by Ali D
Hidden in Darkness
By Ali D
“Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who they are. Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness, we don’t really know what love is.”
-Marianne Williamson
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2020 Ali D
Hidden in Darkness: Part 1
Part one of two in the ‘A Mafia Love Story’ duet series.
Release date: May blank 2020.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without express written permission of the author/publisher, except in the circumstance of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction.
Any characters, businesses, places, events or incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
No claims have been made over any music/songs/lyrics written.
All credit goes to the original owner.
No copyright infringement intended.
Prologue.
“NO! MOMMY!! I WANT MY MOMMY!!! NOOO!! MOMMY, HELP!!
I can hear her, but I can’t see a damn thing in the pitch black of the bedroom. I feel my arms tied to the bed but whoever did this obviously did it quickly because one of the knots is semi loose. Thank you, God! I untangle myself and reach out for the panic button on my bedpost as I scramble to get out of bed. I don’t understand how the alarms could’ve been disabled. They were set remotely. No one should’ve been able to get through them. They are quite literally hack proof.
“Damn it!” I whisper yell into the darkness.
I can hear my baby still screaming for me but whoever is here cut the lights. I follow her cries, all my senses heightened because I’m running blind. I feel someone at my back and immediately stop, acting quickly and aggressively I pull back my elbow, striking upward forcefully, crushing their windpipe. Once my attacker is unable to breathe it leaves them vulnerable for me to perform a roundhouse kick to their temple, knocking them unconscious.
“I’m coming sweet girl” I say, more to myself than anyone. Whispering mutters of self-encouragement as I run down the stairs.
Every second that passes drags on, feeling more like an hour. I just need to get to her but just as I make it to the last step, I’m ambushed by three masked guys as I vaguely see what appears to be a woman taking off for the door holding my baby girl. She’s reaching for me and screaming her little head off. I use my momentum from running to push all of my weight through the front guy, knocking him down. I swing a swift kick into the gut of the guy on my right. I’m running on pure adrenaline and try to outrun the guy on my left. I reach out as the woman holding my baby gets to the front door, only to be pulled back by the last man standing. I swing my elbow back to hit his face, but he dodges it quickly. Adjusting to the darkness, I see the other two men picking themselves up off the floor and hurtle themselves toward me as I hear sirens blare in the background. The three men must hear them as well because they turn to run out the door just as I hear the engine of their getaway car rev. I run as hard and as fast as I can, watching as the three of them hop up into the bed of an all-black pickup with no visible license plate or special indicators. Reaching out, I feel the tailgate of their pickup as I keep running down the middle of the road, tears flooding my face. They accelerate down the long country road and I finally fall to my knees sobbing. I hear the police coming from the opposite direction, heeding the call from one of the panic buttons my dad insisted I install in any home we move to. So much for that working. They’ve got her, despite my best efforts to keep her hidden, someone found us. My sweet baby girl, someone has stolen her, and I may never see my baby again…
Chapter One.
“Quinn.”
Shooting straight up off the bed, I feel like I’m suffocating and I’m sweating profusely. Kicking the threadbare blankets off me, I can still hear the echo of the daughter’s screams from the nightmares that haunt me on the regular.
I don’t know a single sixteen year old girl that dreams of the horrors of losing a kid that doesn’t exist but these nightmares make me realize that I will never have a baby. Not ever. The constant worry that I’ll turn out like my own neglectful mom is enough. My under the table jobs and small local fights barely keep our heat or electricity on and are never enough to keep me fed, which means there’s zero percent chance I’ll ever be willing to take responsibility for another human being. I’ve learned enough from dear ol’ ma to stay away from all the guys in this sketch ass neighborhood. Don’t get me wrong, plenty have tried but I’ll die before I let any man touch me without consent.
Ugh, it’s time to shake it off the best I can and get ready for another day in the nightmare that is my life. I swear, I’m counting down the days until graduation. I’m only two months into junior year and I’m already done. Seriously. It’s an internal fight on the daily. I know I need an education to get out of this shithole but seriously, most days I just want to run as fast and far as I can.
“One day at a time.” I whisper to myself as I stare at my reflection in the broken mirror leaned up against my wall.
It’s my daily reminder that I’m going to survive this place. I will. I swear it. I hear some weird noises outside my bedroom door but ignore it in favor of my headphones and old MP3 player, knowing it’s likely ma’s flavor of the night. A few years back I scraped up enough money to buy a badass lock for my door and while it does little to ease my mind, it helps enough. I desperately need a shower after those nightmare sweats, but it looks like it’ll have to wait ‘til gym. Throwing my hair up in a top knot I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste to brush my teeth dry, using a red solo cup full of questionable tap water to swish and rinse. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving my bedroom when I don’t know who’s out there today. Slipping out of my sweat soaked leggings and tank top, I slide on a pair of skinny jeans and a shirt that has more holes than fabric, it honestly needed replacing years ago. As much as puberty sucks, I really could’ve done without the extra curves when I couldn’t afford to buy any more clothes than was absolutely necessary. I grab my hoodie and lace up my trusty combat boots, also known as my best ever thrift store find, tucking my knife and a few loose bills into one of them to complete my process then sneak out my window as quickly and quietly as I can.
