Darkness Descends (The Silver Legacy Book 1)

by Alex Westmore

  The car passed her, the hoodlums staring open-mouthed. She heard one of them say “Has visto sus ojos rojos?” But she was so angry, so pumped up, she wasn’t sure what it meant.

  She didn’t care.

  Suddenly, something happened inside her. She felt bigger...stronger. Her muscles seemed to expand, as she walked out into the middle of the street and watched the car speed away.

  “Come back here you fucking cowards!”

  “Umm...Baby?”

  Denny wheeled around toward the disembodied voice. “What? I can take them!” Her voice was hers but not hers. “Mother-fucking-drive-by-cowards. I could kill them all.”

  “Denny? Baby? What are you doing?”

  Denny blinked a couple of times until Rush came into view. “Rush?” Denny was surprised to find herself standing in the middle of the street. “Patterson? Where...what happened?”

  “Umm...you threw him over there, remember?”

  “I did what?” Denny ran to him and gently rolled him on his back “He’s been shot.” Denny whipped out her phone and dialed 911. “Stay with me, man. You got this, Patterson. It’s just a flesh wound, right?” He probably didn’t even hear her, but she said it more to calm herself anyway.

  Denny applied direct pressure onto the wound with one hand while juggling the phone with the other.

  After she reported the shooting and requested an ambulance, she stuck her phone back in her pocket and used both hands to put pressure on the wound. His blood was warm as it oozed through her fingers. “Patterson, talk to me, man. Come on, buddy. You are not going out this way.”

  Buddy?

  Patterson’s eyes fluttered open. “Fuck me, that hurts. Who...”

  “Shh. For once, be quiet. Hang in there. The ambulance is coming. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded. “You’re not leaving, right? Don’t let me die in the street.”

  “Nah. I think I’ll stay here and keep you from bleeding out, if you don’t mind. As much as I hate to say this––and I’ll deny it if anyone asks––the football team needs you.”

  Patterson started to chuckle, but winced when he did. “Damn, that hurts. Was I...Did somebody shoot me?”

  “Yeah. Looks like you make friends everywhere you go. Now, stop moving, nimrod.”

  “What...happened?”

  “Gang bangers. Did you piss them off, too?”

  “I...don’t know any.” His voice started to fade.

  “Well, either bullets passed through me or they were only shooting at you. I’m thinking it was the latter.”

  Patterson nodded. She heard the sirens in the background.

  “Thank you...for staying with me. You didn’t...have to.”

  “Not bad for a dry cunt, huh?”

  He winced again as if she’d slapped him. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Mama says I lack stoplights between my brain and my mouth.”

  “You’ve got a smart mama. It’s an ugly, ugly word, Patterson. Don’t ever use it again and we can call us even.”

  “I won’t say it again, man. I’m really sorry.” He flinched. “My folks? Please call them.” He pushed out the numbers to her as if speaking hurt. “And Golden...man...I’m sorry.”

  “I forgive you. How about we start with a clean slate? You live and stop acting like a horse’s ass and I’ll...well...I’ll be the heroine of the day. How’s that sound?”

  The sirens drowned out his response.

  Once they loaded him into the ambulance, Denny told the EMTs she would meet them at the hospital after she cleaned up.

  As the ambulance drove away, Denny called Patterson’s family and told them what had happened, assuring them he would be fine. They were nice people who thanked her profusely before hanging up.

  “Rush?” Denny said, feeling Rush’s presence more than seeing her.

  “Yes, Baby?”

  “Let’s go home.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  ***

  Rush was waiting for her when she came up the stairs, a fearful scowl stamped hard across her face.

  “Baby? That’s a lot of blood. Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. I need to––”

  “Pure is home. If she sees––”

  Too late. Pure came down the stairs, saw her bloody sister and screamed. “Denny! Oh my god, are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”

  “I’m fine. There was a drive-by and Pat Patterson was hit. He’s okay but––”

  “Wait. Pat Patterson the football player? What were you doing with him?”

