Available Darkness Season 1

idea what she was looking at. This was nothing she’d ever seen before.
    “What the hell?” she said to herself.
    She grabbed the other journals, quickly flipping through hundreds of identical pages.
    Another floorboard creaked and her heart skipped a beat or three before finding its usual patter.
    Hope grabbed the metal box next, surprised to find it unlocked. She swung the lid open and was greeted by a stash of folded newspaper articles and photographs sitting beneath a blue velvet pouch. Spilling from the pouch was a perfectly smooth black rock, the size and shape of a small apple. It felt colder and smoother than it should have, as if it were made of molded ice.
    What the hell?
    There were two photos, old and faded. One was of a small, Northeastern, rural-looking two story house. The other was of two young boys, standing in front of the same house, each holding ice cream cones; four scoops and two goofy grins. The boy on the left, she was certain was John. She smiled at the younger version of him, feeling like she was getting a peek back in time at the man she’d come to love.
    He looked so sweet.
    Hope gulped with the sudden, unsettling realization that she’d never seen another childhood picture of John. The boy on the right looked a lot like him, but a few years older and taller.
    A brother? John had never mentioned a brother.
    The newspaper articles, ranging back some 10 years, were all about a string of unsolved murders scattered throughout the state of Washington. A chill slithered down Hope’s spine as she thumbed through the fading newsprint, her brain doing calculations that filled her with terror for what might lie in their solutions.
    To her relief, the murders weren’t the only common theme in the articles. No, there was a name repeating in each of the pages, always just below the photo of the FBI agent it belonged to: Caleb Baldwin, an older, hardened version of the second boy in the photo.
    “Who are you, John?”

    * * * *

    John

    Unit 178 was in the farthest corner of the storage lot. John parked his car, then got out and walked in a straight line, glancing at the pair of closed circuit cameras mounted on the roof above the unit. He flipped the back of his hand in a casual wave before knocking on the corrugated metal bay door, serving as the only way in or out of the makeshift “office.”
    “Hold on, hold on,” an out-of-breath voice said, followed by the sound of a cascade of soda cans spilling to the floor. John stifled a laugh as the door rolled up and the chubby face greeted him.
    “Still haven’t cleaned your office, eh?”
    “Maid’s month off,” Larry grinned.

    * * * *

    Hope

    Hope’s eyes moved from photo to article, then back again as time refused to march.
    Why is he hiding a brother?
    She had to know more. Had to know why he’d never told her about his brother, a brother with another last name, no less. John’s last name was Sullivan—so far as she knew, anyway.
    What the hell is going on?
    Suddenly, the room grew dark, as if heavy storm clouds had blotted out the sun.
    Another creak, this one closer. Hope looked, even though she knew John wouldn’t be there. He wasn’t.
    Someone else was—a stranger.
    His bald head and wide smile almost seemed to step through the door of her bedroom a split second before his impossibly black suit.
    “Hello, Hope.”

    * * * *

CHAPTER 7 — Hope and John

    “Who the hell are you?” Hope shrieked, scrambling backward into the closet, her hand reaching for anything she might be able to use as a weapon. Her fingers curled around a red pump with a six-inch heel. This’ll poke an eye out.
    “Relax,” the man said, pulling a thin black wallet from his coat pocket and flipping it open to flash his credentials. “I’m a private investigator hired by the Ashbys to find their daughter. My name is Michael Turner. Your door was open. I knocked, but no answer, so I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
    Hope slowly stood, the shoe biting into her palm as she stared at the laminated license, scrutinizing the verification as though she could spot a fake. She slowly nodded, keeping enough distance to sprint by him if needed. She didn’t think she’d left the door open, but she had been distracted , so anything was possible, she supposed. Still, that wasn’t an excuse to come into someone’s house.
    And why had he said he was making sure “everything was okay?” Why wouldn’t it be? She wanted to question him on all these