Stillness

by Eldon Farrell

  Stillness

  Novels by Eldon Farrell

  Taken (Descent Book Two)

  Realm of Shadows (Descent Book Three)

  Stillness

  Descent Book One

  Eldon Farrell

  Copyright © 2016 by Eldon Farrell

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding, or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  For Emily

  Society never advances. It recedes as fast on one side as it gains on the other…For every thing that is given something is taken. Society acquires new arts and loses old instincts.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson,

  Self-Reliance, Essays, First Series, 1841

  There is a tide in the affairs of men

  Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

  Omitted, all the voyage of their life

  Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

  William Shakespeare,

  Julius Caesar, Act 4 scene 3

  The government solution to a problem is usually as bad as the problem.

  Milton Friedman

  Part One:

  Surfacing

  Prologue

  October 10, the Present

  Stillness, Iowa

  The sound of rain falling on the roof fills the interior of the car. The natural rhythm of the raindrops does nothing to calm Will Sullivan’s nerves. Frayed as they are he fingers the umbrella on the seat next to him and for the sixth time in ten minutes checks his watch for the time.

  Twenty minutes past midnight and all is quiet, except for the sound of shovels plowing into wet earth forty feet away from the car.

  From the backseat of the rented Audi all he can see are the individual wisps of light rising from the workers’ flashlights before they are swallowed by the burgeoning darkness of the night.

  Leaning back against the headrest he closes his slate gray eyes and ponders the situation. I tried to do things the right way; this is the last thing I ever wanted to be doing. But it has to be done. For my parents—this has to be done. No one would listen before…after this night is over they’ll listen.

  He opens his eyes at the sound of footsteps running towards the car. Even over the rain he can hear the squish and plop of his driver’s size 14 loafers.

  The driver’s door opens and quickly closes again after Oliver climbs in behind the wheel—shaking himself in the process to remove the vestiges of the inclement weather.

  “How are things coming along then?”

  Removing his cap Oliver Bruce looks in the rearview mirror at the man he’s watched grow up before his very eyes. He recognizes the familiar features not only as belonging to young William, but also once upon a time to his father.

  This night his unkempt mess of dark brown—in truth almost black hair—has fallen limply on all sides, the humidity causing the longer strands to frizz. His face is in shadow but Oliver knows him well enough to know that he’s gazing at him expectantly from behind calm eyes.

  At the tender age of twenty-four his facial features still maintain much of their youthful expressions. He has a narrow face—like his father—with high cheekbones that dimple slightly when he smiles wide enough. Something Oliver has not seen for quite some time.

  His ears are drawn close to his head and are usually partly covered by his untidy hair. His words are carried forward past thin lips that display an almost imperceptible scar on the upper lip from a time long ago and a story wanting to be told.

  “I should think that they’re about four-and-a-half to five-feet down now young sir,” Oliver answers in his familiar British accent.

  Silence from the backseat.

  “Sir,” Oliver begins “If I may, could I ask you a question?”

  “You don’t have to ask Oliver. You’re practically the only family I’ve got. What’s troubling you?”

  “All of this I suppose. Do you think that this is what your parents would’ve wanted?”

  His voice hardening defensively to hide the quivering he feels, Will answers “My parents would’ve wanted justice. This is the only way I can give them that.”

  Solemnly shaking his head Oliver reaches his hand back to Will.

  It’s not taken.

  “Young sir, your parents would’ve wanted only for you to be happy. It’s tragic what happened to them, but worse still is what it’s done to you.”

  Silence returns to the interior of the car. The two men stare at each other through the dark. Outside the rain continues to fall and the shovels continue to move dirt.

  “Young sir,” Oliver asks, “If you will not listen to reason then might I request that I be allowed to leave? Your parents were good friends of mine and I have no wish to see this done. You may call for me when it is time.”

  Leaning forward out of the shadows Will nods his approval. “I understand old friend. You should go. You don’t need to be here for this.”

  Reaching over he opens the car door letting mist spray the interior. Turning the collar up on his black trench coat he lifts the umbrella from the seat beside him and steps out into the night.

  “Young sir,” Oliver waits until Will turns to face him before continuing “Do be careful.”

  His face in shadow Will slowly nods before shutting the car door and opening his umbrella. Stepping away from the Audi he grips his coat tightly shut and listens as the engine softly turns over.

  Slowly the car pulls away casting its headlights briefly across the black iron gate above the entrance to the cemetery.

  Then it’s gone.

  Moving up the slight rise Will walks towards the three men who are hurriedly excavating his parents’ grave. The rain continues to fall at a steady pace and as he approaches them he can hear them voicing their complaints about it.

