A Step into the Dark_Ollie Wit Series Read online

  A Step into the Dark

  Ollie Wit Series Book One

  Donna Augustine

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Also by Donna Augustine

  Copyright © 2017 by Donna Augustine

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter 1

  Knuckles hit the wood of my front door.

  Over, and over, and over again.

  That was the sound that woke me from where I’d been asleep on the couch. Not an alarm for work. I’d stopped showing up there weeks ago. Not family. I didn’t have one of those anymore. And not friends. I’d never had many of those, and this past month had taken care of the few I’d had left.

  As always, consciousness hit like a hammer striking a stubborn nail that didn’t want to sink in. The knuckles continued their uneven cadence as I lay there and gritted my teeth through the pain of being awake. Awake meant I was still alive. Alive meant I had to live another day, even though the chore of getting off the couch seemed akin to climbing Mount Everest.

  But climb I must. There was no out. This was it. I’d have to keep going, waking up day after day, whether I wanted to or not, because of a promise I made fifteen years ago before I’d had the maturity of knowing how bad this life could get. But it was a promise I’d keep to a man no longer among the living.

  “Ollie?” Dr. Martin called from the other side of the door.

  If I’d wanted to talk to someone, I wouldn’t have thrown my phone off the bridge weeks ago.

  I reached out a blind hand to feel for a water bottle that wasn’t empty. After tipping over a couple of empties, my hand landed on a winner.

  If I’d been a normal person, I would’ve glanced over and located one easily. But I wasn’t ready to open my eyes and deal with them yet. And they’d be there. They always were. They’d been my constant companions, the only ones I couldn’t seem to lose.

  Swallowing a swig of warm water, I realized the knocking had stopped as the silence spread out like a lifetime of doom before me. Maybe if I fell back asleep now, I wouldn’t wake up again? If the mind didn’t want to continue, it seemed logical that the body would eventually agree to go along with the plan.

  My dream of an eternal peace was disrupted by the jingle of keys and at least two sets of feet walking down the apartment building’s hallway.

  The knocking started back up but stopped after a couple raps. Dr. Martin was speaking again, but not to me this time. Then there was the voice of my super, saying something or other about how he wasn’t supposed to let him in. Of course, that didn’t stop the jingle of keys and the sound of my deadbolt shifting.

  “Olivia? Are you in there?” Dr. Martin’s voice echoed through my apartment, bouncing against the bare walls and wood floors, filling the apartment with his voice.

  I didn’t move or make a sound, but that was pretty easy. Wasn’t sure my voice was working anymore, and the permanent indent I’d created in the couch hugged my tired body like a well-worn catcher’s mitt ready to be retired.

  There were only a couple of steps down my hallway before they’d find me. The bedroom was a few steps away but still too much effort. He’d only search for me there next anyway.

  I rolled from my side to my back, a precaution against seeing them if I opened my eyes. The one predictable thing about my constant companions was they didn’t float.

  The steps got closer, and then there was nothing but silence for another moment. I imagined the two middle-aged men taking in the picture I made.

  “Is she alive?” Dan whispered, as if his voice would wake the dead.

  Dan, my super, the one who’d been hitting on me since the day I moved in, was now afraid to get within a few feet of me. Seemed there were a couple of brain cells rattling around in that head after all.

  “Her chest is moving,” Dr. Martin said in a tone that made it clear that, although I might’ve changed my assessment of my super, he wasn’t very impressed. “I can handle it from here.”

  Dan, or at least I assumed it was Dan, let out a long whistle, before I heard him retreating back down the hallway and shutting my door.

  Dr. Martin’s steps were coming closer.

  The sound of a cardboard pizza box skidding across the wood floor preceded a rustle of papers and a thump as they fell. The sound of the chair creaking under his weight told me his diet wasn’t working out too well since the last time he’d mentioned it.

  There was another stretch of silence before a drawn-out sigh filled the air, which sounded nearly as tired as I felt. His conscience might’ve dictated this visit, but his stamina wasn’t quite on board with it all.

  “How are you doing, Olivia?”

  It was such a simple question, one people asked all the time, and yet I’d never really known how to answer it, even before it had gotten this bad. Still, if he was going to put out the effort, I felt compelled to muster up a response.

  “I’m fine.” Lying there in clothes stained with my dinner from three nights ago and still not opening my eyes, “great” seemed like it might’ve been a stretch.

  Another long slow, exhale. “It’s normal to feel like this after what you’ve been through.”

  “I know, doc.” I didn’t need a degree in psychology to know there was nothing normal about this, but it was easier to go along and get along. I didn’t have any fight left to spare.

  “It’s going to take time after… Well, after any tragedy it takes a while.”

  Accident—that was the word that had been on the tip of his tongue before he swallowed it back. That was what the police, the fire department, and even the arson expert had called the explosion. An accident.

