by Joan Davis
Coming Out of the Dark
By
Joan A. Davis
Copyright © 2014 Joan Davis
All Rights Reserved
[email protected]
Second Chance Series
Coming Out of the Dark, April 2014
Looking Behind the Mask, August 2014
COMING SOON!
An Angel’s Touch 2015
Acknowledgements
Cover Photograph by Trang Do /
Email: http://www.nowhiningtalent.com/TrangDo/
Dedications
This book is dedicated to my angels. I love and admire each of you with my whole heart and soul.
Barbara Eaton, my sister-friend and motivator. This book would probably still be a dream without your influence.
Ellen Davis, a sister and all around angel extraordinaire. You have loved me even when I wasn’t very lovable. You know me best.
Barbara Brann, a sister who knows what family really is. You will never know what it meant to me that you were there for me in my darkest hour.
The entire Pelfrey family who stood by me when no one else did. I will never forget your kindness and sacrifice.
Doanyelle Conner, you rock! Thanks for all the hard work and feedback. It has meant the world to me.
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. Names, locations, characters, and scenes are either a product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner for dramatic affect. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Joan A. Davis.
PROLOGUE
6 YEARS AGO, Cloverdale, North Carolina
“Please Mom, please. It’s for three weekends in October, that’s it. Please don’t say no.” Risa Landau rounded the kitchen counter pleading her case to her mother.
Sandy Landau watched her daughter pace up and down the kitchen. She still marveled that she and her husband, Bill, had created this free spirit. Risa, born Clarisa Ann Landau, was now 15 years of age and was beginning to demand her independence. Risa swung around and her waist length, wild, gypsy-black hair swung out in a curling, twisting arch. She pinned her mother with her snapping dark brown eyes.
“I don’t see why I never get to do anything. I make good grades. I don’t smoke or take drugs. I don’t understand why you don’t trust me,” Risa said petulantly.
Sighing, Sandy Landau, wiped the back of hand, across her heated brow and tried to maintain her calm. “Risa, this has nothing to do with trust. I haven’t even had time to discuss this with your father. I know nothing about this Renaissance Festival. I don’t know the people who run it. I don’t know if they charge to have a booth there. I didn’t even know you had submitted pictures of you artwork to them until you told me. Until I know more the answer is no. End of story.”
“Oh. My. Gosh. I can’t believe this! My one chance to have my art work seen by the public and you refuse to let me. How is that fair? I told you that my art teacher, Mr. Downer, submitted work from a few of his students. He even paid the application fees. I didn’t even know about it until he told me that my work had been accepted. How can the Renaissance Festival be bad? You and Daddy take me to it almost every year and we always have fun. They have all the medieval stuff like the human chess matches and the fried turkey legs. You know all of this, Mom, and if there’s a cost for the booth then I’ll pay for it out of my savings. Please Mom!”
“Enough, Risa,” Sandy Landau said, her snapping brown eyes were a mirror of her daughter’s. “I have told you that until I can speak with your father and find out more, I can’t o-kay this. Enough!”
“So that’s it? You won’t even think about it? I’m a prisoner in my own home!” Risa cried and stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room.
“Clarisa Ann Landau, the next time you come down here, you better have an improved attitude or you are going to wish you had!” Sandy yelled up the stairs.
“Then maybe I’ll never come down again!” Risa yelled back and slammed her bedroom door.
Two hours later, Bill Landau came home and found his wife sitting alone in the living room. Her soft, curly brown hair was pulled back in a careless twist and secured with a pencil. Her petite frame was curled up in the corner of the sofa, and when she turned to greet Bill, she had a very familiar expression on her face.
“Oh no, what did you guys fight about this time?” Bill asked cautiously.
“Your daughter is impossible,” Sandy said in frustration.
“My daughter . . . ?” Bill asked, raising a brow.
“Yes, your daughter. She has your same impatience. She won’t listen to reason. You give in to her way too much, Bill. I have told you and told you, but do you listen? No!” Sandy ranted and drummed her fingers on the couch arm.
Bill sat down next to his beloved wife, put his arm around her and pulled her stiff body close to his. When she relaxed and looked up at him, he gently leaned down and kissed her. When he lifted his head he saw tears in his wife’s eyes.
“She hates me. I’m a bad mother,” Sandy whispered and laid her head on her husband’s sturdy shoulder.
Bill rubbed his head against his wife’s and said, “First of all, you are a wonderful mother. Second, our daughter does not hate you.” At his wife’s incredulous look he amended his statement. “Risa is fifteen years old. At this point, she hates anyone who’s an authority figure. You happen to be ground zero. As for her temper and impatience, I am pretty sure she’s had those particular traits since birth, if I remember correctly,” Bill said teasingly.
“She hasn’t out-grown them, they’ve gotten worse,” Sandy said sullenly.
“Well, now that I’m here, lay it on me, wife,” Bill said with open arms.
