Shadow Dancer
Addison Kline
Kindle Version - Copyright 2014
All Rights Reserved – Addison Kline
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at email address [email protected]
Cover Art- © Katie Little - Fotolia.com
Fonts obtained legally from Fontsquirrel and 1001 Free Fonts Baby: Scriptina, Sortefax
Dedication
To the Real Sergeant Jenna DiNolfo… My mother.
Prologue
The memory of her permeated the wood. Her long shadow still danced upon the walls in her absence. The musky scent of her perfume wafted through the house, polluting the air we breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Consume. Release. Our laboring lungs swallow her down as she evades our call.
An ominous tingle shocked the nape of my neck when I was alone. The oddly shaped reflection of two when I stood alone on the bank of Croft Lake. The ever-present feeling that I was never truly alone. She had never left at all. I had my doubts she ever would.
My father guarded her like a dark secret - a secret he refused to share. She was kept locked away, out of sight where no would find her, especially my brothers and I. He was her secret keeper. The guardian of her past. Too afraid to let the truth be heard. Too afraid that his memories of Catherine would be stolen from him, tarnished by another’s opinion. Never once did it occur to him that I held the master key to the entire riddle.
They found her on the bank of the lake as the first light of day gleamed over the mountaintop. Snow covered her like a frigid blanket. She laid stark still, her skin an unnatural shade of blue and her dark waves cascading around her face in messy tendrils. The shock was not in finding her. No… The shock belonged solely to her eyes, once so soft and beautiful in life, so cold and callous in death. Frozen open by the wintry frost, she stared upon the world with deep contempt. She would not lie there forever, though. Her unsettled spirit would roam these grounds until her recompense was achieved.
The person responsible for her end led a double life. A respected pillar of the community in one light, and a sick, obsessed man in the next, brain addled by delusions and deceptions that would keep most adults awake a night. These thoughts were nothing more than commonplace to him. I was so desperate to learn what had happened to her that it never occurred to me that I would be next on his list. The truth of the matter is, some secrets are better off being buried and forgotten. Unfortunately, I did not learn that lesson until it was too late.
I know every secret my mother ever had. They were whispered in my ear as my mind fell to dreams. Slowly, they became my own to tell. Every secret my father longed to hide came to light in the glow of the pale moon. She is a shadow dancer. Skirting the shadows, out of sight but rarely out of mind. There she would remain, waiting, watching and forbidding him to make me a shadow dancer, too.
Chapter One
Morrow Manor
Fox Hollow, Pennsylvania
Monday, October 6, 1997
Under darkened sky and foggy moor, fall's vibrant colors were dimmed by dense cloud cover. A hooded figure, deep in contemplation, trembled in the chill. A raven, black and withered, beat its wings against autumn’s brisk, pushing fiercely against the early October wind. With its talons stretched, the raven perched gingerly on the splintering windowsill of Morrow Manor, pecking at the glass pane of the window. Shocking the figure from its thoughts, their piercing blue eyes met the raven’s sight.
***
"Tristan... You are going to drive yourself nuts doing that stupid project," said Blake, casting his younger sister an “I told you so” stare.
Sitting at an old computer perched atop an antique walnut desk, Tristan Morrow remained deep in thought beneath her boyfriend’s gray Steeplechase hoodie. The green hue of the monitor blinked impatiently before her while her index finger rested on the delete key, threatening to erase the words on the screen. Tristan had written a paragraph and she appeared utterly unhappy with the task at hand. She quietly decided whether or not to go forward with the project. It was an impossible task, a fool’s errand, but Tristan was stubborn and didn’t want to see her 98 average in English Comp go down the toilet.
“Stupid Kendricks!” Tristan yelled as she turned red-faced. Her index finger slammed down onto the delete key erasing the words on her screen.
Tristan spun in her chair to face her older brother, Blake, who was lying atop the upper level of his bunk beds. He was quite comfortable, sprawled out on his mattress as he read his irreparably tattered book of Greek Mythology. Poking his head up from his pillow, Tristan laughed at Blake’s full head of messy black hair, which was in desperate need of a trimming.
“I have to hand it in…”
“Why?!” Blake said looking at his sister as if she were insane. “I’m not!”
“Such a rebel…” Tristan said, shaking her head at her brother.
“Neither is Tommy!”
“Since when has Tommy ever handed in homework?”
“Good point, but seriously… Don’t kill yourself over this project. Its not going to wreck your average if you skip it.”
Rolling her eyes, Tristan ignored her brother. Part of her knew he was right, but she took her grades very seriously. She returned her eyes to the assignment, trying to think of an opening line. Something that would set her off in the right direction.
My mother was lovely.
My mother was crazy.
Momma was a rolling stone.
No. None of those would do.
At Steeplechase Academy, Bernard Kendricks was known as a particularly tough English Composition teacher.
