by E. A. Darl
Shadowed Silence
by
E.A. Darl
Table of Contents
Title Page
Shadowed Silence (The Silent Lands Chronicles, #4)
Dedication: | To all who have found that life did not go as planned. | You can still make a difference.
Chapter 1 | Rattling the Cage
Chapter 2 | First Loss
Chapter 3 | Big Plans
Chapter 4 | Questionable Opportunity
Chapter 5 | Bargain with The Raven
Chapter 6 | Bumbling Thief
Chapter 7 | Ride Along
Chapter 8 | Graduation
Chapter 9 | Wrong Place
Chapter 10 | Moving On
Chapter 11 | One Good Turn
Chapter 12 | Breakup
Chapter 13 | Major Decision
Chapter 14 | Police Training
THE END
THE SILENT LANDS CHRONICLES
THE SPIRIT SHIELD SAGA
THE HEART OF THE CITADEL
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Also by E.A. Darl
The Silent Lands Chronicles
Stealing Silence
Seeking Silence
Stinging Silence
Shadowed Silence
COPYRIGHT © 2018 E.A. DARL
All rights reserved. Reproduction or utilization of this work in any form, by
any means now known or hereinafter invented, including, but not limited to,
xerography, photocopying and recording, and in any known storage and
retrieval system, is forbidden without permission from the copyright holder.
Cover Design by Greg Simanson
Edited by Judith Docken
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are
either the product of the authorʹs imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is
unintentional.
EPUB ISBN: 978-1-989022-05-4
Dedication:
To all who have found that life did not go as planned.
You can still make a difference.
Chapter 1
Rattling the Cage
Mitch slammed the front door harder than he intended, but tried not to care. Thumping down the porch steps two at a time, he hurried to his car, unlocking it with his key fob before he reached the driver’s side door. Before he could start the old Ford, his mother was leaning over the railing, waving a paper bag at him.
“You forgot your lunch,” she called.
Mitch backed his car down the driveway as his window made its noisy descent. He let go of the button, then tilted his head out the window.
“I’ll get something at school,” he yelled over the aggressive music on the radio. “Don’t worry.”
He saw her wave to him in his rear view mirror and felt only a slight guilt that he hadn’t said anything to either of them before he left the house. What would I have to say anyway? He thought as he drove away.
Catch any bad guys on the night shift, Dad?
Have a good day at work Mom.
Would the two of you please stop arguing about how dangerous Dad’s job is?
Mitch took the corner at the T-intersection without touching the brake pedal, and then accelerated as the road straightened out. The edgy beat of the music matched his mood and he pushed the old car, watching the needle on the speedometer climb. Trees and houses flew past in a blur and he gripped the steering wheel tightly, not caring if he got a speeding ticket. He just wanted to get to school, hang out with his friends, and put the stupid argument out of his mind. More than that, he wanted to keep driving, right out of town. On the highway, the police didn’t care as much about high speeds, and he wanted to drive as fast as he could until his pent up frustration was spent.
It was always the same argument, and it never resolved anything. Of course his job was dangerous, but Mom knew that when she agreed to marry a cop. Dad loved his job. He had been a cop for almost twenty-five years and he didn’t know how to do anything else.
Mom kept harping on him, though. Mitch could hear them the minute he woke up this morning. Dad had been on a stakeout every night all week, and usually got home about the time Mitch got up. Mom launched into him the minute his heavy boots walked in the door.
The music on the radio ended, and a commercial started. Mitch blinked and reality snapped back into focus. A stop sign flashed in his vision, far too close. He stood on the brake pedal, the worn tires screeching as the old Ford slid to a wavering stop. The engine sputtered and rattled in time with his pulse as he sat at the intersection, willing his heart rate to slow. He unclenched his frozen fingers from the steering wheel.
“Shit.”
He checked both ways before carefully pulling through the intersection. Driving like a maniac wasn’t going to help his cause. If he wrecked this bucket of bolts, he would not be able to afford to get a new car for a long time. Not to mention that his parents would ground him until his eighteenth birthday, eight months from now and right before graduation. He’d never live that down. All he had to do was get through this last year of high school, and then he was out of here. Away from this crappy town, away from the dead-end opportunities, away from the endless arguing.
By the time he reached the school, he felt calmer. His first stop was his locker, where he collected the books he needed for his morning classes, and then he headed over to Kendra’s locker. She wasn’t there, so he made his way to his first class, alone.
This day was turning into one stupid thing after another.
Football practice after school helped work out the last traces of Mitch’s frustration and by the time he got home, it was later than usual. He was surprised when he walked in the front door to find his dad sitting on the sofa with his feet up, watching TV.
“Oh, hey Dad. I figured you’d be gone by now.”
“Planned it that way did you?” He smirked at his son.
“No.” Mitch dropped his backpack on the stairs and kicked off his shoes at the door. “We had football practice after school. I thought you were still on stakeout duty.”