Sandy pulled back and sighed. She looked at her husband and thanked her lucky stars she had found the love of her life so early. She looked into his soft gray eyes, ran a hand through his spiky black hair and melted. He was her rock. His muscular build, honed from many years as a carpenter, still had the power to make her quiver. Plus, he never forgot important dates and always made sure that Sandy and Risa knew they were loved.
Sighing, Sandy said, “Apparently, Risa’s art teacher submitted her portfolio to the Renaissance Festival organizers. They approved her work and have invited her to have a display at the Festival during three weekends in October.”
“That’s fantastic!” Bill said proudly, but quickly tempered his look when he saw his wife’s expression. “Uh, okay, not so fantastic?”
“Bill, I do think it’s great. I am so proud of Risa’s artistic abilities. I want every good thing for her, you know that. But she seems bent on this romantic notion that all you have to do is to put your work out there and you will somehow become famous. She refuses to discuss college, or even technical school, to hone her craft. She thinks she has all the answers. I am so afraid she is going to get hurt in the end,” Sandy said worriedly.
Bill hesitated before he spoke, trying to find the right words. “Sandy, Risa is special. We have always known it, and that’s not just a proud parent talking. Risa was drawing lifelike pictures of butterflies and horses when she was three. She can pick up an air brush and create magic from nothing.”
“Do you remember last Christmas when Risa gave me all that stationary? It had dragons and fairies and my company logo and address?” At Sandy’s nod, Bill said, “I gave each one of my office staff a set for t
heir desks. They went nuts. The girls loved them and wanted more. They wanted to know where I bought them. When I told them Risa had designed them, they told me that people pay a lot of money for unique stationary like that.”
Bill paused. “I don’t think she will ever do anything in the conventional sense. College may not be right for Risa, but it doesn’t mean we can’t find a really good design or art school for her. I really think we should let her do this, honey. I’ll look into it and make sure it’s on the level. I will also make a stipulation that at least one of us has to be with her at that booth. I’m not willing to drop her off and leave her there unattended. What do you think?”
Sandy looked thoughtful and bit her lip. “Do you really think she would attend a school if it catered to artists? At least, I would feel like she was giving herself a foundation on which to build her future.” At Bill’s nod of assurance Sandy sighed. “If you make sure everything is safe and that Risa will agree to let us be there with her I don’t have a problem with it.”
“Really, I can do it? You mean it? Oh my gosh, I can’t wait to tell Connie and Brita! Thank you, thank you, and thank you.” Risa suddenly appeared from the hall and danced around the living room with joy.
“Young lady, have you been eavesdropping this whole time?” Bill Landau demanded sternly.
Totally ignoring the question, Risa’s eyes grew large. “I have so much to do. I have to organize all the T-shirts I have already designed and then make up more of that stationary. Thanks Dad! That will be a great seller. I hadn’t even thought of that. Oh, and Mom, you got that box of blank baby T-shirts and footy-pajamas from the church. Maybe I could make angel and fairy designs on those. This is so amazing! What do you think I should call myself? You know, my brand?” Risa looked at her parents expectantly and then began dancing around in excitement again.
Sandy stared at that whirl-wind that was her daughter, sank back on the couch and shook her head in resignation. Seeing the helpless look of trepidation on her husband’s face, Sandy shook her head and said, “Not me, buster, it’s your turn to pull her head out of the clouds and make her agree to the terms we set. I’m out,” she said as she got up from the couch. She received a huge hug from her daughter as she danced by and dreamed herself silly.
“But, Sandy . . . we’re a team,” Bill said, but knew he had been abandoned when Sandy smiled wickedly at him and slowly climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Bill sighed and turned back to his daughter. This is going to be fun, Bill thought and put on his best I’m-the-father face and prepared for battle.
Two months and several battles later, the Landau family had finished setting up Risa’s booth at the Cloverdale Renaissance Festival. People were starting to arrive and begin a day of food, fun and shopping. Risa, true to her word, had worked night and day creating art work on clothing, stationary, and canvases. Her extraordinary focus was both a source of pride and concern for Risa’s parents. They had to rein her in occasionally and remind her that she still had other obligations like school and family. Today was the day when all her hard work would be on display.
Risa and Sandy had organized shirts, sweatshirts and various other clothing by size and by content. Mystical beast, fairies, castles, and other airbrushed creations were displayed. Risa had designed five different patterns of fantasy stationary sets along with original art work that was nicely framed and hung strategically to catch the consumers’ eyes. Risa had decided to go all out. With the help of her mother, she had made a medieval costume consisting of a deep red fitted gown with black piping, which highlighted the v-neckline and valentine waist of the dress. The skirt draped gently over Risa’s slim hips and fell to her feet. It also had a high, stiff collar that stood up and framed her face. She had braided her wild hair into an intricate coronet and intertwined it with red and gold ribbons. Several curling tendrils were left hanging strategically and accented her dramatically made-up, smoky eyes and bright red lips.
Risa smiled at her friend, Connie, who had come along as support and to help out. Risa took a deep breath and said. “Here we go,” Everyone smiled back encouragingly and they all waited for the first customers to come walking up to the booth.
