Touching the Dark
Jane Adams
Copyright © Jane A. Adams 2014
The right of Jane A. Adams to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2003 by Severn House Publishers.
This edition published in 2014 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Epilogue
Extract from Mourning the Little Dead by Jane A Adams
Prologue
The night Simon told Tally that he loved her she took him back to her apartment at the edge of town. They had driven in silence, the windscreen wipers sussing across the glass and something bluesy that he couldn’t place playing softly on the radio.
He was certain that he’d lost it. That saying to Talitha Palmer that he loved her was the worst thing he could have done. She must have heard it so many times before and learnt to treat such casual adoration with the contempt that it deserved. But this time it was true. For weeks now Simon had lived and breathed in Tally’s shadow and he loved her with an intensity he had not felt since he’d been seventeen and been possessed by those feelings for the first time.
He tried to speak as they pulled into the parking space in front of the converted warehouse where Tally lived on the top floor.
“Tally, I...”
“Shh.” She waved him into silence and was out of the car before he could manage another word.
He followed her, not certain that she wanted him, but reluctant just to walk away, but she waited for him at her front door and held it open for him to go inside.
He glanced around. “It’s big,” he said. “Spacious. It’s...” He was lost for words. Minimal and empty was what it was. The longest wall was of unplastered brick while the two end walls were a matte, unbroken white that continued onto the doors. A line of windows ran along the outer wall and Tally walked along the row, closing the blinds and shutting out the night. He had expected to see her pictures mounted on the walls, but the space that he would have used for display was empty. Even the blinds were plain and unadorned.
“It’s...”
“Simple,” she said. “I like it that way. When I need a place to think I can come here and know there’ll be no distractions. Nothing to break my focus.”
“Right”, he said, then, “can I sit down?” It was the kind of room that made him feel he had to ask her first.
“Sure.”
He perched himself on the edge of one of the plain white chairs. There were two of them, and a large sofa facing the windows. No sign of television or of Hi Fi, or of books or any kind of clutter.
Below the windows was a solid line of cupboards. They were light wood, maple, he guessed, with doors that fitted flush merging cleverly into the rolled edge of the top. Tiny curved notches cut into the upper edge of each door served as handles. The one Tally opened held glasses and bottles. She poured, offered him drink. He took it without asking what it was and sipped slowly, savouring the smoothness of the Bourbon he liked so much.
“Have you lived here long?”
“Two years.”
“Do you always have it so bright?”
The lighting was strong, almost industrial. Tally picked up a small box that lay on the arm of her chair and pressed something. The lights dimmed and their colour softened. She came over and bent down. Her lips on his tasted of the wine she had been drinking. She took his hand. “Come to bed with me,” she said. “It’s what you came here for.”
“Not just that...”
But she silenced his protests. “It’s all right.”
The bedroom was through a door in one of the plain white walls, the open door a dark wound in the once unbroken surface. She left the bedroom lights switched off, pale illumination from the room beyond casting deeper shadows, accentuating the whiteness of her naked skin.
“I can hardly see you,” she whispered. Black skin in shadow. White skin in faint light. She kissed him and he pulled her to him, afraid to tell her again how much he loved her.
Afterwards, they lay close, bodies wrapped together in a tangle of limbs. “I want to know you,” Simon whispered. “Everything there is to know. Everything.”
“I doubt that,” she told him, and though she still lay beside him he sensed her pull away. Nothing physical, but the shift was there and it brought emptiness.
Finally, Tally got up and crossed to the window. She lifted the edge of the blind and looked outside at the night sky, starless and still thick with rain. Simon studied her body outlined faintly in the uncertain light and wondered what to do. The sudden withdrawal of intimacy hurt and confused.
“You should go,” she told him. “You’ve a long journey tomorrow.”
There was nothing he could say. He picked up his clothes and dressed in the main room, feeling stupid and used. He didn’t even say goodbye.
Tally watched him from the window, the tall, slim figure running across the car park and back towards the main road. Running from patch of light to rain filled shadow and back to patch of yellow light.
“I want to know you,” she whispered, echoing Simon’s words. “Everything there is to know.”
Chapter One
Visits to the Emmets were always things to look forward to, Naomi thought. Lillian was a fantastic cook and they ate informally in the big kitchen that stretched the length of the back of the house, Lillian putting last minute touches to Caribbean dishes while her guests chatted to her.
