Innocence and Evil (The Arcadia Falls Chronicles #6) (13 page)

After they were pronounced man and wife,
William and Goldalynn lived a blissfully happy two months together.
So blissful, in fact, that she was able to ward off any paranoia of
losing William. It crossed her mind many times, but she always
shoved the thoughts away.

She should have known better…

She should have listened to her mother…

One sweltering hot summer day, William went
to work at the market in town and Goldalynn thought it would be a
thoughtful treat to meet him for a picnic lunch at the park across
the street. So, with the utmost care, she packed a picnic basket
full of her delicious homemade fried chicken and potato salad. As
an afterthought, she added a bottle of wine they had received on
their wedding day and then topped off the basket by resting two
wine glasses in a cloth napkin over the rest of the contents.

Her little car sputtered and lurched a bit
as she pulled it up to the curb across the street from the market.
Before she got out, she spent a moment watching the patrons going
in and out. Through the large panes of glass with the market name
painted on them, she could see her William running the cash
register and laughing with a customer. His blond hair highlighted
by the sun shining through the window and his freckles from
childhood still prominently spread across his cheeks.

Unable to hold back a smile, Goldalynn
pulled open the door handle and stepped out of the car. After
smoothing down the skirt of her yellow sundress, she gathered her
purse and basket and then slammed the car door shut. Cars zipped
past her while she waited patiently to cross the street. During the
brief seconds in between the cars, she watched William though the
window. He hadn’t seen her yet and appeared to be directing a
customer somewhere in the store, from the looks of his extended arm
and forefinger.

Then she heard the shots. Three distinct
shots.
Bang. Bang. Bang
.

Her basket fell to the ground, its contents
spreading across the hot pavement. There was a muffled crash of the
shattering wine bottle as it fell from the open top of the basket
and hit the pavement. Red wine spread like blood, staining the
cement. The air seemed to waver and tighten around her, causing her
world to spin. Distant screams filtered into the whirling nightmare
her reality had become. The previously calm sidewalk outside the
market had quickly become chaotic, with people rushing to and fro
in complete confusion.

Wham!
It hit her all at once. Their
love hadn’t been strong enough to survive the curse after all.

Coming back to reality Goldalynn bolted out
in front of the oncoming traffic, ignoring the horns and screeching
tires coming from the cars as the drivers tried to avoid hitting
her. Once she was safely on the sidewalk in front of the market she
heard the sirens begin their ominous, wailing song of death.

She knew what had happened. Deep inside she
knew it, but she still had to see for herself.

“Miss Goldalynn!” Rudy, one of Williams’s
employees at the market, came running out, “Don’t go in there ...
not yet.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing
came out. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “I need … my
husband,” she managed to croak out, pointing inside the market.

Rudy shook his head. “You don’t want to go
in there, Miss Goldalynn.”

“Move, Rudy!” she screamed, blinded by her
tears.

Before Rudy could move, they were both
shoved aside by two policemen as they rushed into the market.

Ignoring anything more Rudy had to say, she
hurried in behind the officers. When she entered the market, she
forced herself to stop and take a few breaths and thought to
herself,
Maybe it wasn’t him.

Her gaze shifted toward counter where
William had stood. There, she saw several people surrounding
someone on the floor. She couldn’t physically see who it was, but
she knew anyway.

Her heart felt as if it were going to
explode in her chest. Each and every step toward the counter, and
what was behind it, felt like wading through a muddy swamp.
Frantic, her eyes darted back and forth touching on each of the
bystanders. Her body flooded with momentary relief when she
recognized Shirley, one of William’s employees, standing near.
Shirley caught her eye and read the questions in Goldalynn’s dark
irises. Silently, Goldalynn begged Shirley to tell her it wasn’t
William, and if it was him, that he was all right.

