Dark Places of the Soul: Dark Soul Trilogy - Book 1

by Paul Donaldson

  Zak Wells, the director of her break-through film, good friend and lover, had thrown the party to celebrate Candice’s thirtieth birthday. The gathering also commemorated her first leading role, one which came with the complimentary nude scene, a sign that she had arrived among the elite. The road to this plateau hadn’t been easy. Five years ago she divorced the love of her life, after deciding her newfound career outweighed his. She walked away squeaky clean, while her lawyers made her ex look like an abusive tyrant. Her newly acquired single status made it possible for her to sleep her way to the top without being an unfaithful wife. Sixty-six year old Zachary Wells was the final stop. The millionaire director, with a full head of gray hair, became enraptured with her shapely legs and perfectly shaped bosom. Despite any real acting experience on her part the top billing landed in her lap.

  She didn’t love Zak, not in the way where she could envision spending her entire life with him. She loved what he was able to do for her and even though she’d been sleeping with him for the last four months she hadn’t strayed from the beds of younger, more durable men.

  Candice flowed through the room with a cocktail in hand and a short, sheer dress, wrapped around her supple form. Her necklines always sought to expose as much cleavage as possible and this little pink number stretched her limited modesty.

  Zak was across the room with a few invited members of the media, discussing the intricacies of certain characters in her upcoming film. One of the reporters was a good friend of Candice’s, someone who she once spent an intimate week with. Of the questions she overheard, one involved the strong female personality dominating the lead. She gave ownership of the created role to no one other than herself. Zak named her character, she gave the heroine life.

  She and Zak had a flight scheduled for tomorrow morning, from LA to the Big Apple with a quick stop in Chicago. The trip was part of her grand birthday plan. She assumed a huge diamond would be in store. The rock would burn a hole in Zachary’s pocket, all the way from California to New York and up to Lake Placid. He owned a cabin up in the North Country. They spent a week there, in each other’s embrace, during the first month of their romance.

  At the present moment fatigue began to take charge of her mood. She suppressed a couple yawns, lest she be caught on camera and published in a gossip magazine. God knows they had a field day with her as it was. She figured her weariness came from knowing how early Zachary Wells liked to rise from sleep before travel.

  “Candice, Candice, Candice,” the voice made her cringe, “been too long darlin’ since I last cast these ol’ eyes on you.”

  In fact less than a month had passed since their last run in, but she knew the person interrupting her focus didn’t really have much of a life. Indeed, to Conrad Kaminisky three weeks must seem like an eternity. “Conrad, it’s good to see you,” she lied and forced herself to give the old man a hug.

  “What on earth have you done to my friend Zak?” Conrad asked, trying his best to perform a demure role. “Must be love,” he answered himself, “the glaze over the old coot’s eyes give it away. You got ‘im… hook, line and sinker.”

  Across the room Zachary moved from the reporter to a place of momentary solitude. Their eyes met and it was enough for Candice to make an excuse to leave the tiny corner in the room Conrad occupied. She floated across the expanse to the man with the gray hair; the one she knew secretly concealed a ring with a diamond which would contrast nicely with her eyes.

  “Zak… the party is wonderful… thank you.”

  He addressed her insincerity with an unemotional kiss on the cheek.

  “Our flight is early,” she reminded him.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs and get your beauty sleep and I’ll see to getting our guests on their way.”

  She knew that type of suggestion from him meant he’d be to bed in about two or three hours. Zachary Wells was not one to end a party before two o’clock in the morning and it was now less than five minutes before midnight.

  ***

  Keri woke with the sound of a distant alarm clock. The irritating intrusion on her sleep abruptly came to a halt once her eyes were opened to the gray dawn. She rolled onto her back and sat up on the firm mattress. Her jeans and blouse were crumpled on the floor. Her sneakers were nowhere in sight. All she wore were the same white panties she’d had on for days; such was the life a newly ordained homeless person. Surprisingly she didn’t feel dirty; maybe she had become used to her own filth.

  Across the foot of the bed she saw a shirt. It was one of his, James Lansing. She wouldn’t forget that name or face, his actions had left a mark on her life. She reached for the shirt and found it had long sleeves with buttons up the front. The garment seemed familiar, like something she’d once worn in a similar situation. She sniffed it, burying her nose in the fabric, it smelled clean.

  What do you owe someone for saving your life, and then gives you a place to sleep, in his bed, without questions asked? The question danced through her head while she threw his shirt over her shoulders. It had a checked pattern of blues and grays. Maybe he had the funds available to allow her to purchase new clothing, if nothing else fresh panties were becoming a necessity. A little change and a couple singles still lined the pockets of her jeans. It was all she had to her name. This morning’s breakfast had drained most of her cash.

  She left her jeans on the floor, deciding the oversized shirt hid enough, and stepped out of the bedroom. Her senses were immediately greeted by the aroma of morning coffee. Some pleasures bring joy to your senses despite poverty. Caffeine hadn’t found its way into her system in three days, having decided on the cold glass of Orange Juice instead of the eye opener yesterday morning. The muffin, she tried to eat slowly, as if that would have made it last in her digestive tract, had been her only solid food in the past day and a half. Her stomach seemed beyond hunger pains.

