Destined for Darkness

by Cassie Pierce

  ~Prologue~

  It is dark and un-naturally hot as my bare feet wade through the swampy land. I can sense the evil and pain that reside here, but strangely I am not afraid. I have the same sense of calm that I always experience when I am here. It is like I somehow belong in this vile place.

  My feet continue to carry me forward, almost as if they have their own free will. When I arrive at the bridge that connects to the dark, gothic style castle I don’t even hesitate. I push forward and stop for a moment to admire the massive door that I have walked through so many times before. It is black with angels carved of pure gold covering it from top to bottom. These are not the peaceful depictions of angels that you associate with Heaven. No, they are dark and deadly creatures that seem to be in the heat of battle. I delicately trace the woodwork as I study the scene, in awe of how something so frightening can also be so captivating. I push against the large door, its resounding squeak announcing my arrival once again.

  I walk the long hallway to the vast room that seems to be where I always end up when I come here. He sits, perfectly composed as always, not the least bit surprised by my arrival. He is wrapped in his usual blood red robe. His sun kissed hair is perfectly disheveled; framing a face so stunning it looks like it belongs to a god instead of a man. His caramel colored eyes are so intense that I am unable to look away. It is like the sun has been trapped behind his gaze, causing the caramel to glow a rich gold. I am certain that if I look at him long enough, those eyes will burn a path straight into my soul. I feel exposed under his scrutiny. It’s like he somehow has the ability to strip away all of my carefully built walls, leaving me defenseless. Still, as frightened as I may be by his presence, I can’t help but be mesmerized by him. He is terrifyingly beautiful. I secretly wonder how someone who looks like they are made of light can exist in this place of eternal darkness.

  My feet continue to betray my mind as they carry me closer to where he sits. In a move that cannot be human he is directly in front of me. A startled cry escapes me at his sudden proximity, and he laughs. It is a dark, cold sound that paralyzes me with fear. Faster than should be possible, he wraps a cold hand around my throat. I can feel the oxygen leaving me as he increases his hold. When he speaks, tingles of the unpleasant variety assault my body.

  “Choose now, Ridley,” he spits, while continuing to squeeze the life right out of me. I try to answer him, but I can’t breathe. “Choose? Choose what?” His golden eyes flash red as I struggle in his grasp.

  Just as the last of my life force starts to slip away the light arrives. It always comes for me before I can answer. Its pale blue form wraps around me like a security blanket, taking with it all my fear and doubt. I am instantly filled with an overwhelming sense of peace and love. Here, I am safe. I have been here enough to know that the light will guide me home.

  “NOOOOO!!!!!!” he roars as I slip from his grasp.

  Then I am falling.

  The light slowly slips away into an inky nothingness, and I have never felt so empty. So alone.

  I bolt awake, drenched in sweat and gasping for air, just like I have every other night since my eighteenth birthday.

  “Breathe Ridley, just breathe,” I repeat to myself until my heart rate finally slows down.

  This is getting ridiculous! I must be having some sort of psychotic break. I mean, they are just dreams.

  Right?

  I want to believe that they are just your run of the mill nightmares, but deep down I know that they are more than that. The dream is like a never ending horror movie stuck on repeat in my mind. It never changes, and it never stops. I glance at the clock.

  “Great! Two am!”

  Is one night of peaceful sleep too much for a girl to ask for? Well, apparently if you’re me it is.

  Tomorrow is a very important day. I just want to sleep for one night, that’s all. I throw my pillow over my head and try to clear my mind. I close my eyes and focus on calming thoughts. I lay there for about an hour before I finally feel the much needed lull of sleep call to me. I pray that the dream will grant me a much needed reprieve, at least for a few hours. When I close my eyes and find myself in the barren waste land once again, I know that I will be granted no such mercy tonight.

