Touched by Darkness (3 page)

small town, and she don't always work full days."

Damien had no intention of waiting that long. With

the boy broadcasting power, it was only a matter of

time until he attracted discarnate entities, or worse,

the Belian that Damien was tracking. But he didn't

want to arouse Sal's suspicions. "Where is her

clinic?"

"One street over on Johnson." Sal hooked his

thumb toward the west. "Take a right on Maple,

then go right again on Johnson. It's about halfway

down on the left. The doc is in if her pickup's out

front."

"Thank you for the information." Damien started to

leave, then turned back. "Occurs to me you might

want to pay Dr. Cantrell a visit yourself. You look a

little under the weather."

Sal grunted. "Ain't nothin' wrong with me,

excepting a lot of years of living."

Knowing there was nothing more he could do,

Damien headed for the door. "See you around."

He walked down the cracked steps and into the

sunshine. The air seemed cooler after the

overheated stuffiness of Sal's store, and he tugged

the front of his duster closed as he headed toward

his car. It was nothing flashy or obtrusive, just an

older model gray sedan. Even so, he knew he stood

out like a sore thumb, as evidenced by the curious

stares of the good citizens of Zorro.

Although many small towns like Zorro, with their

antique stores and bed-and-breakfast facilities,

drew a fair number of visitors, Damien had never

been able to blend well. His height and the chiseled

harshness of his features drew attention. He often

wore dark glasses to hide the intensity of his eyes

and tried to dress casually, but it always took a

while for people to become used to his presence.

Ignoring the stares, he strode to his car and got in,

starting it and pulling onto the main thoroughfare.

He drove to Johnson Avenue and turned right per

Sal's instructions. Apparently one of the older parts

of Zorro, this street had once been a residential

section. Now the old homes lining it were

businesses of one sort or another. He saw antiques,

art supplies, florist, law offices, and then the neatly

painted sign identifying the medical office of Kara

Cantrell, M.D.

Like the sign, the small house was well kept,

painted a pale yellow with white trim and large pots

of pansies flanking the front steps. A concrete

driveway took Damien to a small parking lot

behind the house. He was grateful for the rear

entrance, which would allow him to enter the

building without being seen or questioned.

The locked door was no challenge, and he readily

located Dr. Cantrell's office. Moments later, he had

what he needed—her address, and the knowledge

she wasn't married or dating anyone seriously. The

latter came from a recent birthday card in which

her brother had jokingly asked when she was going

to get a boyfriend. Good. That would make things

easier. Relocking the door behind him, Damien got

in his car, consulted his map, and headed for the

private residence of Kara Cantrell.

#

Kara paced the family room, rubbing her hands

along her chilled arms. She had turned on the gas

logs she'd had installed in the fireplace shortly after

she and Alex moved into the old house. While

charming, with its wood floors, rugged ceiling

beams, and large country kitchen, the house was

drafty, and she had neither the time nor the energy

to deal with wood-burning fires. But right now, the

efficient gas fire didn't begin to warm the bone-

deep chill racking her body.

No, the cold went far deeper than that, into the

depths of her very soul. And Kara knew why. The

stranger in Zorro. She tried to tell herself that she

could have been mistaken about him, about sensing

the power. That it was her overactive imagination,

fueled by the memories of what had happened with

Richard. But gut-deep intuition told her otherwise.

There was no doubt in her mind that the stranger

was one of
them.
The power had been too strong,

his reaction further confirmation, leaving no doubt

he'd picked up on Alex. She didn't know what the

stranger would do, but she felt certain they hadn't

seen the last of him.

He could find out who she was easily enough.

There was no anonymity in a small town. The

knowledge of the stranger's true nature, that he

could find her and Alex, sent a surge of hysteria

through her. What should she do? Pack up? Run,

like she had before? And then what? Richard had

told her
they
were everywhere.

As long as Alex was broadcasting, he would always

be at risk, wherever they went. Kara had tried to

deny his power, had tried to tell herself that it was

under control. But deep down, she knew better, and

today had driven home that point. She'd denied it

far too long, had denied it from the beginning,

when Alex showed signs his was one of the special

souls. It was right before he turned three. She could

still remember the first time, as clearly as if it were

yesterday.

"Mama, me been here before."

"What?"

"Me here before... before now. Me a woman in a

scary place."

"Silly boy. What are you talking about?"

Alex had thrown his chubby arms over his head

and burrowed against her. "Fire. Big rocks falling

on me! Hurts."

She'd held him close, feeling his pounding heart,

her own terror clawing at her throat. "It's just a

story, sweetie. Just a bad dream, that's all."

"No," he'd insisted. "Real."

It had taken some doing to soothe her terrified son,

but she had persevered. And as he got older, Alex

seemed to forget the so-called memories, to forget

his claim that he'd lived in another place and time.

It had also taken quite an effort to teach him to

restrain his pointing and the ensuing results if he

were upset or excited. Dishes spinning off the table,

plants tipping over, scorched places on the floor or

furniture.