“Well, we nabbed the guy last night, so the stakeout is done. I get a night off.”
“Oh. Congratulations, then.” Mitch looked around. “Is Mom home?”
“No, she went to a movie with a couple of her friends. And to answer your next question, dinner is on the stove. We saved some for you.”
“Hey, thanks.”
Mitch went into the kitchen to fill a plate with lasagna and a couple slices of garlic toast. He returned to the living room and sat down on the worn sofa next to his dad. He forgot about everything for a few minutes as he wolfed down the food.
“How did your day go?”
Mitch finished his bite before he replied. “Okay I guess. Football practice was fun.”
“Yeah, I always enjoyed football more than my classes.”
When he was finished, Mitch set his plate down on the coffee table. “Hey Dad, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Are you and Mom okay? I mean, it just seems like you spend a lot of time fighting these days.”
Dad sighed and muted the TV.
“Yeah, we’re fine.” He scratched his chin. “The stakeout last night ended when the suspect and one of the cops on duty were shot. They both ended up in the hospital, but they’ll be fine, and we have the guy we were looking for. Your mom got a little freaked out when I told her about it, that’s all.”
“But that isn’t the first fight you guys have had.”
“I know, but we’ll work it out. In five more years I can retire, and then your mom will have me home a
ll the time.”
He smiled at his son and patted his arm reassuringly.
Mitch noticed, for the first time, the tired lines around his father’s eyes. Streaks of gray striped his sandy hair, and grizzled whiskers outlined his once firm jaw. He was worried, Mitch realized with a start. Worried but still trying to protect his son from his own stress.
“Do you like being a cop, Dad?”
He nodded immediately. “I really do, but your mom is right. It is a dangerous job. I know she worries about me, and that’s not fair to her.” He turned and faced Mitch squarely. “Go to college, Mitch. Get an education and get a real job, like your sister. Don’t stick around here and don’t be a cop. Your mother couldn’t handle that.”
“Dad, being a cop is a real job. Don’t say it isn’t. Don’t worry, that’s not what I want to do. I don’t plan on sticking around here, you know that. I’m not as smart as Pam, though, and I don’t think I’m cut out for college. I’m sick of school.”
“You are smart, in your own way. You’re good at figuring things out. Good enough to be a detective, I think.” He paused, thinking. “Don’t do that, though. That’s iffy work.”
“Nope, I’m going to travel,” said Mitch, “and see some of the world, while I still can. I’ll figure out what I want to do later. Maybe I’ll try a bit of everything.”
“Well, don’t tell your mom that. She wants you to go to college and become an archaeologist like your sister or something.”
“I thought you wanted me to go to college.”
“Oh sure, that’s always a good idea, but I also know you. You gotta do what you gotta do. I’m proud of you either way, son.”
Mitch felt suddenly ashamed of his earlier anger. Of course, Dad would always know the right thing to say. He opened his mouth to say more, but his father waved him off. “Now put your plate in the dishwasher and get yourself up to your room. Do your homework and hit the sack at a reasonable time.”
Mitch chuckled. “I’m not a little kid, Dad,” but he stood up and carried his plate to the kitchen anyway.
“You’re not eighteen yet, young man. I can still tell you what to do and you still have to do it.”
“Yes sir, Officer.” Mitch gave him a mock salute.
“God, you’re annoying.”
“It’s my job,” Mitch grinned.
Dad chuckled, and then smiled gently. “Go ahead. I’ll wait up for your mom. It’ll be okay, I promise.”
“Goodnight, Dad. And thanks.”
“I love you, boy.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
Mitch climbed the stairs, feeling relieved, at ease for the first time that day. Dad said it would be okay. He only hoped that was true.
Chapter 2
First Loss
Mitch saw the break in the line and darted for it, ducking his shoulder to avoid the grasp of the opposing player. Pivoting on his right foot, he broke free of the pack and sprinted for the goalpost, exhilarated. He was free! There wasn’t another player between him and his first touchdown of the season. Even though this was only a practice, triumph coursed through his veins with a burst of adrenaline.
I still got it, he thought to himself, grinning as he pounded down the field. Mitch glanced over his shoulder, checking the position of the other players. He was only two paces ahead of two beefy teens sporting yellow jerseys. With a spurt of adrenaline, he pushed himself to move faster on weightless legs.
Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten. Almost there.
He smacked the ground hard on the six-yard line, the face guard of his helmet grinding into the stiff, dry turf. The player who hit him from the back immediately released his vice grip on Mitch's waist and leapt to his feet to a chorus of cheers from the other players.
"Great hit," he heard the coach call.
Spitting out dust and dry grass, Mitch pushed himself up to stand and brushed the dirt off the front of his jersey. Turf was much easier to play on when it was green, he thought ruefully. As far as he could remember, the last time this football field was green was last spring.
Cory slapped Mitch on the shoulder pads.
"You're a hard guy to take down," he said, pulling off his helmet.
