PART ONE
THE WICKED
In times of sorrow and despair,
One may look for a hero or something that cares
It is impossible to hide from pain, from loss, from death.
It is the inevitable, it is what builds us, it is in our breath
But in the balance of life a hero does rise,
Sometimes in us
Sometimes from another side
~Book of Sorrows~
1
Karrie parked her truck and killed the engine. She took in a breath and stared out into the dimly lit street. The neighborhood she stayed in was modest. Single family homes lined the block, nothing extravagant, this was for normal people. Forty hour a week folks who were late on their cable bill, trying to avoid bank fees and clipping coupons for forty cents off yogurt at the local grocer. She worked hard for what she had. Put up with a lot of shit to make it to where she was and was proud to live here; proud to provide for herself and her daughter.
Her home was a single story contemporary. It sat on a small moss lined lot. As she made it up the cement steps she noticed that her decorative junipers were on a mission to take over the skinny walkway. At one time they lined the pathway with elegance, but now, after neglecting them, they seem to be lashing out, upset for the lack of attention and screaming for some kind of acknowledgement that they are there to stay.
Once inside, Karrie placed her purse on the nightstand and locked the door behind her. She moved down the short hallway, picking up scattered clothes as she went. Once in the kitchen, which was simple: cheap laminate, yellow walls, basic appliances and microwave, she made her way to the laundry area. A pile of unwashed clothing was piled in front of the washer. Karrie dropped the loose items she found onto the pile and made her way back down the hallway.
Music could be heard coming from the first bedroom. From what she could hear it was one of the obnoxious new boy bands that seem to be affecting the music world right now like a virus. She imagined her junipers outside in the same manner. Too much and it loses it’s beauty. Not to say the boy bands are beautiful at all. In fact, to Karrie being a music lover, the bands aren’t music at all. Just a pretty wrapping over an empty present. Nothing really worth opening, but just something for the little girls of the world to worship and drool over. Music had passion, meant something. Bands like One Direction would come and go. Real music would last a lifetime. That’s meaning.
Before knocking on the door, Karrie could remember a day when her daughter would run to her when she got home from work. A huge smile across her face, arms wide open. That embrace they once had still tingled at Karrie, for some reason, she still believed her daughter Destiny would surprise her that way again. But the reality was a bit different. Again, like the junipers. Attention was key. Without it, you’ll do whatever it takes for someone to notice you. Even going too far into desperation at times to get it. Maybe that had something to do with the distance they had for one another now. Maybe they both felt let down and unappreciated. Whatever the case may be, Karrie missed her daughters touch. Simple as that.
As Karrie was about to knock, she got a strange feeling. Not that she was leery of knocking; checking on her daughter wasn’t an issue, but more of an ominous sensation overwhelmed her. A sense of dread. She turned and looked back down the hallway toward the kitchen. The darkness was thick, the glow of light from the kitchen didn’t seem to do battle with the bleakness at all. For some reason, the light itself seem too fear the dark. It stayed back, reluctant like a child too afraid to jump in a pool for the first time.