  ~Chapter 1~

  The Beginning

  I am still groggy from yet another sleepless night as I pull the last box out of my mustang. I contemplate telling someone about my nightmares but decide it is probably for the best to stay silent. Crazy is not an adjective that I need to add to my already colorful list of problems. I balance the box on my hip and down the remainder of my coffee. I swear, I don’t see how people survive without the yummy deliciousness that is coffee. Once my caffeine rush hits me I stop and stare in awe at my new home. My new life.

  I have waited what seems like forever for this day. The day when I could finally escape that one red light hell hole that I call home. Don’t get me wrong, the whole small town thing is great for some people. I personally am not one of them. I hate that everyone there thinks that they know more about me than I know about myself. I have wanted to get out of my hometown for as long as I can remember and thank God that day is here. I have always known that I was made for greater things than Casper Cove, Alabama. I need a town where the place to be on Friday night is not in the middle of a hay field. I want a town where I can be more than ‘that poor girl whose parents left her’. Casper Cove is one of those small places that can be best compared to Mayberry. It is a place where everyone knows everyone, but no one really knows anyone at all. They just think that they do. To the outside world it is rural perfection, but to those who grow up there, it is anything but perfect.

  I have always known that one day Crimson City would be my home. I have been obsessed with all things Crimson my whole life. Seriously, I love Crimson football like most girls love purses. I am over the moon to call the University my new alma mater. I know that it technically isn’t even that far away from where I grew up but trust me, it is nothing like my hometown. To say that I am excited as I carry the last box into my new home would be an understatement. I am ecstatic to finally be free.

  My excitement fades a little when I look at my mom. She is the vision of beauty, as always. Her long auburn hair flows in soft waves to her hips, giving her an angelic appearance. She is facing the window, and I can tell without seeing her face that she is crying. I sigh and sit the box that I am carrying by the door. I walk over to this woman who has given me so much. Who has loved me like I am her own flesh and blood, even though I’m not. I hate that she is sad, but I hate it more knowing that I am the reason behind her pain. I pull her in for a hug, snuggling my face into her shirt, inhaling her familiar scent. She smells like cinnamon and vanilla, a scent that will always remind me of home.

  “Aww, mom! Please don’t cry. I am going to college not prison,” I joke attempting to lighten the mood. She hugs me tighter, threating to cut off my circulation.

  “I know Ridley. I don’t mean to cry, but it’s not every day that my baby girl goes off to college. I just feel lost without you at home.”

  Well, now I just feel selfish. Of course this is hard for her. I can’t remember a time when it hasn’t been the two of us. She and dad adopted me as an infant, but he died one year later, leaving her alone to raise me. She lost him, and now she thinks she is losing me too. I need to let her know how much I appreciate having her in my life.

  “Mom, I love you. Please don’t worry, ok. I promise I will take care of myself and attempt to stay out of trouble.”

  She sighs and wipes a tear from her pale cheek. Even sad she is beautiful. She does not miss the fact that I said attempt to and not will. If I am just being honest, we both know that it is impossible for me to stay out
of trouble, even on my best behavior. I don’t know if it is karma or bad luck, but trouble seems to follow me. It always has. She tightens the hug even more, which is funny because I am pretty sure I am already starting to turn blue from lack of precious oxygen.

  “I love you too,” she whispers.

  “Can’t- breathe- mom!” I choke out in mock pain while trying to keep the laughter from my voice. She shakes her head, suppressing a smile. She takes a reluctant step back, releasing me from her death grip. I roll my shoulders, trying to bring back sweet circulation.

  “It will be ok mom, besides Ali will be here soon. We will be on our best behavior,” I say with a mischievous smile.

  “That, my sweet girl, is what worries me,” she replies with a laugh. She cuts her eyes to the door and I know that she has to go. She is scheduled to work night shift tonight. She has been a nurse at the local hospital for years, and other than me her job is the only thing in the world that she loves. She works in the cancer ward. You would think that nothing good could be associated with a job filled with such sadness, but she would disagree. I asked her once how she could work surrounded by such pain. Her reply was simple, at least to her. She said that without someone there to share one’s sadness they would never know the simple joy of compassion. I can tell that it is killing her to leave, but in the end she will. She never misses work and I am okay with that. Her love for her patients is just one of the many things that I admire about her.

