Dark Divide (Shadow and Shine Book 2)

by Danial Hooper

  “Robert’s dead. Died saving me.”

  You should give him a taste of his own medicine.

  Jenna smiled. “Do you want to know how you’ll die?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know how you’re gonna die.” Her smile grew. She enjoyed the quick reversal of power. She might not know about the Pulse, or the hero, but she knew a very important thing about Marshall: she knew how he was going to die. She hoped it would be soon, but maybe it would be the hero who killed him. Maybe this was all how the hero came to save the day.

  Marshall’s tension eased, his composure came back. “How?” She couldn’t see him, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

  “A blade, like yours, up through your chin and out the top of your skull.”

  “Oh really?” He wasn’t smiling anymore.

  “I saw it in a vision. Maybe that’s my Pulse. I never thought about it, but I bet it is. I don’t have many visions, but I’ve been right every time. I hope it happens soon. I hope I get to see it.”

  Marshall grabbed her throat. The tight grip squeezed down along the lines of her neck. She could barely breathe. “Were you alive in that vision?”

  It’s a shame the hero can’t come right now. Or Harry.

  Marshall let go.

  There was a loud thud in the room.

  The lights flickered.

  Is he dead?

  Marshall whispered on the floor, Jenna could barely understand him. It was nothing more than repetitive noises. Constant blabbering.

  He stood up, continued to echo himself, but getting louder. He walked towards the door, “Hero Hickory. Hero Hickory. Shadows and Shine. Shadows and Shine. She has to live. I have to die.”

  He didn’t even turn back as he opened the door and walked out.

  What just happened?

  *******

  Harry

  3:30 a.m. (Eastern time)

  Southern Ohio

  “I know where they are,” Harry blurted out.

  He didn’t know how he knew, but he could see the white building plain as day. Mona was there, so was Jenna. He could see Jenna with Marshall, and she wasn’t afraid of him. She was looking him in the eye. She was strong. She was sassy. She reminded him of Shelly. Somehow, Jenna was able to tell Harry exactly where he needed to go to find them.

  Asher didn’t argue, they were passed the point of being surprised by random happenings. If Jenna came to Harry in a brief vision and told him the directions to the secret underground facility, then Asher was going to follow along. If Asher was going to be stabbed by a poisonous knife strong enough to kill sixteen elephants, and Harry magically healed him; neither man was going to ask questions. This is just how things worked now. The world was a different place. Harry, like Asher, was a different man.

  Asher nodded. “Just tell me when to turn.”

  Mason’s old beater sounded smooth and well-maintained, Harry couldn’t believe it had over three hundred thousand miles. Any other pick-up truck with that kind of mileage wouldn’t make it to the state border, but they were already on the south side of Ohio, several states from the Mason farm.

  Of course, if it broke down, Harry could fix it.

  He wanted to be happy about his Pulse. But it was hard to feel much pleasure when you could only save one of two people. Shelly shouldn’t have died on his watch, but he failed. More than likely, everyone from the Salt Lake group felt guilty for her death. None of them were wrong, really. Shelly was dead because bad men were able to do bad things. His group failed to do anything before it got worse.

  Her memory wasn’t going to be wasted, though. He wasn’t going to spend his time thinking about how she died, she wouldn’t have wanted that. Even when her dad died, she was able to find something positive and used it as fuel to be a better person. Harry promised himself to do the same.

  “We’re three hours away,” Harry said. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. This must have been how Mona felt, all the time. It was enjoyable, and weird. It was like walking blindfolded.

  *******

  Tink

  Not sure

  Union Matis Field, WV

  Tink was stewing in his cell, waiting for Marshall, replaying the threats against his sister. He hated how Marshall was in control. There was no fighting back, not when he was willing to kill Mona. Tink was lucky she was still alive after he punched Jordan on fire. Marshall wasn’t going to let it pass, though. Another bad, short-sighted decision by Tink was endangering people. His emotions got the best of him, and now he was waiting for the judge, jury, and executioner to bring down his sentence.

  As long as Mona lives, then it would be okay. Tink promised himself; he would do a better job of keeping his anger, and his pride, in check. His failed attempt at an escape might’ve led to Mona, Jenna, or Mickey being hurt. There didn’t need to be another escape, at least not without some good planning. If he was going to do it, he needed to do it right.

  The latches on the door echoed in the room. A man peered through the window in the door. Not Marshall, or Nino.

  It was the President.

  Tink was confused by the President making an appearance. “What you doin’ here?” he asked, checking out the open door behind him. He could pop the President in the mouth, right then, and make a run for it. It would work. He didn’t even have to Pulse him to death, just knock him out. All the war hero crap about him was overblown. Tink could take any of these dudes out with a fair fight. Those thoughts were bad news though; it was too risky. Any wrong decisions would lead to Mona dying. He knew it. There was no denying it.

  “Leonardo, correct?” the President held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. My name is Uriah.”

  “Yeah, I know who you are, President. Why are you here?” Tink looked at his hand and shook his head. He wasn’t going to kill him, but he wasn’t going to offer any respect either.

