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  Fear Not the Dark

  Susan Murray

  © Copyright Susan Murray 2018

  Black Rose Writing | Texas

  © 2018 by Susan Murray

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

  First digital version

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61296-996-1

  PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING

  www.blackrosewriting.com

  Print edition produced in the United States of America

  For my family.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  EPILOGUE

  BRW Info

  PROLOGUE

  October 22nd - Evening

  St. Anthony Main, Pier 8, Minneapolis Minnesota

  Max Sherman found out the hard way that everything can change in a heartbeat. One moment he was heading home from the Minneapolis Farmers’ Market carrying salmon steaks for an evening grill with his girlfriend. The next thing he knew, a couple of jokers jumped him as he walked down the gangplank to his houseboat.

  A shadow loomed, a hand shoved hard in the small of his back. Max felt the searing hot kiss of a taser and was dimly aware of being dragged aboard his home, dumped on the sofa like a sack of flour. When he came to he’d drooled himself soggy and had no idea where the salmon steaks were.

  The tall shape of one of his attackers darkened Max’s blurry view of the world. A gruff male voice. “Where is it?” Black suit and dark sunglasses looming over Max. Another figure waiting in the background, watching and standing guard.

  Max tasted blood. He’d bitten his tongue during the attack. “Where is what?” his words were thick, painful.

  “Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m talking about. Tell me where the book is, or they both die.” Max’s eyes focused in time for him to see his attacker nod toward the kitchen.

  He swiveled awkwardly, squinting toward the kitchen table where his girlfriend Zoey St. Claire and her handicapped son Zachariah had been duct-taped to matching black and white chairs. Zoey’s eyes were wide with terror above the silver scream of tape across her face.

  Max’s surge of anger helped him rise from the sofa on unsteady legs. “Whatever you want, just leave them out of this.”

  “Where’s the book?”

  Max clutched the sofa back for balance. “What book?”

  “Play games with me and I’ll waste the hunchback!”

  Zoey’s eyes went from fearful to furious in a flash above her silver gag. For his fifth birthday, little Zach had been formally diagnosed with a severe case of scoliosis. The brave boy hated being called ‘cripple’ or ‘hunchback’.

  “I’m not playing games. I own an entire bookstore full of books. Just tell me which book you want and it’s yours. Put the gun down and we’ll talk about it. We can work this out.”

  Max eased another shaky step closer to the kitchen, mentally calculating the distance and how fast he could cross it to get to Zoey and Zach.

  “Don’t even think about it,” the stranger sneered, easily reading Max’s intent. “In fact, think about this instead.” Without warning he shot Zoey twice. Her body slowly toppled backward in its chair, falling onto the gaily patterned linoleum floor. Rage and grief flooded Zach’s eyes as he looked from his mother’s corpse to her killer. Splashes of her blood mingling with his tears, Zach’s mouth worked in silent accusation under the duct tape.

  Seeing this, the stranger unfairly screamed, “Shut up!” and shot Zach too.

  Then he turned on Max.

  Heartbroken but highly motivated, Max hit the ground running. He knew he couldn’t help Zoey or Zach anymore so he was out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him, tumbling over the railing on the deck of his floating home into the dark Mississippi river below.

  Max took three shots in the back as he fell. Breathless from a combination of cold water and the ruthless punch of the bullets, Max let the weight of his body armor pull him underwater and drifted away from the houseboat.

  As soon as he was out of sight downriver, Max surfaced and paddled doggedly for shore, hauled himself to safety in a clump of lilac bushes and dragged himself out of the wet.

  He glanced back to see red petals of fire blooming from the little houseboat moored at the end of the pier. A subsonic whump first sucked the air from the world then blew it back, superheated. Max felt the breath of the explosion even before he heard it and could only watch as his home went up in thick, greasy smoke. Turning away from the sight, Max scrambled deeper into the bushes along the riverside.

  CHAPTER 1

  October 29th – 6:30 p.m.

  “Please, please, please Marley. You’ve got to do this for me.” Stella’s tone was this close to begging, which was something Marley had never before heard from her employer. “He specifically requested that you do the interview,” Stella told her humbly. “It’d be a huge favor. I know your Uncle Max died a week ago and you said you were going to take some time off, but if you do this for me I’ll owe you a favor. A big one.”

  At this extravagant promise Marley widened her eyes at the phone in her hand, impressed. Of course she’d take the job. An assignment from Mississippi Magazine was not to be refused by a lowly freelance journalist like her. Especially not when the Editor-in-Chief herself called personally to beg.