  “I gotta go kiddo, but please try to actually attend some classes between parties.” She smiles and as usual her beauty captivates me. I swear, the woman has not aged a day in eighteen years. She kisses my forehead and leaves me to wait on my incessantly late best friend.

  Alison White or Ali for short has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We have been attached at the hip since Kindergarten. Sadly to say, we were trouble even then. Our friendship started when Billy Black pulled my pigtails on the playground. Ali kicked him in the stomach and told him to pick on someone his own size. That’s my Ali, always standing up for the people she loves. I admire that about her. Seriously, that girl would take down a linebacker if they tried to bully her or anyone else. We are a lot alike in that way. We don’t take shit, plain and simple. We use to joke that we were sisters separated at birth. We could be for all I know.

  I have searched for my birth parents since I was old enough to Google, but have never had any luck. I looked for years before I finally just gave up. The only fact that I know about them is that they apparently do not want to be found. I don’t even know their names.

  Sad right?

  I would like to think that there was a time when they loved me. They did care enough to leave me on the doorstep of a church after all. I mean, they could have thrown me in a dumpster or on the street. It’s not the best rationalization, I know, but it’s all I have. My adoptive parents were members of the church and they took me in. I am blessed with a loving family. I try not to think of my birth parents too much. It only brings me pain. My motto is to keep the past in the past, and that is exactly what I intend to do. I will not think of them today. Today, I start a new life; a life where I write the chapters instead of living the story already written for me.

  Anyway, back to Ali. Ali is not really the college type. Sure, she is the smartest person I know but motivated she is not. Sometimes I think the only reason she even enrolled here is to keep an eye on me. Ali prefers to study gossip and the opposite sex instead of books. I would say her major here will probably be boys with a minor in partying, but who am I to judge. I truly do want to pursue an art degree, but only if my social schedule allows of course.

  Just kidding!

  Art is the one thing that I take very seriously. When I paint, it’s like I am lost in a world of my own making. The scene can be anything, any place I need to escape to. Art is my refuge from life, my safe haven from a cruel world. It brings me joy and fills the hole in my heart that has always been present. It’s hard to explain, but I have always felt incomplete. It’s like a piece of me is lost out there somewhere, floating and waiting to be found. Painting helps me ease the ache in my chest. The constant heartache that has no reason. It just is. I have had every heart test known to man, all of which were negative. I quit telling people about the strange sensation that started on my sixteenth birthday. Maybe I am crazy. I mean, first my phantom pain and now my reoccurring nightmares. I am like a shrink’s dream come true. I long for the day when the ache is gone. I let out a slow breath to clear my mind, needing to focus on something else, anything else.

  Now that I am finally alone, I decide to explore our small two bedroom apartment. It is simple and I can tell from the color scheme that the last owners lacked imagination. The open floor plan allows for an unobstructed view of the small space. Hardwood floors cover every room except the kitchen which was all white tile, white walls, and white appliances. I cringe. I hate the color white. It lacks imagination. To me white is simply a blank canvas waiting to be turned into a masterpiece.

  I guess I should just be glad that it’s the kitchen. It will definitely be the least used room in the house. Ali and I can’t cook at all. We tried to make mac and cheese when we were twelve and it was a disaster. Didn’t stop us from feeding it to Ali’s brother though. I laugh to myself. Poor Eric still won’t eat the stuff and he’s sixteen now. Still laughing at the memory I turn my attention from the kitchen and take in the rest of the house. The walls are all pale yellow with white trim. White leather couches sit in the living room.

  “What is with all the white?”

  I shake my head and walk the short distance to my room. I smile as I open the door and see the small pieces of home that I brought with me.

