Dark Universe (The Universe Series) Read online

  Dark Universe

  By

  Devon Herrera

  PUBLISHED BY

  Devon Herrera

  Dark Universe

  Copyright 2013 by Devon Herrera

  *****

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  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction-. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  For Mom and Dad,

  The best parents a girl could ever ask for.

  I love you.

  Table of Contents:

  Prologue- The Apple and the Tree

  Chapter 1- Hello again, Universe

  Chapter 2- Horsey Love

  Chapter 3- The Loft

  Chapter 4- A game of Basketball

  Chapter 5- Threatening Mr. Wright

  Chapter 6- Little Green Monster

  Chapter 7- Soul Mates

  Chapter 8- Dinner with the Chase’s Dirty Landry

  Chapter 9- Comfort

  Chapter 10- Warning Signs

  Chapter 11- A New Perspective

  Chapter 12- Saving Connor

  Chapter 13- Drake

  Chapter 14- To Love

  Chapter 15- A Woman Scorned

  Chapter 16- Caroline Chase

  Chapter 17- Vows and Declarations

  Chapter 18- Truth will Out

  Chapter 19- Just Keep Living

  Epilogue- The Gift of Life

  Prologue

  “Don't go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first.”

  -Mark Twain

  Drake

  “Hit the volume on your way by, Son.” My father is sitting in his “throne” with a presumably half empty Coors can in his right hand. The brown leather recliner is bowed in the middle from supporting his large frame over the years. The surface is stained with liquor and chewing tobacco, and bruised from being pounded by his fist whenever the Cowboys make a bad play. That chair is the only predictable thing about Emerson. You can always count on finding him in his chair, drinking a beer and watching sports. Any sport on TV will do. Everything else is inferior, and not worthy of his attention. I swear one day I saw him watching women’s volleyball. The only exception to this rule is golf. “Only yuppies find watching grown men play fetch with themselves entertainin’, Son.”

  I thumb the button to turn the volume up as I continue on into the bathroom to wash the dirt and horse shit off my hands. The water turns a faint rusty red from all the fresh blisters. It stings like a mother fucker, but I smile remembering how I got them. Ruger is one hell of a firecracker. That young mare is going to be the best horse Wyoming has ever seen when I’m through with her. That day can’t come soon enough for me. I’ve dreamt of one thing my entire life. The Rodeo.

  I cup my hands to capture some of the water to splash on my face. Fan-fucking-tastic. The cold water cools my sweat covered brow, and clears the dust out of my eyes. I run the hand towel down my face, peel the lids back from my eyes and stare at my reflection. It’s my father’s face, just younger. I have a picture in my room of him when he was just three years older than me. He’s perched on his horse, smiling for the camera before he gets ready to ride into the arena. You can’t even tell the difference between us in that picture. A lot of things have changed since then. He doesn’t smile anymore.

  “WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!” My dad’s voice booms throughout the entire trailer; hell, the entire park probably heard him. I’ve heard that tone enough times to know that the shit is about to hit the fan. I shove open the door and hear the knob go through the wall behind it. I don’t care. I’ll patch it up later. I walk over to my father who is standing over my mother. I walk, because if I rush over there like I want to, I could spook him. Dealing with Emerson in this mood is like approaching an angry rattle snake. If you make any sudden movements, you will get bitten.

  “What’s going on, Dad?” I say, assessing my small mother’s defensive position. Delilah Thomas is small, blonde and thin. And right now, she’s terrified.

  “Drake, your momma seems to think she can just go runnin’ her mouth whenever the mood strikes her.” His eyes are still locked on his shaking wisp of a wife as he speaks to me. “Haven’t you ever heard not to bite the hand that feeds ya, Lil?”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it, Emerson. I just said we were out of beer and…”

  “And I told you to take that pretty little ass down to the store and get some more.” My father cuts my mother off mid sentence. Her eyes flare a little and it reminds me that although my mother is obviously afraid of her husband, she hasn’t fully become the meek and obedient housewife my father expects her to be.

  “And I told you, we don’t have the money to spend on another case. We barely made rent as it is, Em.”

  “Excuses! What have I told you about your God damn excuses, Delilah? I gave up my life because you refused to get an abortion. I put a roof over your head and take care of you and your son, and all I ask is for some God damn respect!” My mother is so used to this speech she almost looks bored.

  I know how she feels, because after fifteen years, I’m also totally numb to my father’s disappointment in his life and his family. When I was a boy who idolized his father, I would run to my room and lock the door so he wouldn’t see me crying. I don’t cry anymore, I haven’t for years. Thomas’ don’t cry; that’s for little girls and pussies. They do get angry however, and right now I’m angry for my mother. Why she puts up with him is beyond me. It’s not for the sake of her son that’s for sure, and I can’t bring myself to think it’s out of love. My father killed my mother’s love for him with his resentment a long time ago.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Emerson Thomas. Your son is standing right there.” My mother puts her fists on her hips and glares at my father. Her defiant stance only enrages him further.