Kara had hoped and prayed that the power would

become dormant if not acknowledged and

encouraged, that it could be repressed with

conditioning. Alex was a good child, responsive to

her parental requests. Now he never pointed at

anything, and his normal placid nature dominated

his moods. There had been no further incidents, and

she'd begun to believe her prayers had been

answered.

Until the past month, when strange things started

happening around the house and Alex's school

class. Things that seemingly were not a direct result

of anything he did.

The faint ding of a timer broke into Kara's reverie.

She drew a deep breath, trying to still her shaking.

She'd almost begun to believe she and Alex were

safe, that the past was behind them, had almost

convinced herself.

A foolish and fragile hope. But that same

knowledge told her it was useless to run again.

Until she could find some way to shield Alex,

they'd be at risk of discovery wherever they went.

For now, she was determined to keep his life as

level and normal as possible.

"Alex," she called out. "I know you heard that

timer. Turn off the television." She stepped closer

to the fire, still cold. She limited the time Alex

could spend on the computer or watching TV,

determined he not become totally dependent on

them for his entertainment. Already, he displayed

loner tendencies like his father had, preferring

solitude to the company of others.

A moment later, Alex came tramping down the hall,

Mac, their mixed-breed dog, trailing behind him.

"Ah, Mom," Alex protested, "There's a
Star Trek

marathon today. Ten episodes in a row."

"Then it will still be on in an hour," Kara told him.

"You need a break and some fresh air. You can

work in the garden with me for a while. Get your

jacket. And tie your shoes."

Alex rolled his eyes, but he dutifully knelt down

and dealt with the dragging shoelaces, then went to

the wall rack by the front door and took his denim

jacket off its hook. Reluctantly leaving the fire,

Kara decided to get a sweatshirt to garden in,

instead of her bulky jacket.

Alex opened the front door as she started to her

bedroom. The sound of a vehicle turning onto the

graveled drive halted her. Mac’s shrill bark filled

the air. Another omen, as Mac rarely barked at

anyone, unless he felt threatened.

"Hey Mom! Who do we know who drives a silver

car?"

Apprehension sent adrenaline pounding through

her body. She didn't need to see the car, didn't need

to run through a mental inventory, to know who it

was. She already knew.

"Alex, get inside," she said sharply, reaching the

door in a few frantic strides.

He stepped further out, his attention on the

driveway. "It looks like that man we saw in town

this morning."

"Now!"
she ordered, her voice rising. She grabbed

her son's arm and dragged him back. "Get in here!"

"Ow!" He stumbled and almost fell. "Mom!" he

stared up at her with startled eyes. The intensity of

Mac's barking increased. The dog sensed the

danger.

She struggled to keep her voice calm. "Listen to

me. I want you to go to your room. Turn on your

television and stay there. Do not come out until I

tell you to. Is that clear?"

"But
—
"

"Don't argue with me, son. Do it. Now."

"Okay." He shuffled off, throwing her one last look

over his shoulder.

Kara turned back to the door. The adrenaline

rushing through her had her shaking, made

coherent thought difficult. She battled to draw a

breath into her constricted chest, to stay clear

headed.

Every instinct screamed at her to slam the door shut

and throw the bolt, to snatch Alex and run out the

back of the house and through the fields, away

from the stranger and the terror he represented. But

bitter experience reminded her of the futility of

such an act. There was no where to run from
them.

She felt exposed, vulnerable, with no weapon or

any means to defend herself and her son. Because

of Alex, she refused to keep a gun in the house.

Besides, Zorro was a quiet, safe community. She'd

never before felt the need for weapons. She thought

of Alex's baseball bat, stored in the utility room

with other athletic equipment, but she knew it

would be no protection against a Sentinel.

The slam of a car door, along with Mac's frenzied

barking, told her she'd just run out of time. Sending

a prayer to a God whose existence she'd long

doubted, she forced herself to step out onto the

porch. The driveway was to her right, and the

stranger was out and strolling around his car.

Still on the porch, Mac snarled and snapped, his

hackles raised. The stranger stopped on the near

side of his vehicle, raised his palm toward the dog,

making a sharp motion. Mac immediately quieted,

lowering his tail between his legs with a small

whine.

The stranger turned toward Kara. She couldn't see

his eyes through the dark glasses he wore, but the

rest of him was intimidating. He was a big man.

The black duster emphasized his tall length, made

him appear even more ominous. His long midnight

hair was sleeked behind his neck and tied, leaving

bare the slashing lines of his lower face.

He didn't move for a moment, then slowly,

deliberately, he raised his hand and removed the

sunglasses. Steel blue eyes, glowing with a

preternatural energy, seared through her. He made

no effort to shield his power; rather he seemed to

direct it outward, its insidious force penetrating her

mental barriers, a psychic barrage.

Kara felt physically broadsided, emotionally

violated. Any doubt about her earlier assumptions

concerning this man's identity was evaporated by

the blast of pure, unchallenged power.

She grabbed the doorjamb, digging in her nails,