Shadow and Shine (Book 2): Dark Divide Read online

He was dying. Jake was watching his friend die.

  The man broke free and punched Omar. As Omar fell to the ground, the man turned his attention to Karl. Jake was torn between helping Omar or Karl.

  Instead, he froze.

  “Help!” Ron shouted from behind. Jake couldn’t move forward, but he turned back in time to see another man sprint through the door and tackle Ron to the ground.

  Except, it was a woman this time.

  A couple was breaking into John’s house and attacking everyone like a pack of wolves.

  Jake looked back to Karl. Omar tackled into the man from behind, making his body arch into a C shape. He drove the man back several steps before their momentum stopped as the man slammed into the wall. The force left an imprint of his body and a large hole where his head broke through. It appeared to have knocked him out.

  John stood, crying but focusing on Ron. “Arrrggghhhh!” He screamed and grabbed a chair off the ground. He ran over and slammed it into the woman’s face. She flopped backwards, stunned. He picked up the plate of shrimp and brought it down on top of her head, which bent the metal. Another aggressive attack, this time the edge of the plate slid into her neck.

  “He’s getting up!” Omar said. He stumbled to his feet, shaking his head. Jake grabbed the ceramic cocktail sauce bowl and threw it at the man as he began to turn around. It shattered as it landed perfectly on the top of his head, knocking the man back down to his knees. Jake ran over and kicked him square in the balls.

  Karl grabbed a leg from the broken table and speared it through the back of the man’s neck.

  The man was dead.

  So was the woman.

  Jake, Karl, Omar, and John stood in the room, panting. Ron’s face was crushed in from the woman’s attack. Horace bled out during the struggle.

  There was no explanation why, but Jake felt compelled to look out the door. Maybe it was the creaking of the steps, maybe it was something else. Either way, Jake looked outside.

  “No!”

  There were three more men sprinting up the porch stairs.

  This time he didn’t fall. This time he didn’t backpedal. Instead, he found the nearest table leg to protect himself as he warned the others. “Guys!”

  *******

  Mickey Kyle

  Night

  Capitol Building - Salt Lake City, UT

  Harry’s advice came with good intentions. It wasn’t going to help Mickey turn on the stupid light bulb, but it was the thought that counted. At least Harry was talking to him. Mickey distinctively remembered how much Harry hated him on the roof, and it was a huge win for him to promise to never act like that, again. His advice wasn’t going to help, but there was more to it than simply turning on a light.

  Mickey was happy to sit and listen if that’s what it would take to repair the relationship with the old man. Really, Mickey always seemed to feel better when he was around Harry. It didn’t make sense, when he thought about it. Harry wasn’t a bad guy. Angry? Sure, but he wasn’t bad. Mickey wanted to be friends with everyone, even the people who hated him. Harry was extending an olive branch, and Mickey would take whatever olive oil he could out of it and be grateful.

  Up close, his droopy thumb and big gash on his mouth distracted Mickey from staring at his stump. How could anyone survive this kind of beating? Mickey passed out from zapping a dog with his magical electric Pulse. He didn’t even get bit. Someone took several bites out of Harry, and now he was cracking jokes and bestowing his ginger wisdom.

  It all started making sense to Mickey, though. The old version of Harry died when all that damage came. The guy sitting in the shelter, the one making the jokes and being friendly, he was a new version of Harry Harrison.

  Mickey liked that. Maybe, he could be a new version of himself, too. One with lightning bolts shooting out his fingers.

  Hopefully, he didn’t have to die for that to happen.

  *******

  Jake Oberhausen

  9:33 p.m. (Mountain time)

  Willard, UT

  Jake wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the table leg. He wasn’t a fighter. He was a frightened, middle aged man who didn’t want to die. He wanted to go home to his wife. Whoever these people were, they were dangerous. They killed two already.

  Realizing two of his new friends were murdered made him want to vomit.

  But he didn’t. Jake was prepared to fight back.

  Maybe not prepared, but he was willing to try to fight back, at least.

