Daniel's Darkness Read online

  Dwayne Gill

  Daniel's Darkness

  A “Written By Blood” Prequel

  Copyright © Dwayne Gill, 2018

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  This one’s dedicated to my wife Andi. Thank you, honey, for your tireless support and belief in me.

  I know Daniel’s your favorite, so here’s to you.

  Foreword

  Other Books By Dwayne Gill:

  Cane’s Detour

  Written By Blood Series

  Written By Blood Part One: Cane—-Coming this summer

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  Dwayne Gill Books

  Taryn

  Taryn reached out, smacked the snooze button on her alarm clock for the fourth time, and rebelliously pulled the covers over her head, as if the alarm itself had a vendetta to keep her from sleep. It was 7:06, she knew without having to glance at the clock; she snoozed the same way each morning. Taryn had to be out of bed by 7:10 or Gary would come wake her, like she needed any extra motivation to leave. School was her only escape from this house he ruled. She only dreaded the weekends that imprisoned her with nothing to do except hide and daydream of Monday morning.

  Taryn tumbled out of bed, threw on the clothes she picked out the night before, rolled on some deodorant, and brushed her teeth; by then it was 7:18. She prided herself on being able to walk out the door on most mornings by 7:20, so she was on fire today.

  Most thirteen-year-old girls would want more time in the mornings to prepare themselves for the critical eyes of the boys, and even the girls with whom they competed, but Taryn was different. She refused to wear makeup and didn’t have long hair like most girls. She cut her hair three years ago; now it barely fell even with her ears. Some kids made fun of her appearance; she not only looked like a boy but dressed like one too. Worn, faded jeans and oversized t-shirts comprised her daily wardrobe. She dressed this way out of necessity; her mother and Gary hadn’t bought her new clothes in years. She’d been recycling the same outfits week after week, retiring an article of clothing only after it had an excessive number of holes. The oversized shirts weren’t even hers; they were her father’s, and those she wore only to school for fear she’d tear or stain them. She had washed and dried them many times to shrink them to a reasonable size though they still looked like dresses on her. Taryn’s dad was a big man; she was glad he had preferred his shirts tight-fitting. He liked graphic tees honoring his favorite bands: Metallica, Aerosmith, AC/DC, Guns n’ Roses, among others. These shirts earned Taryn some strange looks at school, but she didn’t care. Though her dad’s smell had long worn off, the shirts were all she had left of him.

  Taryn was a pretty girl. She had dark brown hair that three years ago, at full length, fell to the small of her back. She had soft features, high cheekbones, and light green eyes. Her face beamed when she smiled, which admittedly wasn’t often these days. For the past three years, Taryn had survived rather than lived. Although she’d become an expert at disguising her pain with a bright smile, she suffered inside. Taryn went through the motions of living, existing in this world, but she didn’t enjoy a single minute.

  Her life hadn’t always been this way. In fact, Taryn used to feel happy all the time. She would wake up every morning without having to hit the snooze button, eager to begin the day. Taryn usually woke up to the smell of breakfast cooking. She could almost sense the aroma of bacon, pancakes, biscuits, and eggs slithering under her closed bedroom door and up to her nostrils, hypnotizing her out of bed and into the kitchen, where her large, goofy, adorable father would welcome her. “Good morning, Worm,” he’d greet her as she stumbled in. “Worm” had been his nickname for her for as long as she could remember. He’d wait until she looked at him, and if she wasn’t smiling, he’d lumber toward her, lift her in the air, and spin her around. For most girls turning ten it would’ve been invasive and annoying, but to Taryn her dad’s positive energy and goofy ways were irresistible. He was never in a bad mood, even during the worst times in that home, times that her drug-addicted mother made more difficult. He let none of it affect his demeanor, at least in Taryn’s presence.