  “Call me Uriah. Technically I’m taking a small hiatus from the position.”

  Tink didn’t care to ask what he was talking about. People in politics always had a double meaning to what they were saying, which meant they didn’t say much. Tink would rather get the answer to his question.

  “Okay. Why are you here?”

  Watt dropped his hand away and walked into the middle of the room. The doorway was open, but Tink fought the urge. “I’m impressed. You broke out of a highly restricted area quite easily.”

  Tink’s hands felt the fire. Marshall reported to the President, didn’t he? That’s why he was here. He’s trying to get information from Tink, playing the good cop, but he was the one who gave Marshall the permission to slap his sister around. This was the man who ordered someone to beat Tink within an inch of his life.

  To have Shelly shot.

  To have Asher murdered.

  To abandon Harry.

  All for what?

  And he knew Tink’s real name.

  “How you know my name?”

  “Little Mona has been telling me many things, Tink. She’s responding better to me than Marshall, which doesn’t surprise you, does it? She deserves far more respect than Marshall gave any of you. I’m deeply sorry for the grief he’s caused,” he sighed. “But in his defense, your group was confrontational and I—”

  “When I get out, I’m going to kill him,” Tink was relieved to know his sister was still alive. The fear of losing her went away. She might be alive, but Marshall wasn’t the kind of person who asked questions without leaving scars. Mona didn’t deserve to be treated like an enemy.

  Watt smiled. “Maybe. But I have a proposal for you. Would you care to not interrupt and allow me to explain?” Tink bit his tongue. All of his anger and hatred towards Marshall, it wasn’t going to help right now.

  “Mona told me about the Pulse. She said everyone in your group has it. Even the ones who died.”

  “Who were killed. By Marshall.”

  “Circumstances killed them. Marshall is nothing more than a weapon,” Watt examined the melted stra
ps on the table, impressed, and continued, “Either way, I want to give you a chance to protect your sister. Mona says you would be willing to do anything to protect her, is this true?” he reached underneath where Tink previously laid his head, and disconnected a thin microphone. He waved it and winked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We’re getting somewhere. Thank you.” Watt patted his shoulder. “I’ll cut to the chase; I want your services. I want you to help fight against the Subas.”

  “Help you?”

  “Yes. And help Mona, of course. After everything that’s happened, Mona is willing to let bygones be bygones. Are you?”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Mona wouldn’t side with Marshall. She wouldn’t side with you. This ain’t America versus the Shadows. This is light and darkness. Shadow and shine. You want me to buy what you’re selling? Let me see my sister,” Tink’s emotions weren’t getting the best of him, this wasn’t him losing his cool. Tink just thought the whole thing sounded like a lie. He didn’t have to bend over backwards to this man, especially not someone who is willing to be buddy-buddy with Marshall and act like the soldier wasn’t the scum of the universe. If Watt wanted a peaceful arrangement, he needed to offer something.

  Watt looked disappointed. “I can’t do that, not right now,” he said, turning back to the door. Tink wasn’t going to let him leave. He could hold the President hostage and make Marshall bring his little sister.

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “That’s a long story.”

  “I got time.”

  “No, you don’t. Marshall wants you and your sister dead. He’s loyal, but uncontrollable when slighted. If you want to live, you need to commit to working with me. I’m not him. I’m nothing like him. You will no longer deal with him. After today, he’s done. I promise you that.”

  “I don’t buy your promises. But if it protects my baby sister, you got my word.”

  *******

  Acacia

  1:38 p.m. (Western time)

  Las Vegas, NV

  Was it a dream? A vision? Was it a hallucination caused by blunt trauma to her brain? Acacia blinked her eyes rapidly, but still she was blinded. Everything hurt, everything felt wrong. The smell grew as her fingers sunk into something that felt like jelly. The jump out of the window brought her here, but where was here? Death? Prison? Somewhere else?

  She didn’t have time to waste with being disoriented. Roy Hadley, or whatever was left of Roy Hadley, was chasing her and already murdered five people. People who only slowed him down. He was coming for his revenge, and no one was going to stop him.

  Acacia pushed her weight against the roof of her black box. Her strength lifted enough to let a glimmer of the street lights inside, showing her long legs soaked in soggy trash. The odor escaped into the night sky as the steel lid banged against another building.

  She was at the end of a long alley, Hadley would be standing on the other side soon enough. The orange lights shined against the gravel, months of unattended trash covered the long alley. A thought of self-hatred came into her head, anyone who ended up living their lives as prostitutes, sleeping with strange men, and living a life of deprivation and loneliness would eventually end up dead in the gutter, and there she was.

  She missed her dad. It was years since she left her family to live this lifestyle. And for what? Some, including her older brother, would have said it was rebellion. Others, like her twin sis, would have said she left to find a purpose. Acacia didn’t think either was right, but that doesn’t mean they were wrong. Acacia needed to find a better time to have a moment of reflection, but she missed her dad, her brother, and her sister. It was all a blur since leaving Salt Lake City. She should be there with them. Whatever happened there, she hoped they were safe. Or, at least at peace. She hoped no one like Roy Hadley was in their lives. She regretted everything.