  Instead, John slammed the door closed in the nick of time. The men slammed into the door as John locked it. He turned with his back against the door. “I have guns upstairs. Let’s go.”

  Jake looked over to Omar who stood by the window and nodded. If it weren’t for him pulling Jake out from under the first man, he would be dead. These four men would need to protect each other in order to have a chance of survival. Jake was grateful for his second chance.

  Omar nodded back. “Let’s g—”

  He stopped as someone grabbed him from outside and tried to pull him out the window.

  Karl dove and grabbed onto his legs before he disappeared. Omar screamed in agony as his body bent over the window sill. Pieces of glass from the broken window cracked under Omar’s weight.

  Jake ran over and blindly jabbed his table leg outside the window. He was afraid someone else may grab him, but not enough to prevent him from trying to save Omar.

  His third attempt stabbed into something spongy. Jake felt the pressure along the wood and lost his grip.

  It worked, though. Karl pulled Omar out from the window and onto the hardwood floor.

  Omar’s stomach was severely damaged from the glass, but his face was disturbing. It looked like his eyes were missing and his nose was partially ripped off. He wasn’t breathing.

  Karl checked his pulse, and shook his head. Everything was moving too fast. The emotion of seeing death up close was replaced with the fear of dying. Jake never had the chance to dwell on the horror of potentially taking someone’s life with the table leg, either. Instead, his mind was solely focused on survival.

  “Come on!” John yelled.

  They followed him up the stairs and into the bedroom at the far end of the hallway. A large commotion came from downstairs, Jake thought it sounded like the door was knocked off it’s hinges. Jake saw several hunting rifles through the glass of John’s large, cherry wood gun case sitting beside his bed. “Shut the door,” he whispered as he fumbled with the key.

  Karl grabbed the lamp off John’s nightstand and smashed it into the gun case. “No time,” he said, pulling out a shotgun. Jake knew nothing about guns. He never felt the need to research them, never used the gift card to go shooting, and was not expecting the hunting rifle to be so heavy. “30 ought 6,” John said. “One’s in the chamber. Here’s four more.”

  “What are we doing?” Jake asked, realizing he was holding a gun while strangers had broken into someone’s house with intentions of murder. Was this really happening? They were stacking up on protection like they were going to war.

  Karl dropped bullets into his shirt pocket. “Listen man, you’re holding a loaded 30 caliber rifle. That thing’ll blow a hole in your chest. Careful where you point it. There are more of them downstairs. They’re coming. Are you ready?”

  “No,” Jake answered. The fear of dying was enough to make him fight back, but the fear of shooting someone was too much. “I can’t do this. I’ve never fired a gun before.”

  Fuump.

  Someone slammed into the bedroom door. Jake’s finger rested on the trigger, but not enough to fire. If he would have, it might have shot John in the leg. He was trying to focus on the fear of the men hunting them, but he couldn’t concentrate holding the gun. It made him feel like a coward. As if he was out of touch with his genetic code that makes a man, a man.

  The door handle turned wildly but the padlock kept the intruders out. Jake looked over to John and Karl, both were aiming at the door. Jake walked
over beside them, standing between the bedroom door and the giant window of the master bedroom. The weight of the gun felt lighter as he held it horizontally. It sounded like there were more than three of them in the hallway. Not that they were speaking, or grunting, but Jake could hear several people from the bottom of the stairwell up to the bedroom door. Maybe seven or eight.

  “How many bullets?” he asked. He didn’t even know how to reload the gun, but he would try to figure it out. He didn’t have a choice.

  No one answered him.

  Boom.

  Jake felt the air come off John’s gun as he shot first. He was holding a rifle similar to Jake, but larger and with a clip. There was a hole in the door. John adjusted the lever smoothly and fired again, creating another large hole in the door. It looked like he was blindly firing at the door, hoping to kill someone. Jake’s mind raced all over the place; from whether John owed money to the mob, or if this was some kind of alien takeover. He couldn’t figure why this was happening, but he decided he would shoot out the door, as well.

  Pop.