  “What time should I be there?”

  Stella’s sigh of relief was clearly audible. “Bless you, dear. I won’t forget this. Eight p.m. at the Marquette Hotel, downtown. You know where that
is, right? Good. Use your press pass. Security’s running tight.”

  That gave Marley less than an hour to get ready. She assessed her wardrobe mentally, hoping her suit was clean. “By the way, why me?” she asked Stella curiously. “Did he say why he wants me, particularly, to do the interview?” Marley found her work briefcase wedged under the credenza in the dining room. The matching black pumps were another matter. Maybe they were in the closet?

  “He said he’d read some of your work on the Internet,” Stella replied. “Said he really liked your style.”

  Marley shrugged the compliment off. “I’ve never met a motivational speaker before. Anything I need to know?” Her pumps were under the kitchen table.

  “Relax, dear.” Stella’s smile came through the phone line quite clearly. “Remember, underneath the celebrity he’s just a guy like any other guy.”

  Which turned out to be so not true.

  . . . . .

  Marley hardly had to break any speed limits on her way to Minneapolis. When she arrived she left her Jeep in the capable hands of a uniformed valet in front of the Marquette Hotel right on time at 7:50, just as the sky thundered over.

  The glassy grey steel towers of the Marquette in downtown Minneapolis were sleek with a drizzle of rain by the time she hurried from the valet roundabout to the hotel entrance. A fitful October wind chilled the city and Marley shrugged herself deeper into her red wool jacket as she hurried for the door.

  The sidewalk outside the lobby of the Marquette was packed with people attending the weekend seminar being given by Delroy P. Dark, the motivational speaker Marley had come to interview. She noticed that the people waiting in line were dressed in black from head to toe and many of them also wore Bluetooth-style headsets and black utility vests that flashed red with LED lights.

  Never before had Marley seen such a large crowd of people gather so quietly. No one was talking. They were curiously orderly, courteous and silent. It was kind of freaky in a way and Marley wished she’d had more time to do more research on Mr. Dark and his fan base before her interview.

  Just inside the lobby Marley came face-to-face with the subject of her assignment for the first time. A life-sized cardboard cutout of Delroy P. Dark himself. This replica of the highly successful, best-selling author of a series of motivational self-help books more commonly known to his fans and followers as ‘The Dark’, stood beside the door.

  Personally welcoming his fans to the gathering.

  Clad in top hat and black velvet cape he should have looked ridiculous. Yet somehow the cape worked for him. Gave him an air of mystery instead of absurdity. He put Marley in mind of an industrial strength Heathcliffe or maybe Barnabus Collins from that TV show, Dark Shadows.

  Brown, shoulder-length hair, eyes that gleamed conspiratorially from beneath thick, arched brows. The hint of a smile quirked well-shaped lips. In one hand The Dark cradled a book, from the cover of which a shiny monster glinted wickedly at Marley, fangs gleaming yellow.

  Marley shivered.

  Fear Not The Dark was the title of the book and Marley bought a copy from a gum-chewing salesclerk working a kiosk near the elevator bay. Tucking the book under one arm, Marley approached the elevators, heading for the one with the most security.

  “This one’s closed. It’s private.” The security guard standing there squarely blocked her way, smiling a little as he delivered these words.

  “I have an appointment,” Marley waved her press pass breezily, enjoying the petty sense of power this gave her. “You can call upstairs.” The fans standing in earshot of this exchange eyed Marley with patent envy, crowding closer as they watched the guard wave Marley inside the private elevator.

  Another security guard stood inside.

  “Big crowd tonight, hey?” Marley tried a friendly smile on him.

  The guard, a sturdy fellow with a crooked nose and hostile demeanor that maybe explained how it got that way, grunted something unintelligible without looking at her.

  Marley quit making conversation.

  The top floor of the Marquette featured a penthouse suite the likes of which are found on movie sets or in novels. Posh to an extreme, someone’s eye for luxury had been overindulged in an all out, nervous breakdown kind of way. Persian rugs kept uneasy company with ruffled French silk drapes, red velvet armchairs hosted overstuffed leather footstools and dodgy little clusters of reading tables gave the suite a kind of busy-going-nowhere feel. An abundance of gilt edged mirrors and ankle deep carpeting made Marley feel more than a bit unworthy.