  Images of her twin sister came into her mind as she pulled her leg over the dumpster. She was leaving, and she was going to survive. For them.

  A voice echoed from the middle of the alley, “Stop.” Acacia leaned over to see the man through the low-level lighting. All she could make out was his shiny-black leather jacket and thick black hair. “Stay in there.”

  Whoever the man was, he was standing in a death trap. As if on cue, another man sauntered under the street light and into Acacia’s view.

  And then another man.

  And another.

  Two more came.

  Even from far away, Acacia could see their black, lifeless eyes looking towards the end of the alley. There was something horrible in the way the streetlights shined against their dull eyes and pale skin. Every person standing at the end of the alleyway was just like Hadley, but he wasn’t there.

  Acacia remember Adam talking about building an army, he said he was going to use Hadley to lead the army.

  “Sherry, listen to me. Get back in the dumpster. You don’t get out until the fire stops, do you understand?”

  She didn’t understand. “What?”

  “After that, find the others. Save them. Bring them together. Don’t give up. Don’t let him win.”

  She still didn’t understand. His face was shadowed, but a part of her knew who she was looking at. Well, not entirely. She knew she wasn’t looking at some regular basic man. She was looking at something else. Someone like Adam, but nothing at all like Adam. He was the opposite of Adam. Whatever uncomfortable feelings Adam gave, whatever heebie-jeebies, this man was on the other side of the coin. He was her hero. And now, he was making her go back into the dumpster while he fought them off.

  The lurching sound of the rusty steel lid prompted Acacia to lower herself back into the room. The dark men at the end of the hallway watched as Acacia’s hero latched the lid shut, fully locking her into a trash can.

  She had so many questions about what was happening, if it was actually even happening at all. It felt more like a black out, vivid dream than it did any bit of reality. Her head was floating in the clouds after her crash landing. It made complete sense for her to be dreaming up someone to save her from Hadley and thinking about fires, with the Salt Lake fires and all.

  “I’ll be seeing you around, friend.”

  April 19, 2016

  Day Seven

  What began as a quiver, became a steady hand.

  - Greg

  ********

  The Chat

  Bryce Chapman

  Radical/Founder

  4/18/2016

  America doesn’t deserve this. I’ve long been outspoken in my anti-Watt opinion, but the POTUS deserved better than he received. First Lady Dawn Watt deserved better than standing in the room while her husband was killed. It’s hard to think about anything other than the failures of our county and not want to demonize our opposition. It’s the American way. Find an enemy, paint them with red horns and holding a pitchfork, and gang up on them. Our culture promotes shaming into submission. To my shame, my constant sneering at the leader of our country is proof that I’m as guilty as any.

  Today, our country has been shamed by the United Nations. Not due to an inability to fight back against a top-secret domestic threat, but because we were caught sleeping at the dinner table. Ugo Ban can say all the right things and work his magic to receive the support from other international leaders. He can dig through the hearts and minds of former allies. Only because he’s a worm in a suit. America has been embarrassed by an organization holding a grudge. Lives have been taken, and for what? Because Ugo Ban wanted to flex his muscles against President Watt.

  Adding insult to injury, our President was preparing another speech in response to the atrocities. He would have, no doubt, remarked how we would respond with a deliberate calm and not allow this to end quietly. He wouldn’t have declared war, as our incumbent President was so quick to do.

  Vice President Johnson made his presence felt by sounding like the backside of a horse. Media members acted like he was
Shakespearean, as if his rushed rebuttal sounded like a man who was pleased by his boss’s death. Johnson offered us no time to grieve. The media agreed. As a member of the media, it’s my job to remind you of the importance of honest journalism. It’s important to remember that even if you are right-wing, left-wing, or a Wiccan; you’re still worthy to be fed the most ridiculous propaganda. Johnson must already dug in deep to Christopher Martin’s pockets.

  With that being said, how much do you want to bet there will be a separate news report about Uriah Watt or the admirable, albeit boring, Constitutional General? Or maybe someone will actually talk about the man who assassinated the President? Does anyone else think it’s weird there have been no disclosures on Lee Harvey Oswald 2.0? The news should be reporting that, but instead they’ll be focused on bogus banter of diversion. Maybe a Hollywood sex scandal? There’s no telling how it will come, but don’t get caught up by the distractions.

  Speaking of distractions, Lana Marx needs reverse botox. Sorry, LaLa.

  I know you don’t come to my website to hear a rehash of yesterday’s news. Aviant does enough recycling for the both of us. You come here for the fresh perspective. Which is why I want to say something totally out of the box: think for yourself.

  America deserves better. But maybe we, as Americans, do not. Are you willing to take ownership for the Utah bombings? Are you willing to take ownership for being a country worth attacking? It’s not hard for the terrorists to find reasons to want to kill us, we’re the smug rich kids who complain about cell phone reception while others starve to death. Face it, if you were in another country, you would hate us too. Especially if we’ve exploited you, as we have so many citizens from countries which harbor the dreaded terrorists.

  Why? How did it get to be like this?

  Because we are obsessed with our power.