Copyright © 2012 JeanNicole Rivers
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-6155-8435-7
ISBN-13: 9780615584355
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62110-268-7
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About the Author
DEDICATION
For my two best friends,
My great grandmother, Joyce Garrett, who planted in me a thirst for learning which is further explored with every word that I read and every word that I write.
My grandmother, Marion “Bunny” Garrett, who would go off to “see a man about a dog,” but not before leaving me with a bedtime story filled with golden stars, dark caves, fairies, and fantasies of the like to parade in my imagination and keep me company until the sun came. All of these years later those characters are still with me and perch atop my shoulders when I sit down and pick up my pen. Thank you for giving light to my imagination.
1
Opening its mouth wide as the young woman pushed through the oversized swinging doors, the lonely room swallowed her whole. Her body felt weighted; 130 pounds of flesh and bones and two tons of guilt dropped heavily into a rigid metal chair. Above her head, the incessant buzzing of a bulky rectangular light drew her red eyes before they fell to the clean, white tiles that covered every inch of the floor. Attesting to its age and disrepair, the dying light flickered spontaneously, barely managing the dim illumination of the uncaring room. Successive spurts of obscure light, then darkness over the dull gray walls gave the space a glum greenish hue that Regina had not noticed on this night because her eyes were buried deep in the palms of her blood-splattered hands. Blood painted her forearms and left some spatter on her neck. Desperately, Regina fought for a moment of clarity, a second of peace from the drone of the light that now harmonized with the ultra maddening ticking of the clock, which on any other night would have been barely audible, but this night sounded like a battering ram repeatedly threatening to cave the wall. Noise clamored inside her head and it filled like air into a balloon, growing larger; the symphony of sound fast driving her to the edge of what little sanity remained.
SWOOSH
The double doors drove open once again and Regina lifted her head to see her boss standing over her.
“We can’t save them all, Regina.” Dr. Younghill snapped while popping cheese squares into his mouth. The young doctor lowered himself into one of the cold chairs and pulled one of his legs up over the other. By now the ER was so second nature to him that after a patient he could easily, wash up, change scrubs, and grab a snack all while on his way to give his star nurse a pep talk in a matter of ten minutes. Regina eyed the character with one eyebrow raised, then pressed her palms against one another, forming a steeple on which she rested her lips and stared into the empty wall. Regina positioned her lips to speak, but stopped herself.
Don’t you care? She wanted to ask, but dared not, especially since she already knew the answer. Dr. Younghill was one of the best, which is why at the precious age of thirty-two he was the head emergency room doctor at one of the city’s most prominent hospitals.
“Wash your hands, Regina,” he told her. Offering no hesitation, she lifted herself from the chair and made her way to the sink. The doctor was always playful with his staff, but she was certain by the deepening in his voice that he was now giving her a direct order. First making sure that the water was as hot as possible, she then pumped countless gushes of pink foam into her palm, and for several agonizing minutes, she stood there washing away the blood of the child. When she turned to face Dr. Younghill again he was brushing his hands against one another, orange crumbs littering the sterile floor.
“You win some, you lose some,” he said. Regina had no response to such perversely logical reasoning.
“I learned that in my medical ethics class,” he added. Regina smiled.
“I know, Doctor. I just didn’t want to lose this one.”
“You don’t make those kinds of decisions; they pay someone named God for that.”
Regina sighed at the mention of the phantasmal spirit that was now obligated to take the responsibility because humans had failed in preventing this tragedy.
“Listen, Regina.” The handsome doctor’s face tensed as he focused on her. “We are the best at what we do, we get in there, we do everything that we can, but after that we have to let it go so that we can be ready to save the next life. Most people get into this field because of their heart, but now that you’re here, I need your head.” He spoke, thought for a moment, and then giggled at himself like a schoolboy. Regina’s shoulders sunk from their stringent posture as she snickered and again took the chair next to Dr. Younghill.
“That came out totally wrong,” he said, still tittering to himself. It was those carefree, sometimes verging on sexual harassment comments that made him so damn likeable to the people with whom he worked. People respected Dr. Younghill because he was undoubtedly one of the most talented doctors in the city, the women liked him because he was dark and handsome with black wavy hair and everyone liked him because he never took himself too seriously. From day one at First Methodist Hospital, Regina wished that the nurturing, smart, not to mention hot doctor would ask her out. Her self-imposed rule about never dating anyone with whom she worked would have been forced to take a leap if he had ever decided that he wanted to see her outside of the pressure cooker, mile-a-minute environment, in which the both of them spent most of their time. Years earlier, Regina’s first day at the hospital had not yet ended when she realized that she had the same implausible dream of every other hospital nurse female and even some males. As a result, she put those feelings to rest long ago, but over the years she and the doctor had grown close, he had taken a special liking to her because she was almost as good at her job as he was at his and he had long admired her skill and dedication. Their relationship had never been anything more than platonic, but during intimate times like this Regina wished that it had been.