  The sound was deafening. Louder than any movie leads a viewer to believe. His eyes closed and lowered the gun fast, almost dropping it entirely. He wasn’t merely protecting himself, he was shooting another human being.

  Why wasn’t Karl firing? Instead of reloading his rifle, or at least trying to learn how to reload his rifle, Jake looked over to Karl who stared at the door. He wasn’t frozen in fear, he was waiting for the perfect opportunity. Jake and John shot without seeing a target, but now it opened the door for Karl to see when someone was coming.

  The sound of running through the hall brought Jake’s eyes back to the door. He made eye contact with a man through the hole as he sprinted at the door. Pitch black eyes were focused on Jake before Karl blew a hole through the door and through the man’s chest. With pieces of wood flying everywhere, Jake saw the force of the shot blow a hole through the top of the door and knock the man off his feet, sending him flying to the back of the hall.

  A moment passed.

  It looked like there were three bodies laying in the hall. Jake stepped forward, ignoring the need to reload and unable to look away. “Are there more?” he asked, out of breath. The hallway was covered in blood. He remembered their being only three outside the door, maybe the threat was over.

  “Shh,” Karl cocked the shotgun, Shick-shick. Jake moved away from the door, finally realizing the need to reload. If there were more, they were coming.

  Steps rushed up the stairwell.

  “Oh, no.” Jake’s shoulders slumped. He looked down to his gun and tried to move the lever the same way as John had earlier.

  Pow.

  Shick-shick. Jake looked up to see several man running in the hallway. The first shot exploded the top half of someone’s head, splatting blood against the stairwell wall.

  Pow. Shick-shick.

  That shot landed in a man’s chest, causing him to knock over the others behind him.

  Karl pulled shells out of his pocket. Jake tried to do the same. If they were slowed down, then he would have a chance to reload his gun and help each time John and Karl were shooting. They could create enough consistency to stop them until they ran out of bullets.

  John shot again, causing Jake to look back up.

  The man in front, the one with a fresh hole in his chest, stood on his feet. John’s shot blew off the top of his aim but didn’t knock him off his feet. He turned back to the bedroom, black blood was leaking through his white shirt.

  This took enough of Karl’s attention to cause him to drop a shell. There was the choice between shooting right away, or grabbing another one. Karl decided to cock the gun and shoot again.

  The spray of the shotgun shell covered through the room and killed several men. Each shot was like a stick of dynamite.

  Shick-Shick. Pow.

  Another shot. More down.

  Each time, it seemed like there were more standing in the hall.

  Jake fired again. This time missing.

  John was reloading his clip.

  Their timing was off. Jake moved too fast. John was too slow. Karl had too few of shells. All three men looked down and rushed to reload.

  But they were too late.

  The black eyed men were coming.

  One of them dove into Jake, causing him to bite his tongue, again. The person was too small to take him down. Instead, Jake stepped back against the window while a small teenager’s head panted under his armpit. Jake pushed him away and onto the ground as soon as the diminutive stature of his attacker registered. He expected a cry of pain as he threw the attacker down, but the only sounds were coming from the stairwell, John searching the floor for a shell, and the relieving sound of Karl reloading.

  Shick-shick.

  The boy couldn’t have been more than ten years old. He was wearing a dirty Ninja Turtles t-shirt and pajama pants. Jake thought about trying to reason with him, but his empty expression signified there wasn’t going to be a discussion. The kid appeared devoid of humanity, and looked at Jake like he was bored.

  He lunged at Jake.

  Pow.

  Karl’s shot knocked the boy into Jake, and blasted them both out the window. The sound of shattered glass echoed away as he felt himself falling to the ground. The distant moonlight sparkle against the spinning pieces of glass, just before his back broke his fall.

  Each bone in his body felt disjointed as pain shot through his midsection.

  *******

  Tink Morris

  Late night

  Salt Lake City, UT

  Back in the day, when Tink used to work for his uncle, he never made a decision unless he asked Grady first. His actions were Grady’s actions. This kept everyone else in constant fear of Tink. He was the King’s right hand. There was no bribing, reasoning, or begging, Tink simply did what he was told. It kept him and his sister safe, and their lights on.