  “Drake is a grown ass man; he knows exactly what goes on in this house, Lil. It’s time you stopped babying him. Now you better get movin’ before I get really pissed.”

  “That boy has never been babied one day in any of his miserable fifteen years, Em.”

  I wish they would leave me out of this. When my father directs his anger on someone, it doesn’t divert from its original target no matter what. As much as I love her for it, I don’t need her to defend me; I can do that all on my own if I feel the need.

  “Quit your bitchin’ and get movin’, Lil. I won’t tell you again.” My father waves his hand dismissively and starts to turn away, but my mother’s eyes light up with a bit of that old fire. I can see the defiance and anger take root in her posture and the words are out of her mouth before I can do anything to stop her from speaking.

&nb
sp; “What about, there is no money, don’t you understand? Do I need to spell it out for you?” As though I have the ability to see into the future, the next five seconds play out in my head before it happens, but I’m too slow to act. My father’s hand swings up and across his body to slam knuckle side up into my mother’s cheek. My mother’s fragile body bows backwards with the force of the blow and her head hits the counter top before she crashes to the floor.

  The sight of the only person who gives a damn about me sprawled motionless on the floor is like throwing a flame on gasoline. I erupt. As if there is no heart or brain in my body, as if I’m a machine with no other purpose, I attack. I don’t feel, I don’t see, I don’t hear, I don’t think. I act. I don’t feel my hands grip my father and throw him to the ground. I don’t see my fists connecting with his face in a fury. I don’t hear his grunts of pain. I don’t think about stopping. Nothing registers until I’m seized from behind and forced into a headlock by strong uniformed arms. I fight against my restraints for as long and as hard as I’m able to, until a soothing voice breaks through my concentration.

  “It’s alright, Son, he’s down. Stop fighting us, we’re here to help.” The red haze clears a bit, and I look up into the familiar blue eyes of one the officers. I recognize him as one of the officers who responded to the last call from a worried neighbor. Although I can’t remember his name, I do remember his concern, and how he seemed almost reluctant to leave despite my mother’s insistence. I glance down to the name tape on his chest and see the name “Wheeler” etched on the black rectangle. He stares into my eyes for a moment, and nods his head, coaxing me to relax. When I finally stop struggling, I look down at the two motionless forms now side by side on the floor.

  There is a pool of blood next to my mom’s head, and my father is unrecognizable. The policeman that’s not holding me puts his fingers to my mother’s pulse, and someone screams. I can’t hear what he is saying to the one holding me, because the screaming is so loud. I hear a groan from my father, and that’s when I realize the screaming is coming from me. I lunge for him again, and the officer barely manages to pull me away and handcuff me to the leg of the coffee table. EMT’s finally rush into the house, and I wait with bated breath.

  Emerson is cuffed and taken out to the ambulance on a stretcher as the medics work to stabilize my mother. I hope they lock him away for good this time. Just as that thought crosses my mind, another more disturbing one follows in its wake. The fact he’s walking out of here at all doesn’t relieve or calm me. I wanted him dead. I wanted him out of this world and out of our lives for good. I hate him for what he’s done to me and my mother, and even though my rage has tempered, that feeling refuses to recede.

  I close my eyes in attempt to block out the knowledge that stems from those unforgiving thoughts, but the truth refuses to be ignored. They can lock him away on the other side of the planet, but it will do no good. With his blood flowing through my veins, he’s free to hurt anyone who gets too close.

  After all, I am my father’s son.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Talk low, talk slow, and don’t talk too much.”

  - John Wayne

  Lola

  “Your mother is calling. She will keep calling. You might as well answer it. Your mother is calling. She will keep calling.” My exasperated voice sounds out from my cell phone in a special ring tone I recorded a few years ago, just for her. I’m such a thoughtful daughter. I chuckle a little at my private joke and take a deep breath before answering.

  “Lola’s Whore House. We lay ‘em, you pay ‘em.” My mother sighs a little bit, and I know she is rolling her eyes at me.

  “Lola Scarlet Chase. Would it kill you to act like an adult every now and then?” I knew she would say that.

  “If not, the boredom of doing so eventually would.” I mutter.

  “Life is not all about having a good time, Lola. Eventually you have to grow up.”

  “Eventually, being the key word there, Mom. You act like I’m running out of time or something. I’m only twenty six years old.”

  “Yes and when I was your age, I was already married and pregnant with you. You don’t even have a boyfriend; which brings me to why I called.” Oh shit.

  “No way, Mom. Not again. Don’t even say it.”

  “Oh just calm down, would you. I really think you’ll like this one.”

  “No, Mom. I’m not going out with one of your friend’s sons again. Not gonna happen.”

  “Oh well.” She sighs, and it makes me nervous. She gave up far too easily.