  Taryn was her father’s world. He loved her more than anything else in his life and was not ashamed of it. “You’re the only thing that matters,” he’d say when Anna, Taryn’s mother, would be on one of her binges. Anna became addicted to prescription painkillers when Taryn was only three years old and refused help. Anna thwarted every attempt by Taryn’s father to intervene and eventually found someone local to supply her habit, which only grew worse. Her drug use expanded to street drugs, including meth, and Anna spent a lot of time away from home, doing favors for dealers to get them. Anna’s behavior deteriorated. Taryn was so terrified of her mother she’d hide in her room when her dad wasn’t home. When he was there, he’d shield her from her mother’s outbursts and sarcasm, and if her behavior became too severe, he’d take Taryn on long walks and shopping trips. Her father had a way of transforming the worst situation into a beautiful one; no matter how thick Taryn’s frown was, he could turn it into a smile with his boyish jokes and shenanigans.

  Her dad worked odd hours as a hospital orderly, but whenever he wasn’t working, they were spending time together. They played lots of sports: baseball, basketball, even football, in their big backyard. It was there that Taryn grew to love games and the outdoors. In the beginning, she took part to mimic her father, but as time went on, she developed a passion of her own. Her father would tell her in jest that she was the son he never had, due to her love for all things outdoors. Taryn never considered whether her passion for sports directly resulted from her father’s direction or if she would’ve grown to love them, anyway. It didn’t matter; it had been three years since she’d thrown a football with him or played catch, yet she still daydreamed of those things every day.

  Ben, Taryn’s father, died in a car accident three years ago on his way to work. He had worked the overnight shift, and Taryn remembered the last words they exchanged, the last hugs, and the final tousle he gave her hair as he exited. That night was like any other, except he’d never return home. She still remembered his eyes as he left; there was nothing unusual about them, which was what made them so unforgettable. They were full of love, those big blues that lit up every time he looked at his beloved daughter. She saw those eyes daily, on the best and worst days, eyes she now missed so much. Taryn longed to feel safe again. Even though Ben was as soft as a teddy bear around his daughter, he could be as fierce as a bull for Taryn.

  Three years. Taryn could hardly believe she endured that long. Her mother was a wreck after her father’s funeral, though Taryn figured it was more because of the financial hardship that her mother realized she’d be facing alone. Ben had left behind a $100,000 life insurance policy, so Anna bought a new car, paid off part of the mortgage, and squandered the rest supporting her drug habit, which grew worse. Six months later, the bank repossessed their family home, forcing them to rent a cheap house in a lousy neighborhood outside of Chicago.

  Anna was out of money and desperate, so she accepted help from her drug dealer, who set her up with a roommate. That’s how Gary entered the picture. He controlled both from day one, and once Anna realized she had no other place to go and would have no way to support her habit, Gary owned her. He kept the drugs flowing in, and Anna became worse every day. Anna now slept most days away, only emerging from her bedroom to eat
and party with Gary. Taryn wondered how Gary benefitted from this arrangement; Anna could offer nothing. Her mom, once pretty as a model, was now pale and sickly. Taryn saw photos of her mom with thick, blonde, wavy hair and stunning blue eyes; now she was wrinkled and gray, her hair a matted mess, her eyes hollow and lifeless.

  For the past two-and-a-half years Taryn remained trapped in a house with a junkie mom and a sleazy drug dealer, and no one was there to save her. No one to lift her and spin her, no one to look at her and tell her it would be okay. No one to tell her, “I love you.”

  Taryn eased her bedroom door shut behind her and tried to tiptoe down the hall. She was halfway to the front door when Gary passed by it and glimpsed her out of the corner of his eye. Taryn’s heart dropped. Gary was an imposing man, broad and fierce, the opposite of her deceased father. While her dad had possessed a happy nature, Gary displayed the opposite; violence informed everything he did. He had long, wiry brown hair that hung past his shoulders. His face was dirty and pockmarked, undoubtedly the result of many years of drug abuse. His eyes were dull green and menacing. He stopped when he glimpsed Taryn and backed up a step, then turned and leaned against the wall to wait for her.

