Out of the Dark (2 page)

She couldn’t remember a time when Raphael had not been part of her life—the young, beautiful boy/child three years her senior who had never known a mother or a father and, to the best of his knowledge, didn’t have a last name. He was a product of the same commune in which Ivy had died and had no existence outside of Solomon’s control. Solomon had been his father figure. He had known nothing beyond obeying the wishes of the charismatic leader—doing anything to garner the rare moments of affection Solomon had bestowed upon him. He’d suffered the “uncles” who Solomon had brought for him to play with, not knowing that there was any other kind of life.

Then one day something happened that shattered his perception. It was a small crack—hardly more than a weakness in the ties that bound him to the world into which he’d been born. But to a child who’d never had a say in one waking moment of his life, it was huge. Raphael hadn’t known it was possible to say no until he’d witnessed Jade throw a screaming fit and refuse to obey Solomon’s demand.

She’d been screaming for her mother, and Solomon had laughed and told her that her mother was gone and was never coming back. Raphael wanted to tell her that it would be okay, that the uncles wouldn’t keep her, that they always left after they were through playing, but he didn’t get the chance.

And even though her tiny rebellion had been futile, it had planted a seed in his head that had slowly taken root. He hadn’t known, until he’d witnessed Jade’s rebellion, that it was okay to have an opinion of his own.

The bond that was forged between the two children grew stronger with each passing year, so that by the time Jade was twelve and Raphael fifteen, they had become inseparable.

Then the unthinkable happened. Jade began to mature. Her body was no longer that of a thin, hairless doll. She was becoming a woman, which made one “uncle” very unhappy.

Frank Lawson had paid Solomon five hundred dollars for an entire night with Jade. He’d been with her numerous times before, but never for the whole night, and not in the past six months. When she’d arrived in his room and he had seen what nature had done to her body, it infuriated him. The sight of her budding breasts and shapely hips had ended his erection in a way that nothing else could have done. Angry and embarrassed that he couldn’t “get it up,” he tried a little acid. Within minutes, her tiny breasts seemed to grow before him, turning colors, then changing shapes, while the terror on her face turned her into a laughing, shrieking bitch.

Horrified by what he was seeing, he lashed out, hitting her over and over with his fists. By now, her body seemed a voluptuous symbol of what he should want but did not. He staggered, and as he did, reached out to steady himself. When his hand closed over a bottle of wine, he grabbed it by the neck and swung. It missed the girl by inches, instead shattering on the bedpost. Wine and glass went everywhere, turning colors and then exploding in Frank’s mind like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Suddenly the jagged neck of the bottle morphed into a sword. He spun abruptly, swinging it toward the shrieking, screaming bitch, wanting to silence her forever.

The slash of glass against skin was sudden—the skin parting like a hot knife through soft butter. Through a drug-induced fog, he saw the woman reaching for her body, then trying to hold it together with both hands.

When the child sank to the floor in a puddle of her own blood, what Frank saw was the body of a headless serpent.

“Yes!” he shouted, and thrust his arm upward in a gesture of victory, still clutching the sword.

Raphael had been awakened by the sound of Jade’s screams. At fifteen, he was already six feet tall and strong beyond his years. With heart racing, he dashed out of his room and then down the hall. He kicked in the door with one blow, saw Jade lying in a pool of her own blood, picked up an overturned chair and swung it across the back of the man’s head. There was a loud pop, then the man went limp, dropping to the floor like a felled ox. Raphael shouted for help. Soon, footsteps could be heard running toward them. Expecting that the help that was coming would be for them, Raphael picked Jade up off the floor.

Solomon was the first in the room, followed closely by two of his trusted assistants. They took one look at all the blood and then at Frank’s limp body.

“You’ve killed him!” Solomon shouted.

“But look what he did to her,” Raphael moaned.

“You stupid bastard!” Solomon said, then kicked a pair of pillows aside. “Fuck this mess.” He grabbed a sheet off the bed, tossed it over Jade’s body, and waved a hand in Raphael’s direction. “Get her out of here.”

Raphael bolted for the door. But this time, something inside him snapped. If she wasn’t already dead, he had only this one chance to save her. So once again, Jade Cochrane was kidnapped—carried out into the night without her knowledge. Only this time, it was to escape the hell into which she’d been thrust.

Raphael laid Jade in the passenger side of Solomon’s van, then ran back into the house, into Solomon’s private room, and stole every penny of the money the man kept in his desk. His legs were shaking as he bolted out of the room and back outside to Jade. She hadn’t moved, but he could hear her groaning. He jumped in the van. With a prayer on his lips, he turned the key. The engine turned raggedly for several tries and then suddenly started.

Solomon came running out of the house, screaming Jade’s name, as Raphael gunned the engine and took off down the driveway. He didn’t know where he was going or how badly Jade had been injured, but he did know that their survival hinged upon escaping the old farmhouse and the People of Joy.

Twelve years later, they were still running, living by their wits and the occasional turn of good luck, but certain that if they were found, they would go to prison for murder.

Jade was riding a rare high as she handed over the caricature she’d just drawn of her latest customer and pocketed another ten dollar bill. She’d lost count after her fiftieth customer had come and gone, which meant she’d made over five hundred dollars alone on the simple ten-minute line drawings that had become her stock in trade. Added to that, Raphael had sold nine of her oil paintings, ranging in price from fifty to one hundred dollars. The money they were making today would make the next two or three months a whole lot easier than they’d expected them to be.

“You want something cold to drink?” Raphael asked, as he stepped out from behind her easel.

Jade touched the side of Raphael’s face. He was shivering, although the day was nice and warm, and he looked awfully pale.

“You all right?”

“Sure, baby…lemonade okay?”