  He stood at the tiny excuse for a kitchen counter fixing a cup of coffee. He met her eyes which she figured had lost all their vitality.

  “Coffee?” He asked.

  She nodded, as if words weren’t awake in her brain yet.

  “Shirt looks nice on you,” he commented as he walked back to the front of the camper. His vehicle sat on the side of the road. A sign she could read through the front window said something about a KOA campground. The front gate was closed.

  “Got here a few hours ago,” he said, when he noticed where her attention focused. “This place wasn’t open yet. We still have a three and a half hour drive to Richfield Springs. It’s not worth pullin’ into a site.”

  “Did you get any sleep?” She asked.

  “Few hours,” he responded as he sat in the driver’s side Captain’s Chair.

  Keri poured a cup of hot black liquid and took a satisfying gulp. She sat in the passenger’s seat, folding her bare legs up beneath her. “It’s a scar from a childhood accident,” she said when she caught him looking at the ugly reminder running from the inside of her knee cap halfway down her calf. “Right down to the bone,” she added in case he needed a more detailed description.

  In silence he sampled his coffee while she cradled her warm mug between the palms of her hands.

  “We goin’ to Richfield Springs t’ chase another dream?” She asked into a moment becoming too quiet for comfort.

  He nodded his head. “There’s a small restaurant on the main strip. I expect the meeting to take place there.”

  “I guess you got somethin’ for dreaming about restaurants.” She smiled with the comment. “I should hope this one doesn’t involve another damsel in distress.”

  “Quite the little wise ass… aren’t you?”

  The comeback might have shocked her if it wasn’t accompanied by a rather attractive smile on his part. She took no offence and quickly kidded back, “Been checkin’ out my butt?”

  His sly expression told her he had. She hoped he’d found the view enjoyable.

  “How many times did you have the dream about me?” She asked.
r />   “Often, kinda like a re-run of Gilligan’s Island.”

  Her eyes might have doubled in size, if it were possible. She heard his response in her head as if it were an old recording. “I knew… you were going to say that,” she spurted out. “Actually,” she paused momentarily as she tried to decide how crazy her next statement was going to sound, “I’ve been feeling kinda… like I’ve been here before, sleepin’ in the bed, walkin’ down the hall back there.” She turned in her seat, pointing out the direction she spoke of.

  He made no comment to address the possible revelation she had just provided.

  Her mind changed gears with relative ease. “Do you suppose there’s a place around where I could wash my clothing?”

  “We don’t have time for that right now. We’re three and a half hours from our next destination.”

  “I’ve been wearin’ the same clothes for a couple days.”

  “When we reach Richfield Springs we should be able to find a store somewhere, after our task is finished.”

  “Can I at least shower?” She asked the question after finishing her coffee.

  He held up his mug. “I’m going to have a refill. Think that’ll give you enough time?”

  ***

  Sleep hadn’t come easy. Zak had come to bed sooner than expected, but Candice wrestled with an overactive mind. When she had finally given way to slumber she dreamed. Unsettling images floated through her brain. If Zak hadn’t been so deep in his own realm of slumber he would have been aware of her increased breathing and restless movements. When she finally opened her eyes to break the spell, she felt her heart racing in her chest. Dawn graced the outside world, as it had three times past when she finally managed to escape from the reoccurring dream.

  She watched Zak die, trapped in the flaming cockpit of a car, a vehicle different from any of the four sitting out in his garage, gray and boxy. Three nights recently this vision had interrupted her sleep. This latest segment added a shimmering black pin striped highway, viewed through the heat of the flames. A young couple approached. She could recall their faces clearly and realized they had starring roles in the other dreams on other nights. They beckoned to her, telling her to abandon efforts to save the future husband she didn’t love. The girl with curly blond hair pleaded for her to move away from the wreckage.

  The couple moved dangerously close to the fire. Their faces blurred like melting wax. The landscape was unfamiliar and for the first time she noticed another car, crushed hood to hood against the one she had been a passenger in.

  The imagery seemed to have more clarity than any dream she’d ever had before and as she rolled out of bed she recalled the scene that shocked her back to reality, Zak bursting into flame, absorbed into hell.

  Chapter 5

  The shower stopped just short of draining the fresh water storage tank. Keri performed as a closet singer, belting out a few tuneless pop songs while the water made an attempt to drown her out. James Lansing smiled with warmth he hadn’t been able to cherish in the last few days.

  The choruses of ‘Fire and Rain’ and a few other mellow favorites came to a halt with the water’s flow. James continued working on his second cup of coffee as Keri made an exit from the bathroom. He resisted a temptation to turn in his seat and make a comment about her rock star status.

  She flopped in the passenger seat, again folding her legs beneath her before drawing his attention. A drowned rat, her curly blond hair clung against her forehead as she dried the back of her head with a stolen motel towel.