* * *
Climbing up the steps at the front of the school, intuition has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Something is going down. I don’t know what just yet, but I can feel it in my bones that something is definitely wrong. There’re a few kids running out the front doors, eyes wide and panicked. It’s enough that I almost turn on my heel and book it in any other direction but my crazy. inquisitive ass is too damn curious for my own good. I cautiously enter the building aware all of the usual scenarios that could be happening inside these doors. Pulling my knife just in case someone or something tries to catch me off guard and tuck it into the sleeve of my hoodie.
I hear the screaming first.
“You have to listen to me! This is his fault!! I swear! He did this! He just wouldn’t stop, ya know?! No one ever made him stop. He was never going to stop, don’t you understand? My life is ruined... There was no other way...”
The screaming girl, Leia, a girl I’ve gone to school with since kindergarten sounds beyond hysterical. I see some of the student body surrounding her, most of them filming her on their phones but no one seems to bother helping her. I hear sirens getting louder and louder, then I feel the presence of the police as they invade the school, cl
early here for something other than another bullshit teenage brawl to be broken up. Up closer now, I see why. My history teacher is sprawled face down on the floor, blood pooling out from his head. His pants appear to be unbuttoned and falling down over his ass, his arm and hand pinned under him like he was trying to run and hold his pants together before he got hit in the head. Leia is shaking and screaming on the floor, her shirt is torn open and she has a bruising set of handprints on her arm. Next to her is a bloody fire extinguisher. She’s still screaming and crying while the police create a protective barrier around the scene and arrest her.
“I heard he’s been raping her since the beginning of freshman year. She just went to confront him because she found out she’s pregnant and wanted his help to take care of it but he got so excited by the news of impregnating her that he tried to rape her again.”
Some dude spouts some gossipy bullshit up ahead of me.
The principal barks out orders for teachers to help run interference with the students trying to usher everyone towards the library and collect the phones so the incident isn’t blasted all over social media. Ha, like that’ll do any good. Most of the kids here were probably streaming live so good luck to the school with that failure of a dream. Damn it, I should’ve taken off. I knew it. Discreetly tucking my knife back into my boot, I attempt to turn around to run but get caught up by one of my damn teachers. She gives me that look, you know the one. It’s the look that adults give teens that says, “You’re not eighteen yet. I’m still in charge so you have to listen to me. Blah, blah, blah...”
Fuck.
“Miss Davis, where in the hell do you think you’re going, exactly? You do realize you can’t evade the police without serious repercussions, right?”
To be perfectly honest, that’s exactly what I thought.
“Well, considering this had absolutely nothing to do with me, I figured my time would be better spent elsewhere, ya know?” I say sarcastically. If looks could kill, we’d be looking at a second murder attempt at school for the day, but then again, she’s one of those people that just has that kind of face. I probably shouldn’t hold it against her.
“How about I escort you to the library instead. We’ll let the cops decide who stays and who goes. No sense in causing trouble for yourself, although running that smart mouth might do the trick anyway”, she gives me a smug look as she leaves me at the library doors.
The police immediately start pulling students aside to collect witnesses and evidence and somehow, I get swept up in the group going to the police station. I take a deep breath to calm my erratic nerves, after all, I wasn’t even here. What could possibly happen to me?
* * *
“Hello, I’m detective Hannah Lowe. This here is my partner detective Justin Concord. We have a few things we need to discuss with you, but how about we start with your name?”
The detective narrows her eyes slightly looking for any signs of deception as I respond. I’m sure they run into kids not wanting to give their real information over all the time. Immediately my defenses go up, that’s instinct when you gotta deal with cops on the regular, I guess. Whatever, it’s probably best to let them do most of the talking. I’m just gonna keep my mouth shut for the most part.
“Hey, I’m Quinn. Look, I honestly don’t know anything about what happened. I only showed up, like a second before the PD busted into the school. so... since I don’t have any info, can I leave?”
I go to stand but the guy detective’s next words stop me.
“Oh, um, Quinn Davis? You were actually on the list of students that had unavailable parents. I’m sure it’s no shock to you that we need a parent or legal guardian present in order to question a minor. The problem, however, is that we sent an officer to your house to find a parent after being unattainable via phone and when he knocked on the door, well, it wasn’t latched all the way so the door swung open and he found a woman lying on the floor. The officer that found her immediately dispatched for a medical unit, but it appears that she suffered from an overdose an hour or so prior to his finding her. We have yet to determine if this is your mother and I’m sorry to give you this news after such a tragic event at school but we may need you to identify the body if there are no other friends or family to do so. Do you have anyone we can call?”
I don’t even have a response. What am I supposed to say? She wasn’t exactly winning any parent of the year awards with her constant need for a needle and a man rather than a relationship with her daughter. The detective and his partner, what was it, detective Lowe? They are looking at me like I’ll be a runner while they wait for a reaction from me. The guy stands in front of the door while the woman moves closer, slipping into what I assume is her “comforting cop” role while he is the muscle in case, they find me to be a problem. I can only imagine what they think of me in my too tight, somewhat dirty, holey outfit and lack of response to them telling me my mom possibly died from god only knows what drug.