He didn't just teach the basics. Kendricks demanded more from his students than most educators would even dream of asking for. He demanded that his students think outside of the box, using knowledge, creativity, and sound moral judgment. Mr. Kendricks was not above correcting the grammar of his fellow teachers, or holding a student in detention for using the wrong adjective in a sentence. He was tough, and he was not well liked by students and faculty alike. Bernard knew this, and he didn't give a damn. Despite all this, Tristan still respected the man as a teacher and she wanted to learn as much as she could while in his class. Tristan recalled suppressing a feeling of nausea as she heard the teacher announce the assignment across the classroom.
Who would have thought that a tenth grade English assignment could cause so much grief? Tristan thought.
***
Shortly after the first period bell rang, the students assigned to first period English Composition filed rowdily into room 219. They took their seats as they chatted loudly. Notes passed, gossip brewed, and Kendricks eyed his students scrupulously. Their free-spirited nature truly offended his more reserved manner. Standing at the chalkboard with a fresh stick of white chalk at the ready in his left hand, Mr. Kendricks allowed his elegant cursive scrawl to grace the green board before him. He wrote Biography Assignment for all to see. It was immediately obvious which students had taken Mr. Kendricks’ class the year before, as loud groans sounded from the back of the classroom. Tristan was surrounded by three students who had to repeat his class, and they just so happened to be her relatives as well.
To Tristan's left, her ginger-haired cousin, Shane, groaned loudly, “Not again!”
/> Meanwhile, two of Tristan's brothers, Blake to her right, and Tommy who sat behind her, sighed loudly as their hands hit their desks in frustration. Tristan peered behind her to see Tommy rolling his eyes in utter irritation. Kendricks took center stage, complete with a smug look and a cork clipboard in his grip.
“Attention, please… Eyes up front.”
Kendricks peered down over his wire-rim glasses, eyeing his students with deep disdain. Suddenly, all twenty-seven pairs of eyes focused on Mr. Kendricks.
"It is easy enough to write about someone famous, piggybacking off of the admiration of others, with quotes already obtained by a newspaper or a magazine. If you were to write a biography about someone who is wildly famous, there is probably not a lot that you could add that would differ from pre-existing works on the same subject matter,” explained Mr. Kendricks. He continued, “Instead of writing a report on a famous football star, world leader, or a rock band, I have decided that I am going to make this challenge a little more interesting."
“Great. I hate when he gets creative,” Tommy complained.
“It’s not like you’re going to do the project anyway!” Shane said laughing.
“Sssh!” Tristan urged, hoping not to get stuck in detention again for her brothers’ and cousin’s in-class antics.
Kendricks held his clipboard firmly and began to file up and down the aisles of neatly arranged desks.
He continued, “I am going to assign each of you a family member at random, and I expect each of you to write a comprehensive one thousand word biography on that person. You should utilize your best detective skills; conduct interviews, obtain quotes, facts, and artifacts of importance. Be prepared to present this data to the class during the week beginning October the twenty-third. Each of you will need to purchase a large poster board and neatly present your findings. You will each have fifteen minutes to give an oral presentation in front of the class.”
As the words ‘oral presentation’ escaped Kendricks’ lips, the class showed their great disapproval with a cacophony of noises.
Kendricks responded with an edge of annoyance present in his voice, "Shall we make it a half hour oral presentation?! I can devote the entire month to just this project."
Knowing that their teacher was not bluffing, silence took over the room faster than the clock on the wall could change seconds.
"Now. As I was saying, allow your inner investigator to flourish. Take pictures, add important details, and see how well you truly know your subject. Okay, here we go. I am going to call off your name with the relative you are to write your assignment on."
“Andrus, Jessica – Grandfather.”
“Callaghan, Bryan – Aunt.”
“Dennison, Cory – Father.”
“Edwards, George – Brother.”
"Uh, Mr. Kendricks... older or younger?" asked George with an inquisitive look on his round face.
Kendricks promptly responded, "Older."
“Fitzpatrick, Shane – Mother.”
Shane shook his head in contempt. Mr. Kendricks noticed his reaction and loudly called across the room, “And be sure to hand it in this year so that we do not have to be in each other's company for a third year of English 104, Mr. Kilpatrick!”
Mr. Kendricks continued to weave through the sea of desk as he read off his clipboard.
“Havlang, Cora – Grandmother.”
“Jefferson, Christina – Sister.”
“Kaplan, Ian – Uncle.”
“Morrow...”
From the center of the room three exasperated voices rang out, “Which one?”
Kendricks turned around and peered down over his glasses at his students, Tristan, Thomas and Blake, before turning his eyes back to the list.
“Morrow, Blake – Uncle.”
“Morrow....”
Tristan and Tommy began to form a 'w' on their lips when Kendricks loudly proclaimed, “Thomas...Father.”
Under Tommy's breath, he mumbled, “There's a project I won't be handing in!”
