Available Darkness Season 1

single door and a small red bulb gently swaying from the ceiling, Jacob sat on the floor lotus style. He had left the girl in the woods and was waiting for his prey to take the bait.
    Though his eyes were open, he saw nothing of the room around him. Instead, he was looking through the eyes of Abigail.
    A smile crept across his face as John stepped into the girl’s view.
    “Hello, brother.”

    * * * *

CHAPTER 5 — John

    “Do you believe in fate?” Abigail asked from her spot, curled on the front seat of the old pickup truck he’d lifted from a grocery store parking lot.
    She’d washed up in an all night diner’s bathroom and changed from her dirty, blood and piss-stained clothes into some navy sweats and a long-sleeved purple tee shirt they’d bought when they risked shopping in an all-night Walmart using the money John had stolen from Randy. John bought some jeans and a black tee shirt for himself, and felt a bit fresher, though he craved the minute he could take a hot shower.
    “Well, do you?” Abigail repeated the question. “Do you believe in fate?”
    “I dunno,” John said as he drove in search of the address he had found scrawled on the note in his pocket.
    Something told him that if they could find the location soon, he would find safety, and perhaps some answers to his many questions. He glanced down at the map. They were a few miles from their destination, with about three hours of darkness left.
    “How can you not know?” she asked.
    John tapped his temple, reminding the girl of his missing memories.
    “Oh yeah,” she said from behind an elongated yawn.
    They drove in shared silence as they rolled along a lingering stretch of highway with nothing much to offer but trees and darkness on either side.
    Half an hour earlier, John asked her about her abduction by the men in the van and was troubled that she couldn’t remember anything after the cop was killed. Her next memory was waking in the woods. While her memory before the cop’s murder was completely intact, the parallel to John’s own condition was not lost on him — she was missing any memories of her abduction. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.
    John wondered if the bald man had something to do with both of their predicaments. If so, he needed to find the man after he found the address on his paper and got whatever answers waited there.
    He decided not to press Abigail for memories she didn’t have. There was no point. And sooner or later, he would find his past — or it would find him.

    **

    “I believe,” Abigail said long after John thought she’d drifted back to sleep.
    “In fate?” he asked, remember the question she asked him several minutes ago. He wondered how a girl who has lived such a horrible life until now could believe in something like fate. How could you believe that shit piles like this were meant to be, or worse, planned by some unknown architect of misery?
    “Yes,” she said, “I knew you would come and save me. Don’t you remember the drawing?”
    “I do,” he said, treading cautiously, “But I think it’s more likely a coincidence than fate which led me to you. I was buried alive, running away from God knows what, and just happened to stumble into your back yard.”
    “Nothing just happens ,” Abigail said.
    He glanced over at her. Her eyes held a youthful hope he was reluctant to crush with his cynicism. He had to remind himself that he was not dealing with an ordinary child, and couldn’t truly understand the fragility she hid behind her brave façade.
    “Profound words for an 11-year old,” he said, trying to lighten the mood with a jest and a smile.
    “I’m almost twelve,” she snapped back.
    He looked over to see if she appeared as wounded as her defensive words had sounded, and wasn’t surprised by her crossed arms and furrowed brow.
    Suddenly, a horn split the moment in an angry burst. John glanced up to see that he had drifted across the center line into oncoming traffic.
    “Holy shit!” he blurted as he swerved back into his own lane, the back end of the truck fishtailing as its rear wheels tried to find purchase against the asphalt. He fully expected a tire to come flying off or for the truck to simply fall apart. Another horn blared, this time from behind, as lights filled his rearview mirror and the truck’s cabin before swerving around them. The car passed, the driver’s middle finger at full mast, all for John.
    John looked back to make sure he hadn’t drawn