Page 3 of Into The Darkness

“She’s . . . dead, princess.”

No, that can’t be true. She’s not dead. She’s my mom. She’s invincible.

“I am so sorry, my little love. You should never have seen her like this.” I look around to find where Walsh left the scissors.

“Do you need these?” I ask because I don’t know what else to say. Maybe, somehow, Walsh can untie her and save her?

I don’t believe my dad. My mom can’t be dead. All moms are superheroes with big capes; they can do no wrong, and certainly don’t end up dead.

“This is your fucking grandfather’s fault for dragging his entire family into this,” my dad murmurs as he walks to the scissors. He bends down over my mother’s unmoving body. He cuts the string holding her hands together, then they slump to the ground.

My mom stayed at home to take care of us, but Grandpa came from a big, scary family. That is what Mommy and Daddy always argue about. Dad was tired of being part of her family and wanted to “get out of the family,” but Mommy would always tell him there isn’t a way out. That is why we had to have all the holiday dinners with Nonno and his scary friends. They were always big, had radios in their ears, and watched over us when we ate.

“What does being dead mean?” I say, cocking my head to the side so I can inspect the blood pooled around her matted black hair. Without all the red, it is so similar to mine. It hangs straight and is darker than the scary shadows at night.

I know being dead is a scary thing. Dad often talks about death with Grandpa in his office, but I don’t understand what the word means when he talks about it. I know it means the person isn’t coming back, but is it like a vacation?

“She isn’t coming back, princess. Some very, very bad men hurt your mother because of your grandfather, and she isn’t coming back.” I turn around where my father is looking back at the archway.

My brother stands there with red-rimmed eyes. Then he locks eyes with my father before he says, “We will never let him get away with this.” My dad only nods.

Everyone looks back at me as Walsh puts his hand over my shoulder and guides me back into the kitchen and asks if I want a popsicle for breakfast.

It is dark down the hallway, and all I can think about is how cold my mom looks lying on the floor. I need her. Who is going to help me with my homework? Who is going to tell Walsh to knock it off every time he tries to scare me at night?

“This is going to change everything, isn’t it?” I ask my brother. A silence passes between us. We reach out and grasp each other’s hand. There is an eerie quiet in that room, and I know everything will be different, but I also know I have my brother with me. He will protect and guide me.

He only nods as he guides me down the chilly hall, back into my bedroom where he pulls me onto the bed and wraps me in a big hug. He sobs into my shoulder, but I feel nothing in that moment—other than the silence of death at the foot of my bed.

Into the darkness I’ll go, and into the light I’ll be.

Chapter one

10 years later.

“You really think this is a good idea, Dad?” Walsh, who was entering his senior year at the University of Isles, questioned from the passenger seat of the Porsche as our father drove along the windy roads through the mountain pass.

“We talked about this,” I interjected before my dad could say anything. “I am more than ready.”

I couldn’t believe it was my freshman year and I was heading off to Isles with Walsh. I’d dreamed of the day my father would allow me out of the house, and it was finally here. Leaning back in the seat, I popped in one of my earbuds and listened to them with the other ear. Nothing would change my mind or mood about being able to live in Isles.

“I don’t necessarily agree . . .” My father lectured.

Blah, blah, blah.I’d heard it so many times over the last couple of years when I’d tell them I was interested in going to the same college as Walsh.

They could say all they wanted, but I had won the battle against them. We were headed in the school’s direction, so there was no point in listening. I popped in the other earbud and looked out the window as the roads narrowed.

I got an internship at Isles with a famous English professor last year. I interviewed with him over the summer and got placed in an upper-class level afterward. He was impressed with my writing ability and knowledge of the publishing world. His program was what first drew me to apply to Isles. Plus, I knew Dad didn’t want me far from home. He also told me that if I didn’t want one of his bodyguards coming to my college, I’d need to go to Isles. I didn’t want to spend my early adulthood being trailed and watched constantly. It was the thing I was trying to get away from.

University of Isles was built within the coolest rock formation. The pine trees created a canopy overhead, filtering the sunlight and casting enchanting patterns on the forest floor at the entrance of the little town.

Approaching the university’s entrance, we were greeted by an array of impressive stone buildings that seemed to emerge organically from the rocky landscape. The stones used in their construction had a timeless, weathered appearance, hinting at the long history of the university. The first time I came here to drop Walsh off as a freshman, I was shocked at the grandeur of it all.

The cobblestone roads within the university grounds added to the old-world charm of the place. The stones were worn smooth from years of use, and the footsteps of students echoed softly as they made their way to and from classes.

The valley setting of the university meant that fog often lingered, adding an eerie and mysterious ambiance to the environment. The soft, hazy curtain partially obscured the view of the surrounding forest and created an otherworldly atmosphere.

Despite its dark surroundings, the university was anything but desolate. While the town center itself was pretty slow, Main Street was full of bars, college students drinking, and during the week, everyone heading in different directions toward their classes.

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