Taken (Breaking the Darkness)

by Starr, Felicia

  By

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  Amazon Edition

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  Taken: Breaking the Darkness

  Copyright © 2013 by Felicia Starr

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This book is dedicated to my boys.

  WITHOUT THE SUN and moon to guide my inner clock, there was really no way for me to distinguish how many nights or days had passed. The darkness was different than any I had experienced before. My eyes couldn’t quite adjust.

  Although I had a real bed and a partial bath with a toilet and small wash sink, there was no sense of comfort. What seemed to be the only entrance was sealed so tight that no light seeped in from the perimeter. There were no windows; the walls were cold and barren. My hands explored my surroundings, yet I couldn’t even find an outlet or light switch.

  I tried to escape my fears by focusing on remembering less stressful times, most of which were with Gram. I replayed the past in my head, hoping that somewhere hidden in those memories might be a clue as to what happened and how I ended up in the dark.

  When my fear and confusion subsided enough, I willed myself to sleep. It was my only escape from the heaviness the darkness imposed upon me. This didn’t help my capacity to estimate the length of my imprisonment. I didn’t know how long or how often I drifted off to sleep. There were moments I lay there struggling to determine if my eyes were open or closed.

  One would think the quiet would be soothing, only it amplified every little thing. I realized there was no true stillness. I could envision the flecks of dust floating through the air, crashing into the floor like pellets of hail on a summer day. The anticipation of hearing footsteps approaching my room sent continuous chills up my spine with every little noise the silence allowed.

  There was something about the smell in the air and the chill of the walls and floor that led me to believe I was still somewhere in the desert. The lack of moisture in the atmosphere left my mouth sticky and dry. Being dehydrated from lack of fluids wasn’t helping. I wasn’t sure if the faucet water was safe to drink.

  The pains in my stomach reminded me how much I longed for a veggie-filled pita with hummus and feta cheese. My mouth watered at the thought of a guilt-filled bag of Doritos. I should have been grateful I wasn’t completely being starved in there. I don’t know how or when, but food did appear in my room from time to time—and I use the term food loosely. A couple of crackers or a piece of jerky doesn’t really constitute food to me. I had to take what I could since I still didn’t have a clue where I was, who was keeping me, or why.

  Since Gram died, while I was away at college, there really wasn’t a home to go back to. I decided to take the small amount of money she left me and put most of it in the bank. I’d just moved to Santa Fe and prepaid a year’s rent for a studio-sized house on a small side street. Santa Fe was appealing because it was close to the last place Gram lived, La Cienega, just outside the city limits. The sad thing is, without employment and friends or family in the new city, no one would miss me.

  At this realization my heart grew heavier. Although I could feel the burn in my throat, threatening the shower of tears, I choked it back. Tears wouldn’t fight off the shadows. Appearing resilient would help me keep up my strength.

  I contemplated screaming out, demanding an answer as to why I was there. Trepidation brought that action to a silent halt. I didn’t want to face the potential terrors that stalked the future. I watched enough crime television shows to know how much worse this could get. I counted on my silence as my best defense.

  I continued to make desperate attempts at feeling around the walls that encased me. Pressing my face against the cold surfaces, I struggled to hear a trace of someone, anyone, only my ears were denied. Could it be I was truly alone in this unwarranted exile? Perhaps this was it; in the end the darkness would consume me.

  I dropped to my knees at the center of my prison. I could feel the surge of sadness and anger coursing through my body. My core heated and it felt as though my blood was on fire. I acknowledged each pore of my skin as the fine hairs stood at attention from the vibration that shook my extremities. With my teeth clenched and my eyes pressed shut, I tried to regain my breath and focus on Gram.

  In a whisper, I called out to her. “Gram… Gram, I know you’re out there watching over me. I just wish I could hear your voice.”

  I continued to speak to her in my head. As much as I always wished something exciting would happen to me, being incarcerated in this godforsaken dark box wasn’t at all what I had in mind.

  As I looked down toward the amulet resting on my chest, my fingers encased the charm. I closed my eyes, and memories of the time my grandmother draped it around my neck flocked to the forefront.

  It was the summer I turned sixteen. Gram and I took a road trip to the Painted Desert, one of our favorite places to visit. I loved being surrounded by mountains made of rainbows of rock. Some people referred to this location as the “badlands.” When I was there, though, I felt filled with a unique sense of lightness that almost lifted me off my feet. Being there was effortless.

  I could walk for hours, soaking in the beauty and freshness of the landscape. I felt connected, not necessarily to anything in particular; I just felt at one with nature. It was like the spirit of the earth moved through me. Even when I was alone on a trail, I never felt lonesome.

