The Drayton Diaries Read online

  Copyright © 2014 Robert W Stephens

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1502893320

  ISBN 13: 9781502893321

  For

  Felicia Dames

  Contents

  Chapter 1: The Slave

  Chapter 2: Jon Drayton

  Chapter 3: Henry King

  Chapter 4: Laura Girard

  Chapter 5: The Cancer

  Chapter 6: Nicholas Miller

  Chapter 7: The Day Thomas Died

  Chapter 8: Shaun DeHart

  Chapter 9: King’s Shadow

  Chapter 10: Benjamin Hawthorne

  Chapter 11: The Light

  Chapter 12: The Death of Christine King

  Chapter 13: The Marble Sarcophagus

  Chapter 14: The Visitor

  Chapter 15: A New Direction

  Chapter 16: The Agreement

  Chapter 17: The Mosque

  Chapter 18: The Child

  Chapter 19: The Swamp

  Chapter 20: The Return

  Chapter 21: The Price

  Chapter 22: There Was Nothing

  Chapter 23: Fear

  Chapter 24: Home

  Chapter 25: The Attack

  Chapter 26: Wings Like Leather

  Chapter 27: The Light at the Edge of the Forest

  Chapter 28: Freedom

  Chapter 29: The Twelve

  Chapter 1

  The Slave

  Journal Entry

  Discovery Location: Ruins of King’s Shadow

  Thomas said he found my body by the side of the river. At first he thought a bear had killed me for slash marks covered my back. Then he turned me over and saw that my throat had been slit from ear to ear. By the time of his discovery, my blood had dried and was caked to my throat and chest. There was, however, very little blood in the grass around my body, so he assumed I had been killed elsewhere, and then my body had been carried here.

  Thomas brushed the long hair from my face and saw the terror that registered in my eyes during my final seconds of life. He told me he still couldn’t erase the look of my eyes from his mind. He said he would wake up at night in a cold sweat, reliving that moment by the river again and again.

  I knew Thomas well, and I knew he would never do anything to desecrate my body. He admitted to me, though, that he considered carrying my body into the river and weighing it down with stones. He was convinced he would be blamed for my death.

  I wasn’t surprised to hear he felt that way. Both Thomas and I had seen many slaves beaten to death, and the beatings had often been because of unjust accusations. Thomas knew our master would never take the word of a slave.

  Sometimes a slave would try to run away, and that was always a guarantee of death. The escapees never got very far, and our master would hang them from a pole he erected outside the slave quarters. He wanted the dead bodies to be reminders of what happened to those who disobeyed his rule.

  He would leave the bodies up for days. The smell would overwhelm the area, and many of us would vomit from the foul odor and sight of the decaying corpses. The vultures would soon arrive, and we would be forced to watch them pick at the dead flesh of our friends or relatives.

  One day a male slave grew tired of those disgusting birds. He threw stones at the vultures to force them away. It worked for a while, but then our master was told what he had done. Soon that slave was found hanging from the pole. He wasn’t killed immediately. Our master simply starved him to death. It took more days than I can remember, and the man’s suffering tormented us all. Eventually the vultures he had scattered returned to feast on him.

  It was their truth against ours, and our word mattered less than the rats that scampered across our bare legs and arms in the dead of the night.

  I understood Thomas’ fear. He no doubt saw himself hanging from that pole for a crime he didn’t commit. But before Thomas could do anything with my body, he heard a scream from behind him. He turned and saw one of the old women standing at the top of the hill. She dropped the wooden bucket she was carrying and ran back to the house. The bucket rolled to a stop several feet from Thomas. He said he thought about running but knew he wouldn’t get very far. The men on the horses were too fast. They always caught us. There was no hope.

  Thomas told me he prayed our master would believe his story about finding me there. Our master did not trust us, especially the men. Thomas said he assumed he would be joining me soon in the afterlife. He only hoped his death would be quick.

  Within a few moments, the white men arrived.

  Thomas was beyond terrified. He was too scared to move or speak. I felt his terror as he told me the story, and I began to feel sick to my stomach when I thought of the vultures that would eventually devour my body by the river.

  Our master had sent the men and the dogs searching for me. They had been looking for three days. He was certain I had run away. He knew I was clever and was furious with the men for allowing me to get farther than anyone else had.

  But I had not run away. I couldn’t have.

  My death was in the middle of the night. My killer grabbed the back of my hair and yanked my head back. I felt pressure against my throat, but there wasn’t any pain. I felt the hot liquid roll down my neck and onto my breasts. I remember falling to the wooden floor of the cabin. Just before the darkness, I saw his face. He stood over me with the knife. I saw the bright-red drops of my blood fall off the edge of the blade.

  I closed my eyes. All my senses seemed so alert in those remaining seconds of life. I could smell the sweat of my killer’s body. I could hear the rats walk across the floor planks in the distance. I could hear the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees. I could hear the large bird crying out. Its squawk was loud and piercing.

  I opened my eyes one final time and saw the leather shoes of the man standing above me. They were worn and caked with mud. He kneeled down beside me and stared into my dying eyes. He smiled. I don’t know why one human would gain such pleasure in hurting another. But I saw a sensation in his eyes that I can only describe as ecstasy.

  He reached down to the wooden floor and ran his dirty fingers through my blood. He held the wet fingers in front of my face so I could see them. Then he reached over and smeared my blood across my cheek.