  Couldn’t blame doc for not saying it. I’d be afraid to say that word to me, too. Last time someone had said it, they’d had to shoot me up with enough tranquilizers to take down an elephant as I screamed that there were monsters everywhere coming to kill us.

  No one, not even doc, wanted to hear about the monsters anymore, and I knew continuing to talk about them would eventually land me in only one place. A dark padded room might not be too bad, but they would follow me in there too. At least free, there was the illusion I might escape them one day.

  “Olivia, you haven’t opened your eyes since I’ve gotten here.”

  He knew the reason for that too. I’d been seeing doc since I was a kid, before I’d begun to edit my life story to fit what people expected. It was easier for all involved if I lied—after all, my recent lapse screaming about the monsters had gotten me nowhere but an overnight in the psych ward. “Sorry about that. Nasty migraine.”

  Give him an excuse to believe I was okay. That was what he wanted. It was what we both wanted so we could wrap up this little meeting.

  “Olivia, please look at me. I’m worried about you.”

  Damn doc and that stubborn vein of duty running through him. He was going to make me work for my peace.

  I forced myself upward, knowing I was going to have to put on a better show than this if I wanted to earn my quiet. Dropping my arm, I saw doc sitting there staring at me, and also what I’d dreaded. One of the monsters had sprung up beside him. They were always varying shades of grey to the inkiest black. This one looked the way I’d imagine a troll would, standing near the doc’s shoulder, its eyes a silver-grey—eerily like my own when I thought about it, which I preferred not to. It was still better than the ones that had red eyes.

  The monster leaned closer to him, and the doc shivered. He glanced behind him at the old single-pane windows. It wasn’t a draft from the windows. I could’ve told him it was the companion beside him, but he wouldn’t have believed me anyway.

  When he looked back at me, the sun shining through the window showed off the fresh lines around his eyes and the dark shadows beneath. He looked like he’d been sleeping about as much as I had, and I knew I had to wrap this up for both our sakes.

  He leaned forward. “I stopped by your work when you didn’t answer the phone. They said you quit.” His eyes wandered around the room. “When was the last time you left your apartment?”

  “Doc, I’m going to be fine. I’m sorting through this and need a little more time before I’m willing to open up. But I’m not going to snap my cap and do something crazy. I’m not suicidal or homicida
l or any other word that revolves around killing.”

  He squinted, and I saw the pity in his eyes. It was the one emotion I hated most.

  I ran both hands through my hair, pushing back the dark curtain it had formed around my face as I stared at my feet, my big toe hanging out of the sock on the right foot. I was going to have to get a little tougher if I wanted to get him out of here. This wasn’t something he could fix, so I was doing him a favor driving him out. These creatures were dangerous. I knew that now. Was positive of it.

  I only paused a second before I turned back to him. “I know I don’t seem okay right now, but to be honest, neither do you.”

  The doc shifted and the monster laughed. I threw it a dirty look as the doc’s eyes shifted downward.

  I looked back down at my big toe, wondering if I should’ve given him a few more minutes to leave on his own before I went there. I still remembered the session when I’d told doc that the monsters had said his wife was cheating on him.

  I’d been seeing him for a while, hearing how it was all in my head for longer than I could remember, and the tedious nature of it all made me feel like my brains were turning to mush.

  It wasn’t like I’d ever wanted therapy. I knew they were real. Everyone else needed the therapy. But, to make my parents happy, I’d gone once a week to see the doc, and he’d asked me over and over again what the monsters did, what they looked like, did they speak? Well, ask a question enough times and you better be prepared for when you get the answer.

  Doc shifted in his seat and leaned back, farther away from me. I shifted slightly down on the couch, helping him out by widening the gap more. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” he said. “Nothing to apologize for.”

  I nodded, not arguing the point but sensing my opening. He was ready to leave. I’d sufficiently primed the pump. “I’m okay. I’m just sad. I’m sad to the depths of my bones, and sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I wish I hadn’t. But I still get up, I eat, and I get by. I’ll be fine.”

  Fine. Not good. I didn’t think I’d ever be good, but I’d live.

  I watched his face as he took in my words. I’d thrown in enough hurt for him to realize the rest had been truth as well. I didn’t know if I was going to be good anytime in this life, but I’d keep living it, for whatever it was worth.

  I knew we were in the home stretch when he rattled off the normal questions—was I sleeping, was I feeling threatened, blah, blah, blah…

  It was a test I knew all the answers to. It was amazing how well you could get by with just “sure” and “fine.”

  After a promise to call the office and set up an appointment, he stood like a vanquished foe accepting his defeat. He could leave me here alone, feeling like he’d done something. I could be left alone. Somehow in this scenario, I was the victor. All I’d won was my solitude, but that was enough.