Tristan turned around in her chair, scolding her brother, “You have to! If you fail this class again, Dad is going to have a fit!”
“Morrow, Tristan – Mother.”
You could hear a pin drop.
When the words escaped his lips, Tristan did not quite know how to react. Pale as a ghost, she dropped her pencil onto her desk as she glared at the teacher with a gaping mouth. How on earth was that supposed to work? Tristan had a ninety-eight average in Kendricks’ class. She would have to manage somehow. Quickly, her arm shot into the air, in an attempt to catch Mr. Kendricks’ attention. Kendricks, seeing her raised arm, protested with sheer agitation.
"Miss Morrow, can't this wait until after class?!" He said her last name as if it was the name of a particularly nasty disease.
"It has to do with the assignment," explained Tristan.
Disgust clear on his face, Kendricks replied, "Very well. What is it?"
Tristan explained, "I believe that there must be some kind of mistake. The person you assigned me... I have no way of contacting them."
Suddenly, Kendricks’ face changed. Something hidden came to light on his typically smug face. Tommy thought he witnessed the teacher release a smirk.
Kendrick replied, “I guess that is where your inner investigator will need to take charge."
Kendrick immediately diverted his eyes back to his clipboard and by doing so, effectively closed the conversation.
“O’Mara, Patricia- Sister.”
“Which one… I have like a hundred…”
“Angela.”
“Shit. I don’t even know her…” Trixie complained.
“I suggest to get to know her then!” Bernard yelled.
“Piedmonte, Cole – Mother,” Bernard said to Cole Piedmonte, Tristan’s boyfriend.
"But-" protested Cole.
"Mother, I said," interrupted Kendricks firmly.
As Kendricks continued to distribute the rest of the assignments to the class, Tommy tapped his younger sister on her shoulder. She turned around to see her brother with an emotion on his face that she once thought was foreign to his heart: concern.
"Don't do it," said Tommy.
"I have to. He's not going to like this one bit," replied Tristan, worry clear on her face. While her brothers were given relatives that play an active part in their lives, Tristan's assignment would not be quite so easy. It just so happened that Tristan was required to write her assignment about someone she never knew: Her mother.
***
Tristan’s temper was still quite heated as she attempted to work on the assignment, and it showed no signs of wavering.
A pair of heavy footsteps in the hallway jarred her concentration.
“Tristan!” called a deep voice from beyond the solid bedroom door.
Hoping to ignore the interruption, Tristan continued to glare at her computer monitor. The voice was joined by another.
“Open the door!” yelled Tommy from outside the bedroom door.
Tristan growled under her breath. “Is one hour too much to ask?” she asked quietly to herself. From the other side of the door, Tommy complained again, “But it’s my bedroom!”
Tristan slowly opened the bedroom door as a scowl formed on her face. “Yes…?” Tristan said through her teeth, not giving her visitor the courtesy of a warm welcome. It was her brother, Tommy, and her cousin, Shane, who were blanketed from head to toe in mud. Their weather-beaten cleats hung over their shoulders. In the shadow of the hall, Cole stood waiting with a shy smile on his face. He winked at Tristan and she blushed, trying to hide her embarassment from her brother and cousin.
"Doing that assignment?" asked Shane with an inquisitive smirk.
"Of course. I can't just not do it," remarked Tristan.
"Well, while you're at it," Tommy suggested, as he reached into his mud-caked backpack and pulled out a notebook that was in even worse condition.
"No! Absolutely not! It is hard enough to write my
own," replied Tristan, exasperated as Tommy and Shane jump back in surprise.
"Oh? But why? Is it because I put your laundry basket on the roof?" asked Tommy with a sincere look on his face.
Tristan stood with one hand on the door, while covering her face with the other as laughter began to explode from her. Against her greatest wishes, a smile formed across her face as she remembered her school uniform that was drenched unforgivingly after being left outside during a particularly brutal rain storm.
"As much as I hated you that day, this is not about that. You have a brain of your own. You do it," retorted Tristan.
Tommy stared back at her, "I have to think of a thousand words to write about Dad. Do you know how hard that is?"
“Easier than writing a thousand on our mother!” Tristan reminded him.
“Yeah… I’ll give you that…”
Tristan smirked at her older brother and pinched his cheek, "I'm sure you'll manage... and you, Shane! I would love to be able to write an essay on Aunt Bridgette. Give me a break! You better hold some interviews and get your quotes!"
Doing her best impression of Mr. Kendricks, Tristan pushed her nose into the air pompously, and spoke in her best snooty voice, "This is where your inner investigator will come into play!"
Quickly, Tristan turned on her barefoot heel to bid the pair adieu as a boisterous banging sounded from the kitchen, a floor below. A wooden spoon banged against a metal pot, the clattering noise repeating over and over again. As the drumming song ceased, the loud cry of a female’s voice called from the first floor landing.
Shadow Dancer (The Shadow Series Book 1) Page 1