  Denny pulled off her shirt and threw it on the floor with the rest of her dirty clothes. “You know, I’m not really sure.”

  “I am.”

  Rush.

  They both turned to her.

  “He came after her for advice on girl issues or some such nonsense. Your sister saved his life. His big, dumb, pathetic life.”

  “Rush,” Denny admonished her, knowing full well Rush would do or say whatever the hell she wanted.

  “At first, I thought he came to beat her up. He’s such a bully. You know, in the seventies there was this WWF fighter named Pat Patterson. He wore this mask and was––”

  “Thank you, Rush. Not sure that is important or relevant right now.”

  Denny stood next to Pure. “Look, I’ll fill you in later. I have a couple of calls to make and then I need to get to the hospital. I need to fill out a police report or something and I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “Want me to go with you? I can go with you.”

  “Is your homework done?”

  “Jesus, Den, someone we know was shot. You were there. The least you can do is let me stay with you.”

  “Done or not?”

  Pure shook her head. “Not done. But––”

  “Then stay and finish. I’ll be home soon.”

  Thirty minutes later, she was in a hospital waiting room suffering through an interview by the police. She waited two more hours before Pat’s parents found her and told her Pat was asking for her.

  “Me? Are you sure?”

  “You’re Golden Silver, right?”

  “I am.” She rose and took two steps before Mrs. Patterson wrapped her arms around Denny and crushed her to her bosom.

  “Thank you so very much for saving my boy. He told us what you did. Thank you so much.”

  “Miriam, let the poor girl breathe.”

  “You’re welcome, but I didn’t really do anything.” Denny extricated herself from the embrace before continuing into the room.

  When she approached the bed, Patterson slowly opened his eyes. He had a half grin on his face, seeming loopy from the pain medication. “Hey.” His head lolled to one side. “It’s you.”

  Denny tentatively reached for his free hand. “Hey yourself. How you feeling?”

  “Drugged. Sore. Amazed. Fucked up. All rolled into one soft marshmallow.”

  Denny’s eyebrows rose in question. “Marshmallow? Amazed? Man, you really are fucked up.”

  He blinked and stared at her. “Jesus, you think I don’t memember? How did you do that?” He slurred a couple of his words.

  “Do...what?”

  He looked at her through glazed eyes. “You chucked me ‘bout twenny feet away. Me. I weigh two hundred and fitty pounds and was dead weight. You picked me up an’ threw me over those bushes like I was a poodle.”

  Denny stared at him, unsure whether or not she should admit it. “That’s...impossible, dude. You must have been hallucinating.”

  “You’d think so, huh? But that’s what happened. One minute, they were shooting; the next, you flinged me like a fuckin’ rag doll. You saved my life, Denny Silver, in a totally bizarre way, but you saved my life.” He shook his head. “Nobuddy would believe it. Hell...I barely do.”

  Denny barely remembered any of it. She remembered seeing Patterson had been shot and then...she could barely make out the shadows of her memory. He was on the ground one minute
and then lying twenty feet away the next.

  How did he get there?

  The memory slowly came to light, like a flashlight widening to show the whole landscape.

  “Oh my god.” Her hand covered her mouth. “I did that, didn’t I?”

  Patterson nodded. “Now you remember? They’da shot me again, Denny, but you made sure they didn’t.” Patterson shook his head. “I don’t know how you did it, but you fuckin’ chucked me like I was nothin’ more’n a football. It was...unbelievable.” His eyelids began closing slower and slower.

  “That it is, and if you tell people about it, no one will believe you, so can we stay mum about it?”

  “Mum?

  “Quiet. Not talk about it. Please, Patterson, can we keep this between the two of us? I’m not a fan of the press.”

  “You sure? Everbuddy would be in awe, man. You’ll be a hero.”

  “Right, and I had enough of everyone’s awe when my brother was on trial. I’d like to get back to my life. I don’t need another audience. Please.”

  Patterson nodded. “Whatever you say, man.”