Dr. Younghill placed his hand on her knee and drew his face close to her.
“You have got to stop taking it so personally.” He spoke almost in a whisper.
Regina let his soft words flow over her, his sweet breath caressing all of the soft curves of her face.
“How can I not take it personally, Doctor? Patients come here as a last resort. When I have a bad day at work, I don’t get a customer complaint about cold fries; the inventory sheets are not a little off. When I have a bad day at work, people die. How…in the hell can I NOT take that personally?” Regina could feel hot tears brimming on the lower lids of her eyes. Dr. Younghill wrapped her hand in his before he spoke again.
“I know,” he said in the calm manner for which he was famous. “But you have two options, you can make this job about death or you can make it about life. Don’t let death rule you. This happens to lots of people in our line of work, but you can’t let it happen to you. Take some time off; see the hospital psychologist. You need to straighten this out,” Dr. Younghill told her as he swiftl
y made his way toward the double doors after hearing his name over the PA system with a beckoning for him in a patient room.
“I’ll be fine.” Regina attempted to soothe his worries, wiping away the single insolent tear that had somehow escaped.
The young doctor turned back to Regina who was still seated. “Take some time off. People are noticing. You have time; take it. I need you back, Regina,” he said before slipping out the door.
Her mouth dropped at the recognition of yet another order; this one completely unexpected. Regina rolled her eyes as she lifted herself from the chair, sighed, and slapped one of the double doors hard on her way out.
Midshift, Regina found herself in the nurse’s locker room and it harbored an uneasy quiet that filled her with yet more sadness. While loading all of her belongings into her duffle bag, she wondered what she would do with her newfound free time. Over the years, she had taken a day here or there from work when she was dangerously exhausted, but had never taken anything that remotely resembled a vacation. With some thought, she resolved that a couple of weeks off did not have to be such a bad thing, maybe she would see the counselor, though she doubted that it would do any good at all. Some yoga, meditation, and solitude were probably just what she needed.
“Good night, Glenda,” she said to the lumpy nurse at the front desk as she made her way toward the sliding glass doors. Glenda glanced at her watch.
“You out early tonight,” the nurse said vibrantly.
“And it’s well deserved,” Regina told the woman as she waved and continued at a leisurely pace toward the door.
“I hear that,” Glenda, in her electric blue scrubs, confirmed.
Regina was about to say good night to the fully uniformed security guard that stood at the doors when she heard a voice call out behind her. Turning, she was delighted to see Dr. Younghill jogging up the corridor.
“I wanted to catch you before you left.”
“Well, so far you’re doing a good job,” she informed him.
Rows of white teeth showed in his elegant smile.
“I was thinking that when you get back that maybe we can have dinner or something?”
Regina’s chest rose in surprise. His timing was perfect because as exciting as the possibility of a date with the doctor was, being ordered to take time off still dampened her mood and the combination of the two made her seem open, but not excited and there was no better reaction to a man’s request for a date.
“Sure,” she said, quickly turning and passing through the double doors that glided open just for her.
“Good night, Otis,” she said. Carl Otis was the old pop-bellied security officer that guarded the ER entrance of First Methodist.
“Good night, nurse!” he said with a knowing smile that followed Regina out the door and then settled tauntingly on Dr. Younghill.
“Get back to work, Otis!” Dr. Younghill instructed with a laugh.
“Don’t mind if I do, don’t mind if I do,” the officer said as he strolled out into the night.
Hundreds of miles away brisk October breezes were rumbling over the hills of a relatively unremarkable town in the Midwest where the population was small, the meals were big and tolerance was somewhere in the middle. In the house at the end of Weeping Willow Road, the heat was on, but Nikki Valentine’s bedroom window was wide open. Nikki enjoyed the cold; it helped her sleep. Despite the fact that her room felt like an icebox, she was warm under a thick cotton sheet and a fluffy white comforter decorated with olive green vines, chocolate branches, and blossoms of golden amber flowers. Her eyes would not remain closed for more than a few seconds before a churning in her stomach caused her eye lids to rise again. Tossing in her bed was aiding in getting her to sleep no more than the two mini bottles of tequila that she had gulped down not even thirty minutes before. Finally, she sat up in bed and threw the thick comforter back with a huff, watching it fall over the end of her bed.
This is going to be a cold, cold winter, she thought, feeling her skin prickle with goose bumps.
