind. The only thing she could muster was to cradle her face in her hands. The tsunami of emotional pain had made landfall on her spirit as she trembled and shuttered.

Distraught, she fumbled for her cigarettes before finding one and lighting it. Several were smoked in rapid succession down to the butt before being discarded. Little care was taken in putting them out, as many were left to smolder in the ashtray. A cloud of cobalt filled the room, dark like her fleeting thoughts.

Exhausted from her revelation, she curled up on the couch and slipped into a restless sleep. The clack of the grandfather clock saturated the house with its dissonant tone,