  I saw him out and walked back to the couch, avoiding the dark figures that seemed to be looming in the most unexpected corners, and slumped back into my dent, my eyes downcast. That was when I noticed it, an envelope with “important” handwritten on it.

  I hadn’t seen the doc leave anything behind, but he must have. I grabbed the envelope, withdrew the sheet of folded paper, and opened it to see a single sentence.

  Don’t speak to the monsters.

  No signature, no name. This wasn’t from the doc. I glanced around the room, avoiding looking at an especially large monster near the kitchen.

  How long had this been sitting here? Had I grabbed it in my mail? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten my mail. How long had this been sitting here?

  One month ago, I’d spoken to the monsters for the first time in a decade, and someone out there knew.

  Chapter 2

  If I hadn’t gotten that note yesterday, then I wouldn’t have jumped off the couch the second I heard something slither underneath my door. I dodged left around a little furry monster and grabbed the note lying facedown in my hall.

  They were back. Note in hand, I didn’t bother reading it as I flung the door open and saw Dan walking down the hall, about to turn the corner.

  Wait, Dan saw the monsters?

  I looked down at the paper.

  You need to get your mail out of the lobby. The mailman can’t fit it in your box anymore. It’s all over the lobby and I’m getting complaints.

  Dan

  A month ago, he would’ve stalked me to deliver this message in person, maybe delivered it himself to show me what an upstanding person he was. Now I got notes under my door so he didn’t have to get too close.

  I walked back into my apartment, crumpled the piece of paper, and threw it on top of an overflowing pile of trash can. It bounced to the floor, setting off a garbage avalanche as I settled back into the dent in the couch.

  It took a solid twenty minutes—or, by my new method of telling time, two-thirds of a Seinfeld rerun—of internal debate before I decided that getting my mail might not be the worst idea. When you didn’t leave your apartment, having heat and electricity became more important than normal, especially in a Boston February.

  My holey socks were sopping wet before I made it down the single flight to the lobby. Didn’t anyone know how to wipe the snow from their feet?

  I let out a breath strong enough to puff out my cheeks as I eyed the soggy pile of what I presumed to be my mail under the metal boxes in the wall, unless someone else in the building had died and I didn’t know.

  Wet magazines almost created a Slip ’N Slide as the key to my mailbox gritted in and then resisted turning. Dan had said he was going to fix this two months ago, back when I was still worthy.

  After a couple solid tugs, the box vomited up more of my mail in a splatter onto the lobby’s puddled floor.

  Scooping up my wet mail, I kept my head down as people entered behind me, resisting the urge to check and see if they were wiping their feet.

  I was the antisocial freak of the building, and saw no reason to break that impression now. If I spoke in my current mood, it would only serve to diminish my standing. I hated the world and everyone in it, and I didn’t have to get to know you first.

  A pair of male hands reached down and began helping me gather up my mail. I bit back the groan as the consequences of his kindness hit. Now I was going to have to speak to him, even if it were a single word. I could only hope that wouldn’t somehow morph into conversation. The odds were in my favor, considering I hadn’t brushed my hair in three days.

  He handed me his share of the soggy pile as I turned and rose. My helper stood beside another man who appeared to be with him, partly because I couldn’t figure out another reason for them both to be standing there staring at me. They also appeared to have been churned out of the same cookie-cutter machine, with long wool coats over suits and ties, but both had forgotten to groom their hair or five o’clock shadows. Not that I could climb on a soapbox and preach, but at least I was consistent in my appearance.

  It might have been their unblinking attention, or the way they stood a little too close, but something about these two tripped my inner alarms. It wasn’t a take off at a run alarm. It was more like a milk that was on the brink of turning that you had to smell a couple of times sort of problem. A monster that had lingered in the corner’s shadow crept over and started sniffing one man’s shoes, almost like the dog it appeared to be, then sneezed.

  Yeah, something wasn’t right with these two. That was my cue to get out of there.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the long path around them toward the stairs.

  “Wait,” one of them called, as I climbed the first two steps back to my floor.

  I turned, against my better judgment, to see why I was supposed to wait.

  “We’d like to speak with you.”

  I took another step up, the smell of something rotten getting stronger. “Why?”

  “Don’t run,” one of the men said. “We just want to talk to you.”

  Run? Most sane people with a lick of instinct would’ve been hightailing it away from them. They were lucky they were talking to me instead. All I had left in me was a leisurely stroll away.

  The idea of them possibly being the murdering types ran through my mind, and instead of wanting to flee, I imagined a guilt-free exit. Murder would mean I hadn’t given up. My life had ended by no fault of my own, and if everyone I loved were in heaven right now, I’d be with them instead of here, alone. If there were no heaven? It wouldn’t matter anyway, because I’d be dead. Except would putting myself in harm’s way screw me on a technicality?