Nikki Valentine leaned out of the bed and flipped the light switch, which brought to life the delicate chandelier that hung in the middle of the room, but also the golden wall sconces that were placed to both sides of the massive white fireplace. Over the fireplace hung an ornately framed mirror, which reflected the powder blue walls, making her room look even greater than it actually was. Before she had gone to bed, her father offered to build a fire, considering the nights were cold now. Mr. Valentine knew that she liked her room cold, but he also knew that she found it hard to resist the romantic setting that the roaring fire created. As her feet sunk into the plush carpet that matched her walls she was grateful once again as she was every morning that she had been able to talk her father out of making her have, in her room, the same hardwood that surfaced every other floor in the grand home. The carpet was soft on her bare feet. Nikki made sure her door was locked before she went to the fireplace where she dug her hand up into the inside feeling around on the inner fireplace walls until she found the treasure that she had buried there not so long ago for safekeeping. Her hand searched wildly for the edges of the tape and when she found them, she worked carefully with her cheek pressed up against the rococo surface of the fireplace that showed in the room. A grin spread wide across her lips as she plucked the tape from the wall, causing the small object to tumble into her palm. She pulled it into the light and was glad to see her dependable Mexican friend. There were two more of the same treasures there that she worked just as carefully to release from their hiding space. Gathering all three in her hand, she then sunk into one of two chairs and placed the bottles on her small accent coffee table. Nikki held up the mini bottle of tequila and was thrilled that her father had not insisted on building her a fire tonight, possibly exposing the new stash space that she had found for her old bad habits. One bottle after the other she drank in several swigs, activating every wrinkle in her face with each chest-burning swallow. Her stomach burned. Inheriting her mother’s stomach problems was bad enough, but when she then coated the vital organ with such potent elixirs on more than a regular basis, it made for disastrous gastro intestinal functioning. With great purpose, the alcohol flowed through her veins and she could feel each part of her body slowing, settling into the cushion of the chair. The fluttering of her eyelids crept to a sluggish movement and her heart began to beat with a leisure that could be accomplished only under this euphoric intoxication. A pseudo peace settled upon her and she mistakenly took solace in the thought that this time would be like the rest and soon she would drift off into a place of unconsciousness, where nothing mattered and she had no worry of feelings, but she was wrong. Soon she could feel the thump deep in her chest.
Please stop, she begged silently.
The pump grew savage in response to her weak cry for mercy; it was in her stomach now swimming around. The alcohol fought with it, but was no match for what was now in her thighs causing them to tremble. Her eyes plucked open and were set on the dark cherry wood dresser that sat underneath the window and drew her to it. She stood in front of the billowing blue and white drapes and stared into the dark hills. There was something coming, in the dead, deep dark of the night, there was something coming. Nikki stared and could not see it, but she could feel it. She opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out a pair of white lace underwear that she had recently purchased. Nikki held the underwear up in front of her inspecting the lace that had never been worn; she then pulled out the other three pieces of new underwear, which left none behind. Balling them up between her palms, she sulked out of the bedroom and went down to the large garbage can in the kitchen where she shoved them as far down into the trash as her arm would reach. When she was done, she stood lifelessly over the trash can in wait of the calm that would tame the wild wretch inside her and allow her to sleep through the night.
The driver of the shiny black car cursed the endless potholes that dotted the parking lot of the Backdoor Bar, which was positioned in a
no-man’s-land on the outskirts of Johnson City. After pulling into a parking space, neither too close nor too far from the front door, Natalie Weston put the car in park and pulled down the visor in order to study herself in the mirror. Using bright red lipstick, she re-coated her pursed lips, then rubbed them together, ensuring that her face art was perfect. Matching red fingernails combed through her hair, then adjusted the black lace bustier top of her fitted dress to make sure that her cleavage sat at its highest. When her primping was done, she emerged from the car and broke into sultry strides toward the door.
Cigarette smoke stung her eyes as she entered the den of usual suspects and rugged outcasts. The exotic-looking, ample-bodied young woman immediately drew all the attention. Her dark hair fell down below her naked shoulders in soft curls and her alluring dark eyes, which sat under sleepy lids, crawled over each of the few patrons. The bar occupants had fallen under the temporary trance of the seductress that released them only once she passed them by, on the focused journey toward the object of her intentions. He would be waiting at the bar, but beyond that detail, her knowledge of him was slim. She needed not know much about him; it was unnecessary and, in fact, sometimes got in the way.
At the bar, there were only four men from which to choose. One was wearing jeans, a dirty T-shirt, and a baseball cap.
Nope, she thought to herself as she passed.
The next man was wearing a wrinkled business suit, his tie had been hastily loosened at the neck, and his head rested crookedly on his palm over a watered-down whiskey.
“No”, she whispered, moving on to the third man who wore a crisp, white-collar shirt and dark, pressed-denim jeans. It was he and there was no reason to go any farther.
“You must be Carl,” she said as she slid unto the bar stool next to the bald man who could have easily been ten years older than her.
“Lola?” he said. She smiled. “You’re beautiful.” His traveling eyes made their journey halfway down her body before he caught himself.
Black Water Tales: The Secret Keepers Page 1
