The Dark Side of the Rainbow

by Rita Hogan

  THE DARK SIDE OF THE RAINBOW

  By Rita Hogan

  For the copyright page:

  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. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Dark Side of the Rainbow

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  Dedication

  To my Heavenly Father, thank you for this unexpected joy you’ve given me for writing.

  Joel, your loving sensibilities have been the inspiration for the heroes I create. Thank you for eighteen wonderful years!

  Sean, I know I tell you this all the time, but you really are the sweetest boy in the whole world! This is how we Pop See Ko, baby!

  To my little sis, Rebecca, you have been my biggest fan! Words cannot express how much your confidence in me has meant.

  CHAPTER ONE

  PORTLAND, OREGON

  NOVEMBER—PRESENT DAY

  Barely lit by the glow of morning’s first light, three granite grave markers stood like sentries in the solitary cemetery. Olivia Nelson rubbed three smooth river stones in her hand. Running her thumb over and over the hard surface of the rocks was a subconscious effort to subdue the anger that boiled to the surface of her heart.

  Her conscious mind, which was always at war with her inner self, wanted nothing more than to feed the rage with thoughts of revenge and retribution. They filled the four corners of her determined will, like untamed cobwebs in an abandoned old house.

  Olivia had nursed the bitterness for so long the weight of it barely held her above the surface of life, leaving her with enough room to occasionally gasp for air before going under once more.

  The young woman read the engravings on each marker beginning with the one that belonged to her mother, Valerie Nelson—the person she knew only through home video footage, her father, and the journal her mother had kept during her pregnancy. The expectant woman had filled the pages with the joy of motherhood in her heart, never suspecting that while she gave life to the daughter she loved and wrote about, she would lose her own in the process.

  The day of her birth had been both tragic and touching for Olivia’s father, every minute ticking toward a single, poignant memory. In one life-changing moment, Josh Nelson lovingly held his wife’s lifeless body a final time, thanking her for their beautiful daughter. In the next, he was cradling the precious child he had grown to adore while in the love of his life’s womb.

  Soon after, he took his bundle of joy home to introduce her to her eighteen-month-old brother, Jacob. When the toddler stood by the door looking for his mommy, tears fell down his father’s face as he attempted to explain how Mommy wouldn’t be coming home, but that she had left a part of her behind in their new baby girl, Olivia.

  There was a moment of relief when Josh realized his son would be spared the searing pain of loss due to his age. He was too young to comprehend what it would be like to never feel his mother’s arms around him again. He would never ache for the kisses that would have driven his tears and hurts away.

  As the boy grew older, the understanding of his loss would dawn bright and vivid. There would be sorrows of a different kind to soothe. Looking at his precious children, Josh’s heart rallied when his son kissed the sleeping face of his baby sister.

  It is true what they say about time never standing still, yet it always manages to slow to a tortuous pace in the aftermath of great tragedy. The days eked by as the brother and sister grew in the shadow of their loss, forging a motherless bond, a connection supported by the nurturing love of their father, his parents, and his sister. Their own mother may not have been there to see them grow or to cultivate their tender souls, but their Nanna and Aunt Sarah had become wonderful surrogates. Their loving effort went a long way toward completing Olivia’s and Jacob’s lives.

  As fulfilling as those relationships were, nothing could compare to the touching attachment between sister and brother. Jacob may not have been able to recall the moment he first laid eyes on his sister; but his soul remembered, forever marking the occasion upon his heart. From that point forward, the two were inseparable—caring for, playing with, and supporting one another in an unshakeable way.

  Through the years, Olivia and Jacob’s family marveled at their closeness. The bond was reminiscent of the kind identical twins possess. It was as if time and distance had not mattered. The all-important detail was the womb they had shared, knitting them together in an extraordinary way.

  The special devotion to each other never discouraged their loved ones. When Olivia fell, scraping her knees, and chose to run to her brother Jacob for comfort, rather than feel hurt or slighted, Josh Nelson would sigh, grateful for the siblings who loved each other deeply.

  On the Easter of their twelfth and thirteenth years, Josh felt it was time to share with his children the journals their mother had written. Unwrapping their boxes in unison, the world suddenly became still as they peered down at the blue suede journal that was Jacob’s and the pink polka dot one that belonged to Olivia. Reverently, brother and sister held in their hands the written words of their mother.

  Why, at that precise moment, Olivia felt the need to know more than a general explanation of how her mother had died was a question that would plague her for years to come. When her father answered honestly, telling her about the complications from her birth, it was Jacob who ran after his sister when she fled the kitchen to their tree house.

  In the lofty cedar room, nestled in the treetops above their home, it was Jacob who held Olivia, crooning words of comfort. When the storm of emotion had sailed its course, the wounded girl looked at her brother with great sadness, telling him how sorry she was to have taken their mother away from him.