  Smiling, Denny squeezed his hand before letting it go. “Thank you. I appreciate that. My sister and I don’t need another media circus, you know?”

  There was an uncomfortable moment of silence before Denny backed away from the bed. “Well, hope you get back to the field soon.”

  “Doctor says three weeks at least. The bullet went right through the meaty part. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m glad.” Denny was almost to the door when Patterson called her back. “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  He averted his eyes. “I won’t ever say that word again. I swear. You’re right. I’ve...been a douche, and...I don’t wanna be.”

  “Then don’t be. It’s a choice. Choose wisely.” Denny left the hospital room, stunned and somewhat blown away by what she had found out.

  She remembered now what had happened, and she had, indeed, thrown him about twenty feet.

  But how?

  ***

  “Slow down, Parnelli, or you’ll kill us both.” Victor touched Denny’s thigh to get her to slow down. “Ophelia ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  Easing off the gas, Denny unclenched her hands from the wheel. “Sorry. I just...I need answers yesterday.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” Victor said softly. “You tossed that cow of a man how far?”

  “Twenty, twenty-five feet. Give or take.”

  Victor whistled. “Jiminy Cricket, girl, even I couldn’t do that. Musta been one of those survival adrenaline rushes, ya know?”

  Denny nodded. “It’s weird, though, that I couldn’t remember it until later. It was like I’d blocked it out.”

  “I can imagine why, Den. You must have been scared to death.”

  Denny shook her head. “Actually, that was the other weird thing. I wasn’t.”

  “Wasn’t what?”

  “Scared. At all.”

  Victor turned to her. “Uh-uh. Dudes shooting at you and you weren’t afraid? Who are you, Angelina Jolie?”

  Denny smiled. “I wish. Victor, I stood in the middle of the street as if daring them to shoot or come back after me. In the middle of the goddamned street.”

  “Oh girl, that’s messed up. Maybe you are Angelina.”

  “Ya think? Then he’s shot and I chuck him like a rag doll, and I didn’t remember any of it until later.”

  “Patterson owes you, girl.”

  “No. No, he doesn’t. He’s just a guy who got caught up, you know? He was rejected and lashed out. I get that.”

  “How can you be so damned forgiving? Is Sister Sterling rubbin’ off on you?”

  Denny barked a laugh. “Hell no. I just...I don’t know. I think people get typecast in their own lives and sometimes they have fight really hard to break free of them.”

  “Well, I’m proud of you, Butch.”

  Denny laughed harder, glad to be out and about with Victor.

  “Now, Mama is going to size your story up, work it all out and then tell you what she thinks. You just gotta be silent. Don’t go all talk show host on her or she shuts up like the privorbial clam.”

  Denny grinned at his mispronunciation. “Got it.”

  “And don’t look in her eyes unless she tells you to. Makes her nervous when people try to read her. She don’t like people in her head.”

  Denny remembered that from the first time she’d met Ophelia. “Okay.”

  “And answer her just like she asks. No more, no less.”

  “Victor, why are you so nervous?”

  “’Cause she don’t like surprises, and since she don’t have a phone, this is a surprise.”

  When Denny finally pulled into the driveway of a house no bigger than a garage, she looked over at Victor. “Thank you for this.”

  He nodded. “Remember what I said.” He led Denny to the front door with its torn screen door falling off the hinges. Several coats of paint peeled off the windowsills like rotting lizard scales.

  When Ophelia opened the door, she lowered her blacker-than-black face and peered into Denny’s eyes.

  “I knew it’d be you. I seen it yesterday.”

  “Mama, you remember––”

  “‘Course I ’member her, Victor. I’s old, not stupid. Come on in ’fore them flies do.”

  Denny and Victor entered a small family room that probably hadn’t changed since the fifties. The blue curtains had been there the first time she’d come here, nearly ten years ago. One of the loveseats was ragged and torn. The loveseat facing it was better for wear and had blue throw pillows scattered across it.