The Emmets had been Alec’s friends for longer than he could remember. His parents had lived next door to them and Alec had played big brother to their two sons. When the Emmets had moved, it had been Alec that had made an extra effort to keep in touch with them, while their relationship with his parents had drifted into the occasional phone call and exchanged cards at Christmas and birthdays. Three years ago, he had first introduced Naomi to them and the friendship had been an instant and lasting one.
This time though, despite the usual banter and easy conversation, Naomi had felt that something was wrong. There had been moments of silence, looks that she had sensed exchanged between Lillian and Samuel that had spoken
of a problem one or other was on the verge or revealing.
Lillian’s kitchen was a bright place with a stripped wooden floor and primrose yellow walls. Naomi could no longer see the vibrant strings of chillies hanging from turned wooden pegs and the blue glass proudly displayed on open shelves, or the Mexican bowls filled with fruit standing on the sideboard, but in her mind’s eye she could still visualise this scene which reflected so much of Lillian’s character. The Emmets were happy, lively people, with a strong sense of their own worth and their ability to truly welcome others into the warmth of their home. It hurt Naomi that whatever it was that troubled them was strong enough that it seemed to strip the colour even from her memory of the room.
“More wine?” Samuel asked her.
“Thank you.” She heard the deep red liquid glug into her glass and reached forward cautiously to pick it up. “What are you feeding that dog, Alec?” she asked as the slight shift of black Labrador and the thump of tail told her that Alec had slipped some tit bit to Napoleon, who lay on the floor beside her chair.
“She’s caught us out again, old son,” Alec told him.
“He’ll get fat.”
“Fat? No way. Built like a runner is our Napoleon. He reached out and clasped her hand beneath the table, squeezing gently. “No thanks Samuel, if you’ve something in the soft drink line that would be great, but I’ve got to drive home.”
“You can always stay. There’s Simon’s old room. The bed is almost double.”
“I’ve got an early start tomorrow. But another time we’ll take you up on that.” He paused and Naomi felt him squeeze her fingers once again before letting go. “How is Simon these days?” he said. “I’ve not seen him in months and you’ve spent the entire evening trying not to mention him.”
“Oh, he’s well,” Samuel began, then. “No, he’s not, Alec and I should know better than to hide things from the two of you. The fact is, Lillian and I agreed, we should talk to you about him, then when it came to it, I didn’t know how to even begin.”
“Is he still seeing Tally Palmer?” Naomi asked, breaking the awkward silence that followed.
“No, no he’s not,” Lillian told her and Naomi was alarmed to hear tears in the woman’s voice.
“Lillian? Have I said something wrong?”
“No, no, of course not dear. But that’s the problem you see, she broke it off with him and nothing...nothing’s been the same since then.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Alec said, “But these things happen I suppose. It must be difficult for someone like Tally Palmer, travelling all the time...”
“Oh that’s what we told him,” Lillian said. “But no, that’s not what he thinks at all. He thinks that someone’s taken her from him. He won’t have it that sometimes relationships just came to an end. As far as he’s concerned, he was in love with that girl and we thought she loved him too and as far as he’s concerned neither thing has changed.”
“If she still loved him, why stop seeing him?” Naomi questioned. “When was this, Lillian?”
“Oh, Lord, it must be a couple months ago now. She broke things off and then got angry when he wouldn’t take her word that things were over. Simon swears she never told him why. We put it to him, this is a famous woman with an international reputation, with a life all over the world. It was foolishness to even think that such a thing should last between them.”
“I thought they were getting on so well,” Alec commented.
“Oh, they were,” Samuel told him. “And she is such a nice young woman. Honest, genuine. She helped Darien with his pictures and called us a couple times a week just to say hello. Then suddenly. All over. I tried calling her, but after the first few times, all I got was her machine.”
“Maybe she thought it was best to break cleanly?” Naomi said.
“That’s what I thought, then I found out that Darien had seen her, spoken to her several times. She promised him some information on a course and that she would talk to him about his latest photographs. She kept her promise, but asked him not to tell and Darien would have kept his word too, but we don’t like secrets in this house. You know that, Naomi. Darien is no better at keeping them than the rest of us and finally he told.”
“Simon was furious,” Lillian took up the tale. “He threatened never to speak to his brother again, then of course, Samuel had words with him and he calmed down.”
“I can’t imagine Simon being angry at anyone for long,” Naomi commented.
“Not in general, no,” Lillian agreed. “Though lately, he’s not been himself. Not himself at all.”