"Just stubborn I guess." He grinned at his best friend.
"Wrap it up, men," Coach yelled from the sidelines. "That's it for today. Good practice."
A few of the boys glanced at each other, surprised, but gathered up their gear and made their way off the field.
"Is it my imagination or are we finishing early today?" Mitch pulled off his helmet with relief, grateful that there was enough of a breeze to cool his sweat-soaked head.
"Definitely not your imagination," muttered Cory. "Coach seems a little distracted."
Mitch trotted over to where the coach was tossing the footballs into the large mesh bag.
"Hey Coach," he said. "What's up? Everything okay?"
Dan Bryson glanced up at Mitch as he approached. "Hi, Mitch. It's nothing you need to concern yourself with right now. You guys worked hard, and as hot as it is, I figured I'd let you off a bit early." He finished his task and heaved the bag up to his shoulder. "You did really well today. You've gotten stronger over the summer, I think."
Mitch walked alongside his coach as he left the field. "I tried to stay in shape. I want to have a great last year."
"Well, you've always worked hard. You've been a real asset to this team."
"I try."
"You're good enough to play college football, son. You really are. I hope you pursue that."
Mitch looked sideways at Coach Bryson. "Maybe. I think I'm going to take a couple years off and do some travelling, though."
Bryson was quiet for a moment, but nodded his head. "That's too bad, Mitch, but I understand. Maybe you can get back to playing later. Any team would be lucky to have you playing for them.”
"Oh I don’t know. You've got some good talent coming up the ranks here, I think," Mitch said. "You should have a strong team next year."
Bryson nodded but said nothing.
Mitch spotted Cory waiting impatiently by his car as they exited the field.
"Gotta' run, Coach," he called over his shoulder, breaking into a run. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Bryson lifted a hand in farewell as Mitch caught up with Cory. He shifted the heavy bag on his shoulder. Kids are so optimistic, he thought. It never occurs to them that anything can ever change, or that their way of life would ever end.
He rubbed his chest with a broad hand, trying to ignore the clenching ache. It was just stress, he told himself. What else could it be? What else would he be feeling, knowing that his role at this school was almost over? He had been coaching high school football for fifteen years. What else was he supposed to do now?
Moreover, how was he going to tell these wonderful, hard-working kids that they would be the last high school football team this school would ever see?
MITCH CAUGHT UP WITH Cory easily, and unlocked his car. He popped open the rusted trunk with a squeak and heaved his sports back in. Cory did as well. He closed it with a hard slam to make sure the catch connected. It didn't always.
"What was that all about?" Cory climbed into the passenger side as Mitch opened the driver's door.
Mitch shrugged as he started the Ford. "Coach said he let us off a bit early because it was so hot, that's all."
Cory shook his head. "Something's up."
"You think so? What are you thinking?"
"Well, things are changing. You can see it, just look around."
"What do you mean?" Mitch backed out of the parking spot and maneuvered his car past the other vehicles and out onto the road.
"Empty houses, closed down businesses, you know, stuff like that."
"We're just in a bit of a slump. I'm sure things will pick up eventually, especially when that new plant goes in."
"My dad says that's been canceled."
"What? Why?"
"No money. Same old story. My dad says that all the resourc
es are moving to the bigger cities. Smaller cities like us can't afford to ship things all over the place, not without support from the government. But if we're not making money, we're not paying as much in taxes so services are cut. Everyone is struggling to get by with less. Dad and my uncle say that the government is trying to centralize everything so they can maintain control. They can't help those of us out here anymore. At least, that's what they say."
"That doesn't make sense. What changed?"
"Well, we think it’s the environment, mainly. We're a farming community, and the crops are getting smaller and smaller every year. The spring bud barely produced flowers and so the orchards in the valley are almost bare of fruit. Without spring rains, the irrigation ponds are dry, and without water for irrigation, the grain fields didn’t germinating properly. The crops are stunted. They are failing." Cory’s words stumbled to a halt.
"See, I live in the city, so I don't really see that. I figured we were just having a run of hot summers," said Mitch.
"There's more."
At the tone of his voice, Mitch glanced over at Cory. "That doesn't sound good."
"No. Our farm has been hit hard. Dad can't afford to put in the high-tech irrigation system that our buyer wants. They say it's a government requirement, but we aren't even making enough to pay our taxes. We sure as hell can't afford this new system."
He was quiet for a moment, unable to go on.
"So what's that mean for your farm?"
Cory looked over at his best friend, anguish in his lean face. "We're selling it off, Mitch. Everything. No one wants the land, but some of the big, government-controlled set-ups want the equipment. We're hoping someone will buy the house, too."
Mitch turned off the highway onto the dirt road that led out to Cory's home. "So..." he hesitated, "So, are you moving into town?"
"No. Mom and Dad both have taken jobs with one of the government operations.”
“Where?”
“Back East.”
“Nooo,” Mitch groaned. He pulled the car up in front of the house and set the car in park.