  My IPod is resting in its dock, the slow drum of Little Things flowing from the speakers. The quilt that my mom made me when I was six lays neatly folded across the foot of my bed. A single photo sits on my dresser, and as always it is the only photo that I keep framed. It is the only clue to a past that I will never know. The photo is of my parents, and was the only thing that I was found with. It’s my most prized possession. I grab the familiar picture and clutch it to my chest. I don’t need to look to see the couple frozen in the frame. I can see my mother’s long, wavy, honey blonde hair and bright green eyes perfectly in my mind. I look a lot like her, except I have my father’s dark, chocolate locks and pale creamy skin. There are no words written on the back of the photo, but there is a symbol; a symbol that I have studied and researched for years only to come up empty. It is a circle with a two infinity symbols going through the middle to form the shape of a cross. The letter L is captured in the spot where the two infinities intersect, tying them together. I have always known that this is a vital clue to my true identity, but no matter how hard I look I can never find it written anywhere. I concluded long ago that if Google can’t find it, I am probably out of luck. I look down at the photo in my hand, studying the couple closely. They look so happy, so in love. They held their child like they never wanted to let her go, but they did. They let me go and they never looked back. It’s funny how it hurts even after all this time. What could have been so horrible about me that my own parents would walk away?

  “I just wish I knew why,” I think for the millionth time as I gently put the picture back on my dresser. I let out a slow breath, trying to clear my head. I refuse to be sad, especially today. I make my way over to my bed, taking in my new room.

  Thank God! This room is not white, but a perfect ocean blue. My dresser and bed are the only furniture in the room. My paintings and clothes are already scattered all about the floor. Let’s face it, I am not known for my organizational skills. I realize that now would be the perfect time to clean up this mess, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I preform a very un-ladylike flop on to my bed, feeling the effects of my long day.

  Ahhh! A nap is what I need. Who am I kidding? I always need a nap. I close my eyes and will my body to relax. Just as I am about to drift off, I am sta
rtled by a loud scream.

  “Ridley Alexis Ross,” Alison yells so loudly that it almost, no scratch that, it does give me a headache. Oh, no, I think to myself. There are only two occasions when Ali uses my full name- when she is drunk, and when she is pissed. I am guessing since it is five in the afternoon that she isn’t drunk. At least…..I hope not.

  “In here Ali,” I call out. She bolts around the corner of my room, and fixes me with her ‘what the hell stare’.

  “What?” I say, not knowing what she could possibly be staring at me like that for.

  She has no problem filling me in. “Just what are you thinking lying around on today of all days?” I quickly scan my mind, wondering if today has some significance that I have forgotten about.

  Birthday….nope…….

  She sighs and shakes her head, causing her short, raven locks to stand up in ten different directions.

  “Ridley! It is our first night without any parental supervision. So you better get up, get clean, and get fine because girl we are going out!”

  I try not to, but I laugh at her. Yep. We were definitely going to have a hard time staying out of trouble. “Ali, don’t you think that we should at least behave for one night?” She looks at me like I have two heads before bursting out into laughter.

  “Rid, when have we ever behaved for a whole night?” she gets out in between laughs. My laughter soon joins hers, and before we even realize it we are both nearly in tears. I finally stop laughing long enough to catch my breath.

  “Yeah, okay. You’re right. What should I wear?” I ask before we start laughing again.

  One shower and three hours later I stand in front of the mirror assessing my appearance. Other people have always said that I am beautiful, but I always just felt average. Tonight I have to do a double take because the girl in the mirror is anything but average. My long brown hair falls down my back like waves of silk. My eyes have always been a bright green, but tonight they sparkle like emeralds in the sun. My pale skin and pink lips look healthier than usual. I am wearing a black sequined tank top and silver mini skirt that make me look older than my eighteen years, but in a good way. I feel sexy. My already long legs seem to go on forever in my new black stilettos. My modest B cup is nothing to be proud of, but it seems to compliment my one hundred and twenty pound frame. I let out a breath and grab my bag from the floor.