Shirley, with tears glistening on her
cheeks, shook her head in response to Goldalynn’s unspoken
question. She hurried over to Goldalynn and held her tightly in a
hug, then turned with her arm still around Goldalynn’s shoulders
and led her toward the horrific scene her family had been warning
her about ever since she could remember.

More sirens drew closer as she laid her eyes
upon the only man she had ever loved.

Her William lay on the cold tile floor with
blood blooming like blackened flowers from the bullet wounds in his
chest. The dark stains spread across the floor, pooling around his
body.

Her knees buckled beneath her and she
crumpled over his body. Droplets of crimson splattered against the
pale yellow sundress, leaving behind morbidly cheery spots of
bright red. Her own shouts of denial mingled with the sirens
outside as a loud “Noooooo!” erupted from within her.

Not a minute later, even more policemen and
paramedics swarmed the place, asking people to leave and adding to
the chaos that already took place in the tiny market. When one of
the policemen asked her to move aside, she clutched William’s body
harder, refusing to let go of her love. Her shoulders heaved as her
panting sobs shook her frail body. Unable to speak, she continued
to cling to William.

“Please ma’am, we need to work here,” the
officer gently urged.

“Get away!” she screamed. “Just go!”

“Ma’am, this is a crime scene and we need to
examine the area.”

“I won’t leave him, I won’t!”

It took several policemen to remove
Goldalynn from William’s body. They loaded her into an ambulance
and took her to the nearest hospital. Once sedated, she was held
until her mother arrived.

And so we arrive at the secondary life
changing event for our Goldalynn.

She would never see him again. She would
never hear his laugh again. She would never trace her fingers over
his freckles and give him a playful kiss again. He would never call
her Goldie again;
no one
would call her Goldie again.

He was gone.

Her mother allowed her to lie in the bed in
her old room for days. She understood the pain and hurt her
daughter was going through. Her light was gone, she knew William
was what had driven Goldalynn in life, and she deserved to be able
to mourn him however she chose.

Goldalynn, on the other hand, her tears had
cried out. Where there were once tears shed for love, there was now
an emptiness for which she could not weep. And, as the days and
nights passed by, that emptiness was replaced by a dark hatred of
life.
Why would the fates be so cruel
, she thought.
How
could they take him from her
?

If only there were a way to bring him
back.

Suddenly, she sat straight up in bed.
Maybe there was a way
.

READ AN EXCERPT FROM SAVIOR

A FULL
LEGNTH NOVEL BY JENNIFER MALONE WRIGHT

Sweltering heat emanated from the searing
flames. Alex ignored his blistered skin and burnt clothes. He
plunged both arms into the blazing orange inferno without a second
thought for his own well-being. His hands frantically flailed until
he found what he searched for. He pulled the charred remains up and
hugged them to his chest before he gave a desperate glance toward
the others.

Smoke curled into his mouth and nose and
made it nearly impossible to breathe.

“
Hurry, hurry. Get out now,” a gentle
voice whispered into his ears. “You must go right now if you want
to live.”

However, he couldn’t leave them behind.

“
Go now,” the voice whispered more
urgently.

Sparks flew when a giant log broke in half
and fell from the ceiling. It crashed onto the floor less than two
feet from where Alex stood. Flames engulfed the fallen wood and
created yet another obstacle.

The voice tried again, crying out, “Hurry,
Alex!”

Alex knew he needed to move if he wanted to
live, but he paused for a moment to question whether he even wanted
to bother. The flames grew while Alex stood motionless, undecided.
Suddenly, a great push from behind thrust him forward toward a wall
of fire.

***

Alex stirred in his mahogany coffin, one of
the best money could buy. He felt the soft, white velvet lining rub
against his cheek, but it didn't comfort him. He panted like a
thirsty dog and writhed helplessly inside the narrow wooden
box.

His eyes snapped open. First, he checked his
hands for burns, but he found none. He groaned while he became more
aware, and realized he'd had another nightmare.