  Reaching the foot of his parents’ grave he inhales deeply. The night air smells of cleansing rain coupled with the musk of disturbed dirt. Closing his eyes he remembers the last time he stood in this exact spot.

  Tears filled his eyes then as he looked longingly at the headstone where his parents’ names were written. Opening his eyes he blinks away the tears that once again fill them.

  Staring down into the chasm at his feet a sensation of vertigo threatens to overcome him forcing him to look away.

  Calming himself he watches particles of dirt and dust dance in the night air, illuminated by the flashlights.

  Then it happens.

  His attention snaps back to the task at hand with the sound of a shovel blade thudding against wood. “Light,” he snaps his fingers for a flashlight.

  Shining it into the pit he sees the dirty faces looking back up at him as they stand around the top of a casket lid.

  This is it!

  “Listen up,” he reaches his free hand inside his trench coat and brings out three plain envelopes. “Your work here is done. Take your money and leave now.”

  The three workers are clearly stunned by this announcement and look to each other for answers. Finally, a young man of no more than twenty speaks up for them all saying, “But the job is only half done.”

  “Your job is complete. Take your money and leave.”

  Dropping their shovels, the two men in the hole carefully climb out without collapsing the soggy sides aro
und them. “Who’s going to fill this back in?”

  “That’s not your concern.” Will finally frees his gaze from the casket lid and looks at each of them in turn. “In case the cover of night didn’t clue you in, let me enlighten you all.

  “You’ve committed a crime here tonight. So my advice to you all is to take the $1,000 each that I have here for you and forget about everything that you’ve done here tonight.”

  “Screw this then,” the twenty year old scoffs, “Let him fill it back in himself.”

  Will hands an envelope to each of them and watches as they disappear behind a curtain of rain and darkness. Once he’s certain that they’ve left the cemetery he focuses his attention back on the open grave at his feet.

  Carefully he puts one foot forward testing the sides of the pit. The rain has softened the earth and made traction near impossible. Lowering himself back onto his rear he slides down the six feet into the grave.

  Tossing his umbrella aside he switches his flashlight on and concentrates on the task at hand. Kneeling on top of the casket he sets the flashlight down and begins to brush the dirt and mud away from the lid.

  Slowly he begins to reveal the edges of the coffin. The rain now dripping into his eyes and off the end of his nose does little to slow him down.

  With the lid clearly visible he takes a deep breath saying a silent prayer before gripping the edge with both hands.

  With one pull he can feel the lid open. Closing his eyes he swings the lid open all the way—the rust covered hinges squealing loudly.

  The rain seems to be coming down harder now.

  Opening his eyes he reaches for the flashlight shining it into the casket to banish the darkness.

  Chapter 1

  Six Weeks Earlier

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Inhaling with measured breaths, Lynne Bosworth jogs the streets of her affluent Atlanta suburb. To the east between the rows of homes she can see the sun rising to greet the start of another day.

  Another hot and humid day if the local weatherman is to be believed.

  Overhead the few strands of wispy clouds begin to blow away leaving a gorgeous blue sky behind. The sound of Mourning Doves and Starlings fills her ears while the aroma of lilac bushes and apple blossoms saturates her senses.

  She’s alone at this time of the morning as she usually is except on those rare occasions when she can talk her best friend Wendy into joining her on a run.

  Since moving back to Atlanta six months ago she’s relished these morning jogs as a way of clearing her head in preparation for the day ahead.

  Passing one of her neighbors up to fetch the morning paper from their lawn she waves a friendly hello without stopping to talk. Have to keep the heart rate up after all.

  She can feel his eyes on her as she passes and smiles self-confidently in the knowledge. At thirty-one years of age she can still turn heads. Especially when only wearing a T-shirt and shorts!

  Her brown—almost auburn—hair is tied back in a ponytail that bobs and weaves between her shoulder blades with each step she takes. She has a petite round face with a perfectly proportionate nose. Her eyes are greenish-blue in color—though in the early morning light the tiny flecks of gold in her irises shine the brightest.

  Her eyebrows are slightly arched giving the impression that she’s always appraising the object of her attention. They give her a perpetual air of concentration.

  That is until she smiles. Her smile is warm and inviting, the kind that can put your troubles at ease and make anyone feel important.

  Although she is only a diminutive five and a half feet, she’s worked hard to project a larger presence. Her muscles are all toned and powerful. Her midriff is especially firm and sculpted from long hours in the gym.

  She’s always taken great care of herself, the byproduct of being a doctor’s daughter she’s always mused.