  “So was it a nice motel or a cockroach infested dive.” She held the towel toward him to illustrate the reason for her question.

  “Came with the camper,” he responded, “and I see that you’ve commandeered another of my favorite shirts.”

  “Don’t strain your eyes… it’s all I have on,” she shot back in a teasing manner. “No friggin’ way I’m puttin’ dirty clothing against clean skin… especially used panties.”

  James noticed the pile of clothing on the floor behind her seat. Her white panties were laid across the top.

  “I’m keeping my eyes to myself.”

  “Too bad,” she commented, her blue eyes looking through damp bangs.

  There was a noticeable chemistry between them. James Lansing had always considered himself dense when it came to women and a few had chosen to remind him of the flaw. Doubts about his ability to interact with the fairer sex seemed to always end up plaguing his relationships. A heart filled with erotic lust kept him continually weaving though relationships with women out of his league.

  His last romantic liaison had gone nowhere as far as he was concerned, and everywhere as far as his co-worker, a divorced English teacher, thought. His lustful desire for her brought them a couple intense evenings at her place. His jealousy about her continued relationship with the man she’d been married to reminded him of just how thick-headed he was.

  He started the vehicle after placing his empty coffee mug in the recessed portion of the center console. His eyes took one more trail across the girl next to him. The scarred knee caught his attention again, she didn’t seem to notice.

  “So tell me about the accident,” he said while glancing out the side of the Winnebago for any oncoming traffic.

  “This one?” She stretched her leg out over the console and playing her toes against his arm. He looked, not certain if he should, especially since her panties topped the pile of dirty clothes destined for a Laundromat.

  “Yeah,” he said as he took inventory of five toes and nicely shaped leg. “Musta been a nasty accident.” His shirt on her body was dangerously close to revealing things private.

  She stroked the lingering reminder of a foolish venture from her high school years. “Motorcycle,” she said, “playin’ around with a boy friend’s bike… dumped it in a field and received quite a few stitches from a broken piece of rusted metal.”

  “You got lucky.”

  “Sucks!”

  Her comment drew his quick reaction.

  “It’s lookin’ better now,” she responded to his expression, “but when it first happened I wouldn’t dream of wearin’ a skirt.”

  “And would you wear one today?”

  “Don’t own one t’day… that pile of dirty laundry is all I have to my name.”

  “That,” he said, taking notice of how many buttons were unfastened on the garment she wore, “and the shirt you stole from me.”

  ***

  Stephanie Hawkins came into the world in 1954; eight years after her father, uncle and two other men took a life on a cold February night. Abner Hollis came into her life not long before her father’s death. The tall man had always been frail to her perception, bent and crooked, sitting on the doorstep of the next life. Her father and uncle never spoke about the night in ’46, but Abner seemed to feel Stephanie needed to be apprized of the whole episode. She had no doubt that the four men eliminated an evil on the cold unforgiving night. Were they vigilantes? Stephanie never took time to rationalize the situation the four men had placed themselves in.

  She took care of Abner, the old man her father seemed indebted to. At thirty years old she viewed her father as heroic, though this image of him came after his death. He achieved hero status not only for the actions having taken place that February night thirty-eight years ago, but for the entire life spent concealing secrets too dangerous for the world to grasp.

  It wasn’t a good idea, for Abner to go to Boston. The man, despite his age and nearness to death, couldn’t be argued with. Maybe, Stephanie thought, living on death’s doorstep made every action taken so much more urgent.

  Abner stood waiting outside his place when she pulled up in her brand new Pontiac. The white Firebird caught her eye the moment she first saw it on the dealer’s lot. Abner told her such an expensive vehicle

  was a waste of hard earned money.

  “I still don’t think this is a good idea,” she said as he buckled himself into the front seat.

  �
��What isn’t… my going to Boston or the fact that I’m a passenger in this death machine?”

  “The doctors…”

  “Doctors be damned,” he curtly interrupted her voiced concern, “I have more important things to attend to then worryin’ about whether or not I live a few more days past the medical profession’s appointed doomsday.”

  ‘Just thought I’d let you know I’m concerned.”

  “He looked at her over the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “What we did in ’46…”

  “Removed something evil from this world.”

  “It wasn’t human.”

  “I believe you,” Stephanie said, “I always have.”

  ***

  Abner took a long look at the girl in the driver’s seat. They were a half hour on the road and she’d said very little after he’d gotten in the car and rewarded her concerned words with a harsh comeback. She reminded him of Randall, her father. Stephanie Hawkins, a rather attractive woman who never married, although she did shack up with a guy for four years after college, much to her father’s contempt.

  There was an abundance of physical attraction in the seat next to him. Stephanie had short black hair and porcelain skin. Her blue eyes were mesmerizing. Abner figured a young man would be fortunate if he took the time to break down the barriers Stephanie Hawkins wore like armor.

  He rested his head back against the seat. The ride was smooth, although comfort in a moving car escaped his ancient bones years ago. He prayed for success. The man who turned others toward the savior he believed in failed. He and his three chosen soldiers for good failed when they most needed to succeed.