Naomi could imagine the worried frown creasing Lillian’s broad forehead. She was a handsome woman and in her youth, Naomi knew she had been beautiful. When Naomi had first met the Emmets, she had still been able to see, still been a police officer. Still had a career working alongside Alec Friedman. When Alec had first introduced them all, Naomi had been regaled with stories of how Lillian and Samuel had met. Admired the family photo albums and particularly the framed wedding picture of Samuel and Lillian taken thirty years before in front of the local Baptist church.
Samuel’s skin was very dark. Black skin that almost glowed it was so intense a colour. He was a tall, slim, man with the most wonderful brown eyes and a smile that twitched almost constantly at the corner of his mouth.
Lillian was small and had been slim. In later years she had gained a little weight, but lost nothing of her prettiness, though her features had matured and her gaze carried a confidence and determination that had been lacking in the girl she had been when she married Samuel Emmet.
Simon was, Naomi recalled, the image of his father as a young man. Tall and strongly built, with that same smile, whereas Darien, the younger by a half dozen years, favoured his mother’s side, small and lightly made, and almost too pretty for a boy.
“You want me to talk to him,” Alec said. It wasn’t a question.
Across the table, Naomi sensed that Lillian nodded, it filled a moment’s silence before Samuel said, “we didn’t like to ask you, but Alec, you two have been close since Simon was a child. He might listen to you. He has to listen to someone.”
“I’m not sure I know what to say,” Alec commented. “Samuel, what do you want me to say to him?”
Samuel shrugged. “I don’t know. That we love him. Care about him.”
“Oh, Samuel, I’m sure he knows that,” Naomi told him.
“But sometimes those who really love are not the ones to remind,” Lillian said. “Alec, Naomi, try to talk to him, please. Tell him he can’t go on like this. So miserable, so depressed, so...He’ll lose his job, Alec. I talked to his editor. He’s been refusing assignments and those he’s produced are not good enough to print. And you know how much that job meant to him. A journalist was always whet he wanted to be.”
Naomi felt Alec shift in his chair and the dog lifted his head to see if anything interesting might be on offer.
“If you think it will help, then I’ll give it a go,” he told Samuel, though Naomi could hear in his voice that he felt, given time, the young man would come out of it himself. “We’ll both go,” he added, “Simon always got on well with Nomi and maybe...I don’t know, maybe she can give him the woman’s angle.”
Naomi laughed, “And what is the women’s angle?” she asked.
“You’re asking him?” Lillian said. “He’s only a man,”
Naomi could feel and hear the relief in Lillian’s voice. She felt guilty, suddenly, that they might be making light of something that the Emmet’s plainly saw as deadly serious and that Lillian’s relief might be far from justified. But she laughed anyway, feeling that was what Lillian expected and needed from her. “He might not listen, you know,” she said.
“Maybe not,” Samuel replied, “But if you see him, talk to him, then at least you’ll see what worries us. You’ll see we’re not over reacting. Simon is...sick with this, Nomi,” he told her, the diminutive of her name slipping affectionately from his lips. �
�He is sick and he’s getting worse, and Lillian and I, we don’t know what to do.”
Chapter Two
The first time Simon saw Tally Palmer was in the “Crash” wine bar, the place of the moment for the artsy scene. Dressed in his designer jeans and soft leather jacket, he felt he looked the part, but, he reminded himself, he was here to observe and not to socialize.
She wasn’t difficult to find. Her face had been in the paper the night before in one of these “local girl makes good” reports the daily rag was so fond of running. And anyway, she was surrounded by a crowd too big to miss. He tried to keep the details of his assignment in his mind, but his attention was too much taken by the sight of long tanned legs and a very short black skirt that rode up even further as she perched like a clichéd heroine on a red leather stool.
Her hair was close cropped, razor cut in a style so severe few women could have worn it and not looked naked. Her lips and nails were painted a rich blood red that exactly matched the shadowed wine in her glass.
She was circled by admirers. Students and young advertising bucks, whose self-assurance and practised, casual poise made him conscious of his flimsy cover. Reminded him that his jeans were pirate copies and his jacket was the one expensive thing he owned. And he was aware, as she glanced at him, that she saw him exactly for what he was.
Tally Palmer. Cover girls and rock musicians, avant guard writers after immortality and artists seeking a way to impress the buying public all flocked to her. Feted her, paid extortionate amounts to be given the Tally Palmer look and greater even than those whose images she made famous, Tally Palmer had herself become a star.
It was her smile that really blew him away. That smile and the slight tilt of her chin as she raised her glass like a question and he found himself moving through the parting crowd towards her.
“What are you drinking?” she asked him, and he was aware of the disapproval and disappointment, drifting like a sigh through the surrounding throng.
“Er, whatever you are. I mean, let me get these.”
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