  With tears pooling in his eyes, Jacob looked at Olivia and told her how he could not imagine life without his sister. He wished they both had their mother, but their father had been right: she had left a piece of her behind, the best part.

  Not only was Olivia the mirror image of her mother with the same fiery-red hair and emerald green eyes, she was her equal in temperament and personality. It filled the young girl with joy to know she was so much like the woman who had given her life.

  While in their tree house on that bright Easter afternoon, being reminded of that simple truth went a long way toward dismantling the errant blame Olivia had nearly built around her tender heart. Side by side, the siblings sat, reading the words their mother had written to them. They came
to know her more intimately than home videos or their father could convey.

  It was now years later. On the day of her long-awaited journey, Olivia stood in front of her mother’s headstone. It would be a while before she returned. As she studied the engraved words on the hard granite, sorrow gripped her at the thought of leaving behind the journal. It was impossible to take it with her on the voyage leading her far away from home; the risk of it being discovered was too great. Having read the words countless times, they were now written upon her heart, and she was able to recollect each thought and sentiment from memory.

  My Darling Child, I found out only today that you are growing inside of me. Your father is already as much in love with you as I! When I told your brother Jacob, he gurgled in his infant way. He’s happy, too . . .

  My Baby, I heard your heart beating for the first time! What a strong pulse you have! May it beat true and long, my child . . .

  Dear Sweet Olivia, Yes, you are a girl! How we have longed for a daughter! When your daddy felt you kicking today, he said a prayer that you would be like me . . .

  The pages covered in pink polka dots may have to remain behind in safe keeping, but the words would be with Olivia wherever she went. It was her only consolation.

  Olivia had to force herself to look at the headstone, which rested between her parents, because of the tears she knew would come. She gazed at the name of her of beloved brother, allowing a flood of sorrow to trail down her fair cheeks.

  As her shoulders slumped from the weight of her pain, Olivia remembered the day she had lost Jacob forever.

  PORTLAND, OREGON

  TWELVE YEARS AGO

  “I can’t believe your dad bought you a 68 Mustang GT. I’m so jealous!” exclaimed Sam Clark above the din of the noisy restaurant. Matchbox Twenty’s song, If You’re Gone, played a little too loudly over the sound system.

  Jacob grinned at his friend. It was the summer of his senior year and his father had surprised him with the car of his dreams. “We’ll have to work on your old man. Maybe when he takes mine for a spin, he’ll cave.”

  “Wishful thinking,” was Sam’s doubtful reply.

  “Have you heard what people have been saying, Jacob?” asked Shannon Able, another friend who shared a table with them at Tad’s. The décor of the restaurant may not have been much to speak of with its dull, eggshell-colored walls and faded print posters, but they made the best burgers west of the Mississippi, making it their favorite place to hang out at after school.

  Already knowing the answer, Jacob didn’t respond, allowing his friend to say the words. “They think you’re trying to be like Landon Gray.”

  Landon Gray was not only the richest kid in Portland, he was probably one of the wealthiest in the world. Last summer, his parents moved to the Pacific Northwest. Rather than enroll their son in the best private institution, they chose to admit him in the public school near their home. Riverdale High may have been in a top-notch district with a good mix of wealthy and upper-middle-class families, but it was certainly not the Catlin Gabel School, one of Portland’s premier private education venues.

  Instead of owning the most expensive car money could buy, Landon drove a souped-up 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air. It was a cream-colored convertible with gleaming chrome and original tire rims and hubcaps. It was a sweet ride, and contrary to the image the rich boy presented to the world.

  “Let them think what they want,” Jacob retorted in anger, not toward Shannon but at the mention of Landon Gray. “Well before he ever arrived in Portland, I’ve dreamt of owning a classic Mustang. And besides, my car can outrun his any day of the week.”

  Olivia took a sip of her chocolate milk shake while glancing at her brother with a concerned look. She knew Jacob didn’t like Landon because he thought he was a player. Up until the last couple of months she had believed the same, but now she wasn’t so sure. When Landon had visited the Espresso Room where she worked this past summer, he had spoken to her. To her, he seemed really nice.

  Jacob changed the subject. “Do you guys want to see a movie this weekend?”

  For the next thirty minutes, the two siblings and their friends finished their burgers, talked about their new classes, and made plans for the weekend. As they exited Tad’s, Landon Gray and a couple of his friends were making their way toward the entrance.

  The tall, brown-haired rich kid with hazel eyes and dimples focused his attention on Olivia’s brother. There was anger and possibly a hint of fury in his expression.

  “Jacob,” Landon said in a hard tone. “I hear you’ve been talking trash about my car.”

  The tension on the sidewalk was so intense one could almost reach out and touch it with their fingertips.