He sighed, wondering if the recurring dreams
were going to last forever. He reached up and unlatched the locks
he’d installed for his own safety, or at least his peace of mind.
He pushed open the lid and sat upright. His gaze wandered across
the room while his mind tried to fight off the feeling of dread he
had about the night ahead.

In the center of a large stone room that was
buried deep beneath his house, his coffin rested on a massive stone
slab with Egyptian hieroglyphic carvings around its edges. The
carvings read, ‘Death is not but eternal life.’ The slab and coffin
were the focus of the room, with the only other items being his
slippers and a small table that held a candelabra and a box of
wooden matches.

Alex lit a match and touched it to the
candle wicks. A soft glow lit the room and let him safely climb out
of his coffin. When he slammed the lid shut, the hollow sound
reverberated off the stone walls and quickly died. He wedged his
large feet into his slippers, padded to the wide steel door and
punched a series of numbers into an electronic keypad. The door
emitted a soft whooshing sound when the lock released.

Yawning, he stepped through the door and
into a maze of tunnels that worked their way into deadly traps
scattered throughout his underground chamber. Another whoosh
signaled the door locking behind him. With the candelabra in his
right hand, Alex moved through the maze and watched the flickering
shadows play on the walls.

Alex stopped short and blinked. He saw what
he thought was Malcolm's face, shining menacingly in the light
ahead. He held the candles out toward the face, but the image
wavered in the candlelight and disappeared.

Hmmmm
, he thought,
perhaps the
night ahead will prove eventful after all.  

Except for his echoing footsteps, the
tunnels were deadly silent. Once he reached the end of the tunnels,
he faced yet another heavy steel door with an electronic lock.
Again, Alex entered a code on a keypad and exited the tunnels into
a small closet.

Finally, he came to a thick oak door that
simply needed a key. He removed the key from the pocket of his
pajama shirt. Alex unlocked the door, entered the actual bedroom of
his house, and relocked the entryway to the tunnels like he always
did.

More out of habit than concern, Alex scanned
the room with all his senses. Despite popular legend, the many
mirrors in the room reflected his image off each other.

Alex gazed longingly at the four poster bed
in which he never slept. The thick mattress was clothed in burgundy
blankets with piles of decorative pillows scattered across the head
of the bed. Burgundy and black dominated the color scheme: black
carpet, burgundy walls, and sheer black curtains shading the
windows.

Preferring the softer light of candles, he
bypassed the light switch and went to the dressing table. He placed
the candelabra on the table and picked up a candle that stood in a
golden holder with biblical carvings on its base. Each time he lit
the candle he was reminded of his time in Rome. The things there
were so beautiful he couldn’t resist bringing something home for
himself.

Alex knew his hobby of decorating bordered
on obsessive. He brought back things from his journeys all over the
world to put in his main house in Reno. But his house was
finished.

On top of that, his casinos practically ran
themselves. His place on the Higher Collective only occupied him
every now and then.

He found it an awful feeling, having no
purpose.

He tried to ignore the weakness that plagued
his body with pain, indicating it was time to feed again. Glancing
at his nightstand, he noticed the blinking red message light on his
cellphone. Pushing back the pangs of hunger, he checked the
messages.

Damion’s smooth voice came through the
earpiece. “Hey Alex, I’ve set a Collective meeting for tonight.
Something is going down with Malcolm ... I really don’t like the
feel of it. I think we all need to get together to talk about this
one. Eleven, conference room.”

Clicking his phone shut and throwing it on
the bed, Alex went to his closet and rummaged through his clothes.
With exacting care, he chose a black Armani suit, complemented by a
dark red dress shirt. Dark red was his power color, and he loved to
feel powerful.

In the connecting bathroom he stripped out
of his pajamas. The reflection staring back at him was one that
would never change. Until the end of his existence, each time he
looked in the mirror, he would see a twenty-eight-year-old man. His
harsh Russian features would forever remain without wrinkles, and
his coal black hair would never gray. His eyes, though, told the
story of his age, and even he could see the stories in them.