  The day Gram gave me this necklace, it was as if the heavens had opened up and dumped colors all around us. The sun sank past the painted-rock walls that bordered our location. The sky swelled with layers of purple, pink, orange, and even a touch of gold at the tips of the earth. Gram always knew how to pick just the right moment and location to make a special occasion feel magical.

  “Kasha, you are becoming a strong and beautiful young woman. The women in our family have always had a special bond with one another. You must always remember, even when we’re not together, we’re a part of each other, linked always.”

  I knew part of what she was getting at had to do with my mother. It had been many years since I saw her last, but now was neither the time nor place to start thinking about that. Squeezing the pendant in my hand, a gia
nt, slow breath helped push her out of my head, for now.

  Gazing back down at my necklace, I pretended to make out more than the silhouette in the darkness. In my mind I could see the pentagonal piece of petrified wood encased in silver. The pie-shaped stones enhanced each point of the rounded pentacle. Beautifully etched floral designs in the metal surrounded the stones. A remnant of something engraved on the rear side was almost visible, but it had worn down long before I took possession. If only I could make out what had been there; I often fantasized about what it might have said.

  I wasn’t sure if there was any significance to the markings, but they looked ancient. Maybe it once belonged to an Egyptian pharaoh or a Celtic princess. Too bad I never took the time to ask Gram if she knew the history of this piece. It would have been interesting to know to whom it had belonged.

  “You have an intensity about you that is unrivaled. Keep this with you at all times. You will find it will keep you grounded and connected to what is important.”

  Gram always said weird stuff like that. I’d gotten used to it and stopped trying to figure out if her comments had hidden meanings. As a kid I would get embarrassed when she talked like that in front of other people. I saw the way they looked at her, probably thinking, What a shame that beautiful woman is so crazy. It was that quirkiness I grew to love most about her when I became a young adult.

  I guess Gram was at least a little bit right about this amulet. Holding it brought thoughts of her to me. It seemed to cool me down and calm my nerves. At the same time, it warmed me and gave me comfort. A brief moment of peace helped subdue the constant fear and avoid the panic that could set in at any moment.

  WITHOUT REALIZATION, AGAIN, I had curled up on the floor and drifted off to sleep. When I opened my eyes, they were still unable to fully adjust to the darkness. Lying there, my legs were tucked so tightly into my arms my chin rested upon my knees. My left shoulder ached from the extended period of time it was sandwiched against the unyielding floor. I considered getting up and going over to the bed, but there was something comforting in the pain of lying there alone and scared, yet knowing I was alive.

  Why am I alive? Why am I not hurt? What do they want from me? All questions without answers. Maybe they realized I wasn’t the person they meant to take and they were trying to figure out what to do with me. This must be some sort of crazy mix-up. I suppose, for that matter, I could be aboard an alien ship on my way to becoming something’s research experiment. God, I hoped they didn’t believe in cavity probing!

  I trusted my silence had them at least confused or convinced I wasn’t a threat. I was sure by now the average female would have been screaming her head off, beating her fists against the walls, begging for answers and release.

  Although, I always considered myself fairly average—well, maybe a bit above average, but who’s counting? When I was school age, I tried to go as unnoticed as possible. Not so much because I thought there was anything wrong with the way I looked, but it helped prevent anyone from getting close enough to know me, or my family. I wasn’t fond of coming up with an explanation for why I lived with my grandmother. Not that we ever really lived anywhere long enough for it to matter anyway.

  As a young adult, I began to come into my own and enhance my natural essence. I still kept my red hair long and, when time allowed, I would set it in rollers or take a curling iron to it for soft curls. There were times as a teen when I considered coloring my hair to blend in more, but what fun would that be? My fiery red hair made me feel unique and special, the way Gram always insisted I was. Besides, it was a perfect, unexpected compliment to my bluish-grey eyes.

  I was actually quite surprised at my own composure. Fear undoubtedly has a way of bringing out a part of ourselves that we might not expect to ever find. I was very glad to find out that I was, so far, able to keep a clear head. Perhaps I was just so bored with the utter nothingness of the situation that I hadn’t allowed myself to get worked up about the “what ifs” of what could be going on.

  I wondered if I would get back to my apartment. I only just started to move in and still hadn’t decided on paint colors. I was leaning toward a rustic mustard color and painting all the trim either a shade darker or brown. It would work well with all the antiques I hunted down at The Flea. I loved walking through the market early in the morning with a cup of organic black lightning in hand to help fight off the early morning chill.

  I relished the opportunity to browse through belongings once adored so much by others. Each item had a story behind it and some vendors couldn’t stop themselves from sharing their tales. More often than not, the best items and stories had the most years behind them. I preferred to purchase those articles worth talking about. If, by chance, I ever had guests, I would always have something to chat about.