  Taryn tried not to make eye contact as she approached. Most of the time she could duck under or around him when he stood in her path, and he’d allow her to continue. Some days, though, he seemed determined to antagonize her; it was like he could sense Taryn’s hatred and became intoxicated by it. It was one of those days. As Taryn tried to veer left of his position, he sidestepped to his right, then to his left, blocking every attempt to pass. Taryn surrendered and said, “What do you want, Gary?”

  Gary was having none of her attitude. He liked to remind her who was in charge and took every opportunity to exert his authority. Before Taryn could react, his right hand gripped her throat and pressed her against the wall. Taryn could feel the pressure in her head and ears change. She flushed, and her face folded in pain. Gary smiled.

  “You don’t talk to me that way, dike,” he hissed in her ear. He called her that almost daily. Taryn was defiant, despite the pain. She refused to speak or make eye contact, so Gary gripped harder, put his knee on her upper thigh, and pushed. She could feel his kneecap pressing against her bone.

  “I said don’t have that attitude with me. Do you understand?” Though Taryn would love to rebel, to drive him mad with her defiance, she knew this was a losing battle; she lost it almost daily. She tried to nod her head up and down, not that she thought herself capable of actual movement, but at least he could feel her trying to comply. Gary waited an extra second or two and released her. Taryn gasped for air and doubled over, resting her hands on her knees to regain her composure.

  “Wear a scarf today. It’s cold outside,” said Gary, and he walked away.

  Taryn limped back to her room to retrieve a scarf before leaving for school though she didn’t have one that matched her oversized black Aerosmith t-shirt. Scarves don’t go with t-shirts anyway, she thought. She had to wear one though; if anyone noticed the marks on her neck, it would only invite more problems into her already complicated and miserable life.

  Taryn would often cry after an encounter with Gary like this one, but today she only felt numb. Maybe the clashes had become so frequent, so familiar, that she was getting stronger. Yeah, right, she thought. There’s nothing strong about me. She felt helpless. Gary would never stop hurting her, and even if he ceased to beat her physically, he would still be a terrible person. He cared only for himself; he liked it there because he had a place to stay and the location of the house. It was nestled in a dirty, low-grade part of town, the sort of area drugheads and homeless people flocked. The place that no parent should move their child to, yet Anna allowed her child to walk through this dangerous neighborhood every day.

  In the beginning, Gary pretended he was a friend to Taryn until he saw how apathetic Anna was. Once he realized he could treat Taryn any way he wanted, he dropped the facade, and the abuse began. It all started with awkward flirtation. He’d play with Taryn’s hair and tousle it, similar to the way her father would. It was the look on his face that was most disturbing, the hungry eyes and toothy grin. The flirtation escalated into Gary rubbing her shoulders, and she rejected his advances. It all came to a head one night when Taryn had enough and shouted, “Get away from me you perv!” That was the first time Gary hit her, a backhand across the left side of her face. She gasped with shock; no one had ever struck her, not even her mother. Taryn reacted by spitting at him, spraying him across his eyes. Gary grabbed her by the hair, wound several locks around his left hand, and yanked downward, causing Taryn’s head to tilt at a painful angle. Taryn could feel every follicle on her head burning. Gary punched her three times in the face though he was careful not to strike her nose or eyes. He bloodied her mouth and left a bruise on her left cheek and forehead. She groaned in pain, her hair still on fire, but Gary held tight.

  “If you ever disrespect me again, I’ll kill you.” He released her and she dropped to the floor where he stood over her. “And you’d better say you fell if anyone asks.” It would be the first of many days that Taryn would have to cover bruises and scratches. She had become a pro.