Eight hours later, everyone was exhausted. The day had been one big, glorious mad house. Risa Landau Designs was a hit. They had made a first day they made a profit of over a thousand dollars. People couldn’t get enough.
By the second day, the Landau’s were worried about having enough inventory on hand. Everything Risa created seemed to be popular. Her paintings and drawings were flying off the shelves which led her parents to price them higher, since they were one of a kind. They also had to start taking special orders for the stationary, to accommodate the demand. Luckily, the people visiting the festival had no trouble handing over their money.
The second weekend of the Festival was a little less hectic. Risa and her parents were now experienced enough with the retail side of things that each of them had an opportunity to make short circuits around the festival.
When it was Risa’s turn, she and her friend Connie took full advantage. They stopped to watch a human chess match and saw a knight take down a rook in the most violent mock sword fight. Risa sat for a portrait at one vendor whose drawing emphasized her big, brown eyes and wild hair, which she had worn loose with a simple garland of flowers to tame it. Laughing ruefully at the picture, Risa gladly paid the artist. She and Connie bought a few clay pieces from a unique vendor who sold corked clay jars with irreverent labels on them. Risa’s purchase said ‘Naughty Dreams’ and Connie couldn’t resist the one labeled ‘One True Love.’ Too soon they has to make their way back to Risa’s booth. They spent the rest of the afternoon greeting customers, consummating sales and bagging the purchases.
By the end of October, Risa and her artwork were the talk of Coverdale, North Carolina. The local newspaper had run an article about the Renaissance Festival and featured a picture Risa’s booth. The reporter had given a brief bit of background on Risa and described her artwork as magical. Gift shops were calling the Landau house and placing orders for clothing and stationary. And there was even interest from a local gallery.
Risa felt a bit overwhelmed and mentally took a step back and allowed her parents to handle this complex interest in her work. She found that rather than being drawn to the small celebrity that she was garnering, she felt too exposed. She decided she would rather create her art and sell it without the fanfare. She loved seeing the joy on people’s faces when they chose a piece of her work to take with them. That was enough for her. It wasn’t about the money or the attention, it was about creating and sharing.
Risa was happiest about the fact that her parents finally understood what this all meant to her. They now understood that creating art is what she wanted for her life. She wanted to be creative and explore all the avenues that art had to offer. She knew it wouldn’t always be easy, but it was her dream and her passion and she was willing to work hard to make it work.
The Renaissance Festival finally ended and things went back to normal, or at least a new normal. Risa now owned a fledgling brand that was being sought after by merchandisers and small gift shops alike. Her new life had begun.
CHAPTER 1
5 YEARS LATER – Dalton, North Carolina
Risa Landau sat in the front seat of the ancient, but well-kept sedan. Her dull stare focused on nothing in particular, her thoughts inward and numb. She remembered her Dad exciting the car and telling her he would be only a moment. Risa’s blank stare lacked curiosity, or even mild interest, in anyone or anything around her. She wanted to go back to her dark, cool room and sleep. She knew this was another dream or illusion. The car, her Dad, the sunshine, and the fresh air weren’t real. Any time now she was going to wake up, once again, in the cold, gray prison where they kept her, and the masked people would start her torture again. This was another mind game, or had she finally gone insane?
A low, angry rumble came very close to her. Risa froze and withdrew into hersel
f even further. The rumbling stopped and a large shadow passed by the car’s window. She heard a pathetic whimper and realized it was her own. She swallowed the sound and drew herself in, as small a target as she could. Sometimes, it made it harder for them to enforce their punishments. Not always, but sometimes.
The driver’s side door was yanked opened and Risa prepared herself for the pain. But the blows didn’t come. Instead, in between the fear pounding in her head, she heard people’s voices. “….Bill, I am really sorry. I didn’t know.” “Don’t worry, Sam . . . my fault . . . a little too soon . . . get her home . . . familiar surroundings . . . better.” Risa latched onto those last words with desperate hope. The car door shut and the car began moving. Her Dad’s comforting voice filtered into her private world. “We’ll be home in no time, baby. It’s going to be okay.” God, I wish it were true, Risa thought without hope. Nothing was ever going to be okay again. She remained still and oh so quiet.
Samson Knight swore under his breath as he watched Bill Landau’s car drive away. He stood and dismounted his Harley, and flexed his large, six-and-a-half foot, well-muscled frame. It was his attempt to release the tension of the last few moments. He looked over at his friend Conner and noticed the dazed expression on his friend’s face. Samson knew it must mirror his own. He let out a shaky breath, and ran his hand roughly through his pitch-black shoulder-length hair in frustration. His stomach clenched with the vision still fresh in his mind’s eye of the blind terror he saw on the face of the small girl sitting in Bill’s car. In that split second he had noted her emaciated frame, shaved head, sunken dull eyes and sallow skin. In the next second he watched her eyes roll back in her head. Her tiny body had curled into a small ball on the front seat of the car and she lay frozen like a terrified animal.
“What the hell was that?” Conner breathed out in a shocked voice.