  Even though the room was not well lit, Denny could see layers of dust on the bases of the floor lamps and across the brick hearth. A small yet cozy room.

  Denny sat on the old loveseat and Ophelia and Victor sat on the other one. Ophelia and Victor were carbon copies in different genders. Wide noses, large eyes, ample forehead—it was easy to see that the apple hadn’t fallen far.

  “What did you mean––” Denny started.

  Victor cleared his throat and glared at her.

  Denny caught the look and shut her mouth.

  Ophelia’s flowing purple pantsuit continued moving even after she stopped. “I am sho’ my son explained the ground rules. Normally, I don’t see unscheduled visitors, but seein’ how you always been supportive of my incredibly gay son, I’ll make an exception.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ophelia spoke to Victor without looking at him. “Lemonade, three ice cubes, rim with sugar.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Victor shot out of the room to the small kitchen.

  After Victor left, Ophelia zeroed in on Denny. “There’s lotsa psychic energy ’round you, girl. Lots.”

  Denny nodded. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.”

  Ophelia held up her hand. “Not your garden variety psychic energy, Golden. This goes beyond your crazy house ghost. This is somethin’––”

  Denny leaned forward. “She’s not crazy.” The words flew from Denny’s mouth before she could stop them.

  Ophelia lifted an eyebrow, her gaze intense. “She crazy ’cause she don’t know when to leave. Nevertheless, this energy is sho’ strong and––” She paused and studied Denny as one might a piece of lint. “You ain’t here ’causa the ghost, is you?” She tilted her head from side to side. “No, I’d say not. However, it is somethin’ of great magnitude in your world. Somethin’ supernatural. Somethin’ beyond your limited vision. What can Ophelia do for you?”

  Denny explained the car accident that took her father’s life, caused her mother’s catatonia, and what all she was hoping to accomplish with this visit. When she finished, Ophelia waved for Victor to bring the lemonades in.

  “What you askin’ is very, very dangerous and so so tricky. Only a real skilled medium can pull this off without casualties.” She leaned forward to touch Denny’s knee. “You want somethin’ that could damage your own mind and whatever
is left a your mama’s. You need to think on that.”

  “I’m willing to take that chance. If my family is in danger, then someone needs to step up. That someone is me.”

  Ophelia nodded slightly. “Ain’t no better thang to protect than one’s family.”

  “Then you can do it?”

  Ophelia leaned back. “Of course I can do it. Will I, is another question altogether.”

  “I can pay.”

  She waved this off. “It not about the money, child. You is my boy’s friend. You is a good friend. I don’t cotton to puttin’ my boy’s good friend in danger.”

  Denny nodded. “What do you need for payment?”

  Ophelia studied her carefully, her dark eyes narrowing. “My prices are...selective and unique. What I wish as payment is the opportunity of speakin’ with your ghost.”

  Denny shot a look over to Victor. “My...ghost? You want to speak with Rush?”

  Ophelia nodded. “I know ’bout ever ghost and spirit in Savannah, but no one in town will let me into they homes to see they ghosts. No one.”

  “What do you want to say to her?”

  Ophelia’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, my. That’s a pretty long list. I gots lots to say to a ghost.”

  Denny thought about it as she reached for her lemonade. “Fine, I’ll ask her if she will, but I have a few stipulations myself.”

  Ophelia could barely contain her excitement. “Absolutely. Name ‘em.”

  “You don’t ask her about her death. You don’t ask her why she is still there. Don’t talk to her about her family, and don’t––”

  Ophelia held her hand up. “Whoa. Wait a minute. You makin’ it sound like––”

  “I know her? I do.” Denny sipped her lemonade. “I know her very well, and she’s not fun to be around when pissed off, so I insist you do not do that.”

  Rubbing her hands together, Ophelia agreed. “Done. Oh my, this is the most excitin’ thing I done in ages. Agreed. Anythin’ else?”

  Denny nodded. “You speak of it to no one. Not Victor, not your husband. No one. I need your word.”