  It also wasn’t the last time Gary threatened her; he was paranoid, at first, of her telling a teacher at her school what was happening at home. He’d sometimes accuse her of doing so and would hurt her even worse. Taryn had initially considered confiding in someone; she wasn’t the type of girl that just stood by and did nothing while a stranger abused her. However, Gary’s paranoia and his repeated promises always kept her off-balance and afraid to say anything, and after enough time passed, she thought no one would believe her. Gary’s repeated and thorough description of what her life would be like in a foster home was enough to deter her from seeking help. No one can help me, she thought almost daily.

  After the incident with Gary, Taryn locked herself in her room and cut off her hair. She figured he couldn’t tousle or pull hair that wasn’t there. This is my daddy’s hair. When Gary saw her short hair the next day, he reacted like she had expected and hit her again. Then began the pattern of violence and intimidation that would span almost three years. It also inspired him to call her his favorite nickname, “dike.”

  If her dad were here, he would take care of this situation. Taryn could even feel a small tinge of girlish excitement at the thought of what he would do to Gary. Her father would never allow him to lay a finger on her. If he did, Ben would tear him to pieces. It was a beautiful thought, but Ben was never coming back. She was stuck with Gary.

  * * *

  Daniel

  Daniel rolled out of bed and onto the dirty hardwood floor, landing much harder than he expected. His aching body screamed in agony, but he lifted himself up and into a sitting position. What day is it? He wondered. Who cares. He’d been lying in that bed for almost three days now, only struggling to get up to use the bathroom and eat and drink. His friend Calvin came by twice a day to bring him food, check on him, and to offer Daniel drugs for his pain, which he refused each time.

  “Suit yourself, big guy,” Calvin would say. “Most people pay to have this stuff, and they don’t even hurt.”

  Daniel did hurt. As he sat on the bed and tried to work out the soreness in various parts of his body, he recalled the injuries that nearly killed him. Three broken ribs, a concussion, three head lacerations, fourteen knife wounds ranging from his upper left shoulder, though just a glancing blow to his right calf. Who the hell stabs someone in the calf? He thought. The other twelve knife wounds were mostly on his forearms from blocking the blows, but three had found their way past his massive arms to his stomach and chest. These three were problematic; two had plunged far enough to cause internal bleeding. The other wounds were mostly just annoyances, bruising caused by punches and kicks. He’d shaken off those sorts of things many other times.

  If not for Calvin, Daniel would be dead. His internal bleeding would have been his undoing without prof
essional treatment. Calvin had plenty of connections and found someone to treat Daniel without him having to visit a hospital.

  “I’d rather die,” Daniel had said.

  Calvin knew it wasn’t just stubbornness that kept him away from the hospital.

  “You entering a hospital would guarantee your death,” Calvin said in response.

  And it was true. If Daniel hadn’t disappeared, he would’ve died an even worse death, likely before blood loss killed him.

  “A vet?” Daniel asked as Calvin wheeled him into the veterinary clinic.

  “If you’re a good boy, you’ll get a treat,” said Calvin.

  The veterinarian was their only option, but he wasn’t a typical animal doctor. He worked for lots of shady people and had worked alongside an actual doctor for years, patching up those same shady folks. He had seen everything.

  “You’ll be good as new,” he said.

  Daniel woke up, surprised by the job the old vet had done.

  “Here you go. It’s the cone of shame. So you don’t lick your wounds and infect them,” Calvin said, holding out a plastic cone that dogs sometimes wear following a procedure.

  Daniel was fortunate to have Calvin as a friend. Though Calvin was a shady character and involved with dangerous people, he had shown loyalty to Daniel and had put his own life on the line several times. Calvin had found his way out of the criminal underworld, with Daniel’s help, and carved his own path. Daniel had left that world himself before meeting Calvin, albeit under different circumstances. Daniel was on his own personal crusade when he stumbled across Calvin, who had valuable information to share concerning the people whom Daniel was hunting. They mutually benefited from one another in the beginning but later developed a natural trust and friendship. Calvin limited his contact with the dangerous men of his past now; he only provided them with information for the right price.