  “So what if I have?” Jacob replied in an equally hard tone.

  “I think you need to put your money where your mouth is and prove it.”

  “Name the location and time and you’ve got it.”

  “Now . . . at the causeway.” Landon’s gaze never wavered.

  Olivia’s heart hammered in her chest. “No, Jacob!” she begged, fear lacing her words.

  Jacob turned to his sister and almost changed his mind when he saw the worry in her eyes. There was no way he could back out now. He would never live down the shame. “It’s only a race, Olivia. It will be fine.” Then he looked at Landon and said, “What are we doing standing here?”

  On the way to the causeway, Olivia continued to plead with her brother to not go through with the race. If it had been possible for her to remove the keys from the ignition and swallow them, she would have done so.

  Undeterred, Jacob lined his car up next to Landon’s. He glanced at the rich boy in his Bel Air and ordered his sister and two friends out of the Mustang.

  Both boys revved up their engines, while eyeing one of Landon’s friends who stood between the vehicles with his arms spread out. On his signal the race would start. Jacob was confident that in a few short minutes his car would outrun Landon’s older one, allowing him to hold his head up high at school. He would be known by his peers as the guy who’d out-finessed the billionaire kid.

  Olivia stood next to Shannon, her arm entwined with her friend’s, forcing herself to watch as Jacob’s Mustang sped down the causeway. She wanted to bury her face into Shannon’s shoulder and not look. Moments later she wished she had.

  It had been raining all day. The continuous slow drizzle had left the roads slick. Within minutes, Olivia saw the jerking motion of her brother’s car and cried out in terror as the vehicle swerved and flipped.

  Screaming her brother’s name, Olivia ran faster than she had ever run in her life, making her way to where his broken and mangled body lay. In his adrenaline-rushed state of mind, he had forgotten to buckle his seat belt and had been thrown from the vehicle.

  “Jacob!” Olivia screamed over and over as she knelt beside her brother’s lifeless body. Laying her head on top of his chest, desperate to hear his beating heart, she cried out to him, wailing at the top of her lungs for him to wake up.

  Someone tried to pull her away from him, but she jerked them away. She tore at her hair and turned her face toward the sky, begging for him to be all right. Olivia kept her gaze upward, as if looking for hope from an unseen source.

  Falling to her knees, guttural, earth-shattering sounds escaped her tortured soul. Turning her face toward heaven, she opened her eyes. Through her tear-filled haze, Olivia saw a slight break of light in the clouds, followed by the brightest rainbow she had ever seen.

  Jacob was gone.

  On the colorful beams of light, her brother’s soul had left her forever. The rainbow had long been a symbol of promise and hope, yet on the saddest day of Olivia Nelson’s life she found herself on the dark side of the beautiful colors without a single ray of hope. Instead, what filled her was a different kind of promise: a vow of retribution for her brother’s death, no matter the cost.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Olivia knelt before the last of the grave markers. “I love
you, Daddy. You were the last one to leave me. I’m sorry I can’t let go of my anger. Please forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

  Placing one of the smooth river stones in front of Josh Nelson’s headstone, she stood to lay the other two in front of her mother and brother’s final place of rest. With one last glance downward at the people she had lost, Olivia turned to leave for the airport.

  Stepping into the busy terminal of Portland’s International Airport, she said goodbye to Olivia Nelson. She was now Brooke Johnson, an aspiring young photographer from Kalispell, Montana, who was ready to set in motion her plan for retribution—one that had taken years to formulate.

  Three days before, she had said goodbye to her Aunt Sarah. Her grandparents were no longer alive and her father’s sister was all she had left in the world. Olivia would miss her surrogate mother. Over dinner, the two of them had talked about the photography work Olivia would be doing under her pseudonym, Brooke Johnson.

  Years earlier, when the younger woman had begun her interest as a shutterbug, neither her aunt nor her father questioned the alternate name she had chosen to tag her work. They never would have guessed the name and side career was part of a grander scheme, years in the making.

  Olivia’s passion for capturing images behind the lens began during the first semester of her freshman year of college when she met her roommate’s friend, who was studying photography. Realizing she had a natural talent for looking through the eye of a lens and seeing the world on the other side in a profoundly different way, she asked her father for a top-of-the-line camera for Christmas. The bright and talented college student offered her savings to help defray the cost. Unwilling to accept her money, Josh Nelson purchased the expensive piece of equipment before she went back to the University of Oregon to start her second semester.

  An accounting major, Olivia pursued her goal of becoming a CPA. As much as she loved photography, she could not afford the luxury of studying it full-time in hopes of making a successful living out of her natural talent. Her bigger aspirations would not allow it. She needed the financial stability of a well-paid vocation to bolster her efforts.