“Look, I understand that this news may be a bit shocking, but I promise things will go a lot smoother if you can just talk to us. A little cooperation goes a long way in circumstances like this.” Lowe says.
I can’t even help it, I start laughing. That’s when their collective shock sets in. Their aghast looks morphing quickly into suspicion. They both look at me now like I’m somehow the cause of this happening to ma instead of a lifetime of consistent drug abuse, not to mention the many fucked up ways she prostituted herself out to afford another hit, not to mention the few times she threatened to sell my body as if I were a possession instead of a human fucking being, a child at that. She’s actually pretty damn lucky she didn’t kick the bucket a lot sooner. Hell, she’s lucky I never fucking strangled her to death.
“I’m not shocked. The woman always needed some form of drugs in her system. Heroine was her favorite, but she couldn’t really afford to be picky. Hell, half the time she just used her body to pay for her latest fix. I don’t have any other family though so I can identify the body if I have to. Although, I imagine you have a fat file on her that could easily identify her. She’s been picked up only a dozen or two times in my lifetime for some shit or another. I assume after that, it’s the system for me, yeah?” Their wariness at my laughter quickly turns to pity. I hate pity. It’s useless. What they fail to realize is that I’ve been taking care of myself for as long as I can remember. I’m not stupid and I’m not weak. This is just one more obstacle in my way, but it won’t stop me from getting out of here. I won’t be stuck in this darkness forever. These shadows have made me a home, but I’ve never been meant to hide away forever. Once I find a way out, I’ll never look back. It’s up to me to create that life and I’m so damn close. Bring it the fuck on.
* * *
It’s been days. Sixteen long ass days to be exact. It’s been sixteen days since I sat in the police station and listened to the police tell me that ma died. It’s been sixteen days since they confirmed it was the body of good ol’ Mommie Dearest. Sixteen days since I met my social worker, Mrs. Doris Ward. A lackluster middle-aged woman that doesn’t enjoy smiling, smells like cheap perfume and menthols and low-key reminds me of the shape of an eggplant. Sixteen shitty days since I’ve been placed in an all-girls group home while I wait on information from her about what's going to happen next or when I can go back to school. The only good thing to happen to me, is that I was allowed to go home to collect a few personal items, such as a baby blanket I can’t seem to let go of and an old picture of me as a baby held by my now deceased Aunt. She was beautiful, elegant even, and I was wearing possibly the nicest dress I’ve ever owned. I couldn’t have been more than two or three in the picture but she had an air of sophistication about her that always made me wonder where her and ma came from and why we ended up the way we did. She passed away when I was still little and whenever I asked about her, ma shut down and seemed to dive further into her addiction. She would sometimes be so out of her mind, angry that she would go on rambling tangents about how I got
my looks from my Aunt, she’d say no man would ever want such an ugly thing. Eventually I just stopped asking. I always kind of thought that they’d had a massive fight or falling out before my aunt passed away and ma never could get past it, I imagined that her grief is what drove her to drugs and her residual anger combined with my resemblance to my aunt festered into what became the hatred of her own daughter. When I was still young, it was the only justification I could give her that allowed me to forgive the woman that I desperately wanted to love me. I can’t even remember when I finally gave up hope for that to ever actually happen. Probably around the time puberty kicked in and she saw dollar signs for her pills and powder.
My temporary guardian, the lovely Ms. Sunshine- who actually knows what the fuck her real name might be, found me in my bunk around noon. I hate calling her that but that was what the other girls facetiously called her during the brief introductions, on account of her “sunny disposition”, when really, she’s proven herself to be a raging bitch monster. I forgot her real name exactly four seconds after she told it to me though, so I’ve just rolled with it.
“Mrs. Ward’s here. Grab all your shit, it’s time to go.” She sneers.
Wait, what?
“Go where? I thought I was just gonna stay here until I age out. Why would I need to go anywhere?” She glares at me,
“Just pack your shit. Apparently, you’re too good for this place Princess”.
* * *
“Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been very communicative, but I had to wait for a few things to run through the system before I could confirm that I had any news. This isn’t the easiest thing to tell someone but it’s surprisingly good news. At least, I think so. As it turns out, Lauren Davis was not, in fact, your mother. Photographic and DNA evidence proves that you are actually a missing person from thirteen years ago. Your name is Alessandra Evelyn Quinn Salvatore. You were abducted when you were three years old and we found your real family. Your real mother, Cecelia Salvatore, has been looking for you for several long years and is eagerly anticipating your arrival back home. I’m sure you have several questions and I’ll answer all of them, but I need you to prepare yourself for a whole new lifestyle and a plane ride across the country. You’re soon going to be released to your mother’s care and then fly to your new home in California.” Mrs. Ward states, calm as ever, like she’s not dropping bombs on me right now.