  “Um, thanks. So if that’s all I’ll see you guys when you get back in town.”

  “Just a minute, Dear. If you insist you don’t want to even get to know the poor guy, you’ll just have to tell him yourself.” Aaaand there it is.

  “Why would I do that?” I say warily, already sure I’m not going to like her answer.

  “Because he will probably be there in a few minutes to pick you up.” Well, hell.

  “Damn it, Mother! You better call him right this second and tell him to turn his ass around.” I demand, though it will do me no good.

  “Language, Lola, really. I will do no such thing. If you are going to refuse to see him, you will be the one to tell him. Honestly, I can’t imagine why you seem so upset over this. Knowing you, you’ll probably enjoy delivering the rejection first hand.”

  “Mother, I am not kidding around…”

  “Oh honey, the waiter is here to take our orders, your father says hello and to mind your manners. Tell Vincent we said hello. Buh bye now, love you.” Then, the little witch hangs up on me.

  “Damn.” I pocket my phone and go back to applying my makeup. I blot my lipstick and roll my eyes in the mirror. I can’t believe she pulled this shit again. I’ll give her this much, the woman is good.

  The doorbell rings and I giggle a little. Good timing. I glance in the mirror one more time and smooth down my sweater. My phone chimes once more on my way down the stairs, and I stop at the landing to check it.

  Nins: I’m going to kick your ass Lo. He keeps touching me and the waitress keeps flirting with him. Oh and wait till you see the message I got from the Universe. Not cool!

  I smile and click reply and type: Suck it up bitch; then put my phone back in my pocket, and shake my head at my best friend’s craziness. It’s about time she got a little shook up. If I have to hear one more comment about “The Universe” and it’s “plan”, and how you have to “read the signs” I might have to get a little handsy, and not in the nice way. Nina’s life story may be intense and tragic, but it has nothing to do with “The Universe.” Shit happens. People are flawed and they make mistakes and sometimes those mistakes completely change your life. I have a brother finishing out a three year sentence who can attest to that.

  The doorbell rings again, and I snap out of my reverie and finish walking to the front door. That will be Vincent. Here we go again. I open the door, and my mask of cool indifference falters a little. Not enough he would notice, but it’s something. Standing on the other side of the door is the exact opposite of what I was expecting. This is no perfectly groomed country club member with a pressed white button down, expensive Stetson and snake skin boots. No, the man that is standing in front of me is so much worse because he is so much better.

  My eyes travel from his dirty, plain black boots, to the faded denim jeans, the black cotton t shirt and finally up to his tanned face with black eyes framed by inky curls peaking out of a ball cap that has seen better years. Wow, not bad, Mother, not bad. I resist the urge to drool and instead shoot him a flirty smirk, and lean casually against the door frame.

  “Well, I gotta say, you’re definitely not what I was expecting.” I offer and Vincent’s face betrays absolutely nothing at my tone or words. Interesting. “Don’t worry, handsome, I meant that as a compliment.”

  He quirks an eyebrow at me and seems to take my blatant perusal as an invitation to look me over in the same fashion. Very slowly. I�
��ve had plenty of guys check me out before, so this should be no different, but for some reason a prickle of unease follows his eyes and chills break out against my skin. Shit, so this is what nervous feels like. The feeling intrigues me just a little bit. There are three universal facts of Lola everyone knows. I never wear red lipstick or white pants, it’s far too cliché and super tacky. You don’t mess with my best friend, and I never, EVER get nervous in front of men. I eat them for breakfast.

  “Sorry, Miss, I’m not sure I follow. I’m here to see…”

  I wave my hand dismissively, cutting him off. “I know all about why you’re here.”

  “Reeeally.” He drawls. “In that case do you think you could let me in, so we could go over my proposal?”

  “Proposal, huh? That’s definitely new. I haven’t been proposed to in a while, and never on the first date.” His expression finally changes to mild confusion. “Oh come on, Cowboy, it was a joke. I know you didn’t mean that kind of proposal.” He says nothing, but when I run my fingers into my hair to push it back from my eyes, his head swivels down the length of my body brazenly. I wait for him to finish before I raise my eyebrow at his second blatant perusal. His soft baritone laugh is felt down in my bones and I visibly shiver. Damn.

  My mom has definitely upped her game with this one. I wonder where she found him. Hmm… An idea forms in my head, and I smile at its perfection. “Alright, cowboy, I’ll admit, I was fully prepared to send you on your way before uttering your first sentence, but now after seeing you, I’ve decided to hear what you have to say. Let me get my coat. We’ll go down to the diner and get some food and chat. My treat.”

  I grab my coat and keys off of the hooks by the door and walk out onto the porch and graze my chest against his arm before turning to set the locks. That move always gets a reaction. Vincent doesn’t so much as change his breathing. Have I lost my touch? I turn back around and catch him rubbing his upper arm casually. Nope still got it.