  For some reason, Tink couldn’t grasp the idea of following Mona like he used to follow Grady. She was his baby sister, not his leader. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t follow her. It just meant it would hurt when she started calling him out for bad choices. Mona wasn’t supposed to be feared like Grady. While he led by being savage, she was leading with love and wisdom. Yet, she was comfortable telling Tink it was his fault that Edie and Lynn were dead. Then she had the nerve to talk about others in the group dying if anyone made another mistake. It didn’t sound like she was worried, more like she was just stating facts. Those words sounded a lot more like Grady than they should. Tink hid his history with Grady from his sister because he didn’t want to end up like him. Maybe, she was the one who could end up like him.

  No, that wasn’t possible. Grady was a tyrant. Mona was a young girl pushed into leadership. Tink would fan the flames for her goodness. He could even talk to her about their crazy uncle and the dangers of his viciousness. The rest of the group was quivering about the Shadows, but that’s because they never experienced how evil normal people can be too.

  *******

  Roy Hadley

  8:36 p.m. (Western time)

  Las Vegas, NV

  Detective Roy Hadley stared at a picture of the dead whore. Her stretched mouth hung open like a loose balloon with black water seeping out. Silvio Peretti was a murderer and a fiend, but this was too far for even him. The woman’s eyes rolled in the back of her head, Roy guessed she died trying to scream, while someone was shoving an oil filter down her throat. Even the worst, ugliest whore in Vegas didn’t deserve this.

  Roy wanted to believe it was Peretti, but nothing about the whore’s death fit the bill. Peretti killed for punishment, this looked like pleasure. Whoever killed this woman, savored the little tears along her cheeks. Maybe he hired a new dog to hunt for him. It wouldn’t be the first time Peretti brought in a loose cannon.

  There was more to learn from the picture. Roy knew it was there, he could feel it in his bones. People weren’t murdered in Vegas without permission from its m
ost dangerous man. He didn’t know how, but Peretti was involved. Roy wasn’t going to go to Chief Jackson again. The Chief didn’t trust Roy’s intuition since Peretti’s lawsuit. Roy didn’t trust the Chief since his last suspension.

  Chief Jackson would be calling though.

  It’s what happens when your partner’s car is found at a murder scene.

  Detective Markie Nelson was the only good partner Roy ever had. He was honest, hardworking, and faithfully married to his wife. Yet, his car was found with the dead whore and someone else’s blood. Was it Markie’s? Maybe. Acacia, the old whore with bleached blonde hair, said an Italian was driving. Markie was black. Even the dullest of streetlights shouldn’t have confused her.

  Roy didn’t put Markie’s car information into his report. He intentionally left the license plate and model blank. Eventually, Chief Jackson would find out, but Roy wanted to buy time before being taken off the case. No other man in the force was going to solve the case. Roy could do more in four hours than the rest of them could in a week. They weren’t motivated by loyalty, they weren’t motivated at all. There was no other man in the force who would put his job, and his life, at risk to save another officer. While the rest of them slept, Roy would hunt. He would bring down Peretti, and his dog. He would savor it, just like the freak who killed the whore.

  Maybe it was the message he was meant to see; do to Peretti what he’s done to others.

  It’s been four days since Roy slept. His mind was fueled with constant thoughts of terrorist bombings, missing partners, dead whores, stupid unhelpful whores, and Silvio Peretti. He tried to distract himself by watching the President’s speech, tried to work out, tried eating, but nothing kept the hatred from spilling over and bringing him back to his desk. Somewhere, in this woman’s face, or at his desk, or at the police station, or in Las Vegas, there had to be the truth.

  A gust came through the open window by Roy’s desk. The smell of the rotten dumpster from the alleyway wafted into his nostrils. The smell matched perfectly with his mood.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. Normally, he would ignore the message and get back to work. The only person who texted him was his partner, but Markie was…