  The first child born to Edward and Olivia Bosworth, she began life a very happy child. The most loved daughter of an epidemiologist and his part-time teacher wife.

  Her early years were filled with laughter and happiness. She can remember her father always doting upon her, making her laugh constantly at the silly little things he would do to make her smile.

  While all the while her mother would fuss over her every need. Always there to take away the pain from every little hurt she suffered. She was the greatest joy in their life and they were her whole world.

  Friends and neighbors would marvel over the beautiful little girl who was at the center of a loving family. Always singing silly little songs or dancing along to the radio whenever company came over. Though she remembers little from that long ago time, the memory of her parents happy and contented has remained with her through the years. Her family life was the spitting image of a Rockwell painting until she was about five years old.

  From then on the cracks that must have always been present in her family’s foundation began to widen.

  Perhaps her earliest solid memory is of her parents sitting in the living room of their home talking to her. They looked so happy together that day. Her mother positively glowed in the presence of her father’s gushing announcement that she was going to have a little brother or sister.

  Because the news seemed to so please her parents, Lynne too became excited at the prospect. As the months past she spent increasing amounts of time helping her mother to prepare for the coming arrival.

  All that time spent with her mother in the nursery and she never guessed that such pain could come from such overwhelming joy.

  When the big day finally came her father rushed her and her mother to the hospital. In the front seat her mother cried in pain. Her father would look in the rearview mirror at her from time to time saying “That mommy would be fine, don’t worry princess.”

  And Lynne believed him because her father would never lie to her.

  At the hospital she had to wait in the waiting room with the housekeeper Maria. She was a nice person who spoke softly with a Spanish accent and whispered to Lynne every few minutes that it wouldn’t be long now.

  Like most children it didn’t take Lynne long to get bored with just waiting around. So when Maria turned her attention away for a moment she snuck off to find her parents. After all, she wanted to be there when the baby was born.

  Finding the room that her parents were in, she knew immediately that something wasn’t right. An orderly spotted her before she could come into the room and quickly whisked her away from the scene.

  But not before she saw her father crying by her mother’s side and heard the doctor say, “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t know what it meant then but still she came to hate the word “stillborn.” That was what the doctor told her parents and that was what changed everything.

  Nothing in her life was ever the same again after that day. It was like she’d taken a wrong turn and was lost and no matter what she did she could never find her way home again.

  Her parents were different now. Her father began to work longer hours, spending increasing amounts of time away from his family. Where once Lynne and Olivia were at the center of his universe while everything else revolved around them, now they were the satellites orbiting the new center of his life—work.

  And even when he was at home he was not the same father she knew and loved. She would smile at him and he would turn away. He was so distant and unreachable. She would try to make him laugh the way he used to all the time and he would reproach her for the effort. It had become unacceptable to be happy.

  While all the time her mother turned in upon herself saying precious few words to anyone. She would spend her nights in the empty nursery clutching an unused stuffed bear to her breast. She was drowning in sorrow and it hurt Lynne to see it.

  When she found her in the nursery one night she tried to talk to her but her mother just snapped at her to go to bed and leave her alone. Lynne would never try again.

  She would just cry softly in bed at night and wish that her parents
had never told her about the brother or sister that she was supposed to have. Before that happened her life was perfect. Many a night she asked herself why they even wanted another child—was I not enough?

  With her parents growing further and further apart from her and each other, the task of raising Lynne largely fell upon the help.

  They would get her up in the morning and dress her for school. They’d pick her up after school and were the ones to help her with her homework when she needed it—though that wasn’t often.

  She was becoming a very bright child who spent copious hours studying hard. Deep down she thought that if she tried hard enough that maybe she would prove to be enough for her parents and then things would return to the way they were.

  But of course that was not to be, the cracks had split too far apart to ever be repaired.

  One evening when she was eight years old Lynne woke to find her mother unconscious on the bathroom floor. No matter how hard she shook her she couldn’t wake her up.

  She screamed for help. She screamed for her father to help her. But of course he wasn’t there. Maria responded to her cries for help and immediately called 911. Once she hung up the phone she tried and failed to discretely hide the empty pill bottle before Lynne could see it.

  When the paramedics arrived they began to strap all kinds of foreign looking equipment to her mother while the stress in their hurried voices offered Lynne no comfort.

  Finally they revived Olivia and rushed her away in an ambulance. The wail of the siren seemed to signal another sea change in Lynne Bosworth’s young life.

  Her mother was institutionalized after that failed attempt at suicide. As if suddenly realizing how bad things had gotten her father began to spend more time at home with Lynne.