  Although there seemed to be many new vendors each time I went, a few were there every Sunday morning. I’d gotten to know some of them by name. I couldn’t really say I’d made friends with many, but it was always nice to see a familiar face. I always looked forward to one couple in particular. They must have been close to seventy. I wondered how they managed to lug all their things to the market to sell each week. I had a suspicion they kept the back of their Volkswagen bus loaded with the same artifacts and added a few odds and ends each week to replace any sold items.

  They were small people. Axel was a bit shorter than me, about five feet seven inches, and his bride Patience was maybe five feet tall. Although she was quite compact, she didn’t give off any sign of frailty. She certainly wore the pants in that relationship.

  Axel kept what was left of his hair buzzed down to almost nothing. He always had on brown dungarees and a guayabera short-sleeved button-up shirt, like they wear in South America. Patience wore her hair as she must have in the forties. The front was scooped up away from her face in some sort of a poof or roll and the back was always in a bun or twist. She always looked perfect—never a hair out of place, makeup just right, and if market day fell on a holiday, she wore red lipstick and a flower in her hair to match her attire.

  They often bantered playfully, pausing with two giant smiles when a potential customer approached their stand. Something about them reminded me of the old couple that lived in the tree in the movie The Princess Bride. Of course my new buddies were way better looking.

  One of my last flea market purchases was an item from Axel and Patience—a beautiful bookshelf made of reclaimed wood with stone shelves. Axel told me the gentleman from whom they obtained the bookshelf claimed the stone shelves originally came from ruins in Palenque, Mexico. The wood was reclaimed floor planks from an old schoolhouse. How incredible was that? Even if it wasn’t totally cool-looking, the history of the materials sold me.

  Before I was even able to let them know I’d pay their price, Axel proceeded to tell me about one of the Mayan civilizations that lived in Palenque. He rattled off a small history lesson about their civilization, existing from two hundred-something AD to one thousand-something BC. Somehow he even knew they occasionally had women rulers, again, a pretty cool element to this piece. After twenty minutes of wars, kings, and hieroglyphs, finally he wrapped it up with how the jungle consumed the abandoned community. His stories always involved some kind of history lesson. Patience just smiled and winked at me.

  I don’t know if he knew all these things or if he just researched everything they tried to sell. Lucky for me, he didn’t know from what schoolhouse the wood actually derived. I’m sure if he’d known, I would’ve been there long enough to have lunch with them too.

  Patience always handled all the financial aspects of their endeavors. After I paid her, she gently put her hands on mine and asked me if I liked to read. Although I had a few shows I tried to catch, I mostly enjoyed spending my evenings with a book and glass of wine or coffee, depending on my mood. She told me she had some very special books she would like to sell and she would bring them to The Flea next month.

  Knowing them, her book collection would be eclectic a
nd old. I might have to bring a thermos of coffee instead of my travel cup to make it through what would probably be multiple history lessons. I’m sure they’d have my ear a good part of the day. That is, if I ever got out of here.

  The intention behind purchasing the bookshelf was for Gram’s book collection, still in storage with what was left of her belongings. Gram had a number of first editions, the spines of many worn and tattered. They would look awe-inspiring in my new bookshelf. I didn’t want to bring her stuff to my house until I got settled and had a proper home for everything.

  As nice as it would be to make it back to The Flea to find myself more rustic collectables for my new home, all I really wanted was some fresh air and sunlight. I couldn’t begin to imagine how much the sun would hurt my eyes after all the constant darkness.

  I missed the smell of the air just before it was about to rain. I loved to sit outside and listen to the rhythm of the raindrops as they bounced off the clay-tiled roofs near my little house. I’d just planted a row of purple passion penstemons along the honeysuckle bush. My plantings combined with the neighbor’s abundant desert sage bushes created scents that filled the evening air. The aroma often made me feel like I’d slipped away into a secret aromatherapy garden.

  Gram would have enjoyed what I planted in the tiny bit of earth that came with my little rental. Gram always had plants inside and out, mostly flowering herbs. We never went without fresh herbs. If we weren’t cooking with them, she would dry them to make teas, most of which I found gross. She had a small following that came to her for her unique blend of dried herbs and teas. It amazed me that, for the amount of times we moved, they always knew where to find her.

  Blanketed by this darkness, I wasn’t sure if I was awake or asleep most of the time. Sleeping seemed like the only way to escape the emptiness. The problem was that my dreams almost bled into my reality, or lack thereof. Many of my dreams were pleasant and as mixed up as any other dream would be. In the nightmares haunting me now I was trapped in the darkness, just as I was when awake.