  She hoped that the tiny run in her nylons wasn’t showing above the heel of her left pump. She’d applied a dab of clear nail polish to the snag before putting on her shoe, but that didn’t always work. Ignoring the leer of a naughty marble statue standing on a pedestal nearby, Marley walked toward a door across the foyer on which were emblazoned the words,

  “The Dark”. Marley pressed the buzzer pad and waited.

  CHAPTER 2

  October 29th – 8:00 p.m.

  The Dark himself opened the door. Except for the lack of a top hat he was dressed just like his cardboard counterpart downstairs, including the cape. Marley had an impression of carefully styled brown hair framing chiseled features in a hawk-like face. A frown as he took her in at a glance, dark, piercing eyes roaming from her face to the book she held in her hands. Back again.

  “I’m Marlyn McCormick.” She stretched out a hand, introducing herself with a smile. “I’m with Mississippi Magazine. I’m here for the interview.”

  “Ah, yes. Ms. McCormick.” Marley found her hand warmly enveloped in a clasp that seemed more embrace than handshake. Eyes crinkling, teeth gleaming in a big smile, The Dark urged her inside, releasing her hand to hold the door wide in welcome. “So glad you were available on such short notice.”

  Marley had to agree. She was being paid handsomely for the assignment and it wasn’t every day she had a chance to put the Editor-in-Chief of the magazine in her debt. “I’m very glad to be here,” she assured him quite sincerely.

  The Dark’s brown eyes lit with good humor as he showed Marley to a small settee near the balcony overlooking the midair seascape that was Minneapolis. Gusts of rain dashed sideways against plate glass windows, lightning bolted the sky. Marley felt sorry for the fans still waiting in line outside.

  “Would you care for anything to drink?” One dark eyebrow, slightly raised.

  “Iced tea if you have it please.” Marley replied. He did have it, or at least his personal assistant Benny would be glad to go and find some. And did. Having thus secured refreshment, The Dark waved his assistant from the room and the interview formally began.

  “Let’s start from the beginning,” Marley prompted, reaching for her notebook. “How did you originally decide to become a motivational speaker?”

  “It was Destiny.” The Dark replied solemnly. “Seeing me now, you might find this hard to accept but once upon a time I was too afraid to leave home. I suffered from a form of Agoraphobia so severe that some days I couldn’t even leave my house to pick up my mail at the end of the driveway.”

  “Really?” Marley murmured sympathetically when he paused, “What happened?”

  “I’d lost my job as a shoe salesman and the future was looking pretty bleak.” The Dark closed his eyes, remembering. “One night I was sitting at home, meditating and enjoying my evening refreshment out on the porch when the wind blew a piece of paper right into my lap.”

  “Porch, wind, lap.” Marley repeated, writing this down.

  “And I knew it was the Wind of Destiny, because do you know what that paper was?” The Dark invited her to guess but Marley shrugged, admitting she couldn’t in a million years. “That piec
e of paper was a Free Pass. A ticket for admission to the Crossroads Casino down the road.” The Dark paused dramatically. “And that was when I realized that Destiny had chosen me to win.”

  “I see.” Marley wrote down ‘free pass, destiny’.

  “And I knew that if I didn’t use the Pass I would never be a winner. I knew I had to face my fear in order to use the Pass.”

  Marley knew how it worked. “If you don’t play, you don’t win.”

  “Exactly!” The Dark’s eyes were intense. “So then and there I faced my fear. I put one foot in front of the other and I left the house. I walked down the road to the Casino and played roulette and I won enough money that night to change my life. To fund my Empire.” He waved vaguely around himself at the penthouse suite.

  Marley glanced down at the cover of his book. “And now you help other people face their fears.”

  “My goal is to empower people to confront the monster under the bed or the boogeyman in their closet. To open the door and invite them into their lives.” The Dark’s smile was sublime as he described his vision. “You see, once people get to know the Boogeyman they understand he’s not all that different from you and me. Just another monster trying to get by. Nothing scary about that, right?”

  The Dark leaned back, confidently crossing an ankle over one knee as he went on, “Basically, I try to find out what my disciples are most afraid of and challenge them to embrace their own terror.”

  “Right.” Marley had her own, private doubts about the logic underlying this approach. Diplomatically, she didn’t argue the point. “So you scare people out of being afraid?”

  The Dark gave Marley a kindly smile, “It’s a type of immersion therapy, actually. We help each other overcome our individual and collective weaknesses by helping one another to confront them and work through our fears, face-to-face. This weekend at the seminar we’ll be introducing a new line of product designed to enhance this type of therapy.” The Dark’s teeth were very white. Marley could tell because he kept leaning in, closer and closer.