She nodded, then frowned as she watched Raphael cross the walkway between the booths to the refreshment stand only a few yards away. It was the first time she’d looked at him—really looked—in ages, and he seemed thinner. She sighed and swiped a weary hand across her forehead, absently swiping a lock of dark hair from her face as she turned around. She was thinner, too. It was what happened when you didn’t have enough to eat. Then she smiled, thinking of the money they were making today. At least they would eat well tonight. Maybe she could talk Raphael into steak. He needed to get some meat back on his bones.

Lost in thought, she was startled when she felt a hand on her knee. She flinched, then saw it was a child, and relaxed.

“Well, hello there,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Kenny.”

She knelt down. “So, Kenny, would you like me to draw your picture?”

“Yes, please,” a woman said.

Jade looked up. A young woman, obviously Kenny’s mother, was smiling at Jade and handing her a ten-dollar bill. As Jade pocketed the money and set Kenny down on a stool, she saw a man approaching.

“Look, honey,” the woman said. “She’s going to draw Kenny’s picture.”

“That’s great,” the man said. “Sit real still for the pretty lady,” he said, and then gave Jade a friendly wink.

She nodded, then turned to her task, but her thoughts quickly wavered. The man and woman appeared to be so happy. They kept touching each other in brief but tender ways, and the smiles on their faces as they looked at their son were nothing short of stunned, as if they could hardly believe that their love had produced something as wonderful as this child.

Soon she was finished. She rolled the drawing into a tube, fastened it with a rubber band and handed it to the woman.

“Great kid,” she said.

The woman beamed. “Thank you.” And then they were gone.

Jade stood for a moment, unaware of the wistful expression on her face. And while she didn’t assume for a minute that she would ever meet a man who could love her in spite of what she’d been, it didn’t stop her from thinking,
What if?

But Jade had long since given up on living a normal life. For now, she was just satisfied that their money troubles were momentarily solved. So she turned back to her easel and began trimming her charcoal pencils for the next customer.

A few minutes later, Raphael set a cup of cold lemonade on the tray beside her, gently stroked his hand down the back of her head as she thanked him with a smile, then walked back to the front of the booth.

There was an empty space on the wall from the last painting he’d sold. He looked around at the assortment of canvases leaning against the table leg for something to replace it. Almost immediately his gaze fell on the painting of Ivy. He hesitated, then turned to ask Jade if she was still sure she wanted to sell it, only to see that she was seating a new customer. Shrugging off the thought, he picked up the painting and hung it on the empty hook.

It was tradition for Paul and Shelly Hudson to visit San Francisco during the month of May. Not only was it the city where they had met over twenty-seven years earlier, but it was the place where they’d gotten married. Renewing their emotional ties here every year was part of what had kept their marriage so strong. It had also kept the ties of old friendship alive. Tomorrow they would return to their home in St. Louis, but today had been dedicated to visiting old haunts and old friends, which was why Shelly and her friend, Deb Carson, found themselves in the midst of a street fair, while Paul and Deb’s husband, Frank, were doing a little deep-sea fishing. Only weeks earlier, Deb had taken up photography as a hobby, and today she was snapping pictures left and right. They’d been at the fair for at least a couple of hours when suddenly she paused, letting her camera dangle from the cord around her neck as she pointed toward a nearby table.

“Oh, look at that darling little lighthouse!” Deb said, pointing to a booth with an array of hand-carved objects. She picked it up, eyeing the price and grimacing as she quickly replaced it on the table. “Good grief! One hundred and twenty dollars! It’s not
that
darling.”

Shelly laughed and nodded in agreement. As she turned away from the table, she looked up. Seconds later, the smile died on her lips.

“Sweet mother of God.”

Deb stared at her friend. Shelly was pale and shaking. She slipped her arm around Shelly’s waist and pulled her close.

“Dear…what’s wrong? Are you ill?”

Shelly shook her head, then pointed to a nearby artist’s booth.

“The woman in that painting! I know her…. At least, I did…once.”

“Really? How exciting! How did you know her?”

“She was married to Paul’s best friend, Sam.”

Deb frowned. “Was? What happened to her?”

“She disappeared one night twenty years ago, taking their four-year-old daughter with her.”

Deb’s frown deepened. “How sad.”

Sad wasn’t the word for what had happened to Sam Cochrane’s life. The loss of his wife and daughter had almost destroyed him. As far as Shelly knew, this was the first clue as to where Margaret had gone. She twisted out of Deb’s grasp.

“I’ve got to talk to the artist,” she said, and hurried toward the tall, dark-haired man manning the booth. “Sir. Sir! Excuse me. How much is this painting?”

Raphael turned around. When he saw which canvas the woman was pointing at, his heart dropped. It was the painting of Ivy.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“The woman in the painting…I know her. At least, I used to. Do you know where she is?”

Raphael stifled a sense of panic. In all their years on the run, they’d never seen even one of the People of Joy. He didn’t remember this woman, but twelve years was a long time. People changed. She could have been with the People. She was definitely the right age. Before he could speak, he sensed Jade’s presence, then felt her hand on his back before she stepped out from behind him.

“You’re interested in buying it?” Jade asked.

It hadn’t occurred to Shelly before, but now it seemed vital that she take back proof of what she’d seen. She didn’t know what Sam would do with it, but she knew he would want it.

“Yes…yes, I am,” Shelly said, then saw the man frown before he slid his arm around the woman’s shoulder. “Did you paint it?” Shelly asked.

Jade nodded.

“The woman in the painting—”

“You mean Ivy? She’s dead. Been dead for years.”

Shelly’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh. Oh, no.” Then she reached toward the painting, gently touching the smooth, un-lined face of the pretty blonde leaning against a trellis of ivy. “I knew her by another name.”