Strength in Darkness

Hi all, just a fair warning. This book continues on from the last book, and gets a little darker. There is tragedy in it. Book 3 lightens up, and gets a bit mature. It’s a Sunday evening, February, and it’s freaking cold in San Francisco. She didn’t mind the chill, though. She stopped feeling somewhere around age twelve. She parked herself on a rock, getting the best view of the bridge, the lights, the water.    The shakes started earlier in the day, and she truly needed her fix. Whenever she called him, he was there almost instantaneously, like he was following right behind her all the time. Only, she knew he wasn’t. She checked.   He always got it for her. It was the one thing she depended on him for, and he never failed her. She could technically get it herself, but he warned her she could be watched and if she wanted to maintain her cover, she ‘needed’ him.    She checked her watch and the small rectangular phone he gave her. He was the only contact she had, and that one phone call she made weekly was only to him. He always delivered, always showed. For whatever reason, she had called five times and he still hadn’t answered. Sure, he had a job and was constantly busy, but he never went a full day without answering her.    Shaky hands, she dialed him again. The migraine was starting and her will to keep the urges at bay was dwindling. Voicemail. Again.   Wasn’t he the one who demanded she keep the damn thing on and charged all hours of the day? ‘I need you to promise you’re not gonna lose this. You need to keep it at all times. If I find out you’re not being responsible, I’m going to kick your ass.’ Whatever.    She let out a deep breath and decided to just check in to a hotel, lock herself up until he graced her with his presence. He’ll know where to find her, hopefully before she does something regrettable.    *** Twelve calls. She’s called him twelve times.   The migraine hasn’t stopped, the shaking has moved to her entire body. Now, she’s getting a cold sweat.   Running the bath in the hotel room for the third time in four hours, she settled in the tub. Her jacket, the one he got her for her last birthday, was hanging off of the counter along with her jeans and shirt. Her boots were on the floor. She probably spent the past twelve hours in this bathroom going from the bath tub to lying on the tile floor. Hot and cold. She kept changing. The migraine wouldn’t stop.    Screw him for forcing her to depend on him for this. She was self-sufficient in every other way, but he somehow made himself the most important person in her life by holding this over her head. If he was here now, he’d make a joke about her being ‘hangry’ while she clutched the sides of her head in pain. It would always be a joke, but not very funny in the moment.   She needed to eat.   Where is he?   ***   Twenty calls unanswered.   The hallucinations already set in. The hunger was so painful. Even if she decided to go out on her own, she wouldn’t make it out the door. She was too weak. The light over the mirror was flickering. She counted 87 flashes in the last…however long it had been. How long had she been trying to call him? Maybe this was a dream…   Maybe the elderly man sitting on the other side of the bathroom was a dream. Or maybe…she died. Maybe this was what the afterlife was like? The only family she ever truly had was going to spend eternity with her in the room she died in. Sorry it wasn’t someplace nice or a memory, like the baseball field at the park near our house.   He didn’t speak, but he never really did anyways when he was alive. Not unless it was about sports. Regardless, she was sixty-five percent sure that he was a hallucination. This was a dream or something.   It begs the question though, is she going to die like this?   “Ethan, you asshole where are you?”