  “There’s no stopping it now. There’s only death,” he said.

  I closed my eyes and knew I would never open them again.

  I didn’t know why the man killed me. In some ways, it didn’t matter. After all, I don’t believe in God anymore, not after the things I have seen and heard. I don’t believe people go to some glorious reward where they spend an eternity with loved ones. There’s only pain and darkness. I know that now. The dead are gone from this world, and soon our lives are forgotten. It’s as if they were never there to begin with.

  Thomas said our master arrived and walked down to the river, but he didn’t ask Thomas anything. He simply brushed past him and knelt down beside me. He grabbed my hand, and then I woke.

  The women screamed, and the men stepped back in fear. My master had brought me back from the dead. He asked me who had killed me. Before I could answer him, the man who killed me ran. The dogs quickly caught up with him. They bit at his legs, and they would have torn him to pieces if my master hadn’t ordered them back. However, the terrible judgment awaiting my killer was far worse than anything the dogs could have done.

  My master had him tied to the pole. It was the first time a white man had been placed there. My master then took a knife and slit the guilty one’s lower stomach open. His intestines
were pulled out inch by inch. My master held them up to his face.

  “There’s no stopping it now. There’s only death,” my master said.

  I don’t know how he knew what my killer had told me in those final moments of my first life. I wondered if my master had been there at my death, hiding in the shadows and watching one of his slaves being butchered. Perhaps, he read my memories when he brought me back.

  He never asked the man why he took my life. The man never offered an explanation or even begged for mercy. He just cried out in unbearable pain.

  My master held my killer’s hand. I wasn’t sure why he did this, but as I reflect on this moment years later, I believe he was preventing the man from dying quickly. I don’t believe my master cared that I had been murdered. He was simply furious someone had dared to take something that belonged to him. The man had murdered one of my master’s possessions, and that man was going to be punished dearly for it.

  After several hours my master finally let the man die. He removed the rest of his intestines and fed them to the hungry dogs. My master ordered everyone away, but he didn’t say anything to me when I stayed.

  I walked up to the dead man. He was still tied to the pole. I looked up to the sky and saw the vultures already circling. Then I walked over to a nearby tree and sat in the coolness of its shade.

  I sat there for several hours. The vultures finally came down. They picked at the skin of his shoulders and face, and finally they devoured his eyes.

  I closed my own eyes and relived the horror of the night of my death. I knew the fear would never go away.

  I rose and walked back to my bedroom. I went to lie down on the mat but saw my blood had soaked it. The wooden floor was stained too. My blood was everywhere. I couldn’t stay there, so I walked outside and fell asleep on the ground.

  My master left the man tied to the pole for several weeks. He was a constant reminder of what happened to me. My people stayed away from me. Even Thomas wouldn’t speak to me for the longest time. They looked at me like I was a monster, and some evil force of nature had resurrected me from the dead.

  My master stayed away from me too.

  Chapter 2

  Jon Drayton

  The jagged metal tore open the flesh of Jon Drayton’s hand. A second later, the first drops of blood fell onto the wooden boat deck. The bright red stood in stark contrast to the thick gray clouds above. The thirty-five-year-old Drayton didn’t cry out or even wince from the pain. Instead, he was more concerned someone else might have noticed his injury.

  Someone did.

  “Jesus, man, are you all right?” the eighteen-year-old Bobby Clark asked.

  Drayton ignored him. He didn’t dislike the young deck hand. But Bobby’s overwhelming eagerness and nonstop talking was starting to get on Drayton’s nerves.

  Drayton continued to haul in the catch, but Bobby pressed the issue.

  “We should get you to the hospital.”

  Drayton didn’t think the cut was that bad, but the blood continued to flow and fall on his pants and the deck.

  “Don’t worry about him, kid,” Ken Waters said. “He’ll be all healed up before we reach the docks.”

  It was impossible not to catch the venom in the forty-year-old Waters’ voices. He hated Drayton, and everyone onboard knew, everyone, except Bobby Clark.

  Bobby watched Drayton closely and wondered about his response to Waters. Everyone on the boat would slink away from the huge Ken Waters, but Drayton was the one person strong enough to stand his ground. Drayton ignored the insult, though, just as he had done a hundred or more times before.

  Drayton was a big man. He was six foot three and weighed close to 220 pounds. He had tan skin from hours in the sun and short dark hair. He had an unruly dark beard, and his eyes appeared almost black. He knew how frightened his gaze made people feel. People avoided him and went out of their way not to make eye contact. They even walked on the other side of the street when they saw him coming.

  Despite Drayton’s size and intimidating looks, Ken Waters was convinced the man was a coward. Drayton never stood up to him or responded to any of his comments. Drayton had even turned away after Waters shoved him hard during their last standoff.

  Bobby took a step closer to Drayton. He glanced down at the injured hand. The blood still flowed freely.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.

  Drayton ignored him again.

  Bobby turned away and looked at Waters. The man continued to sneer at Drayton.

  By the time they got back to the dock and unloaded their haul for the day, the sky had darkened even more.

  Drayton walked toward his truck. He was eager to get home before the rain arrived. Waters grabbed Drayton’s wrist from behind and spun him around.

  “See kid. No cut. What did I tell you?”

  Drayton closed his hand in a fist, but Bobby had already stolen a quick glance at Drayton’s palm. Just as Waters said, there was no cut or blood. There was no indication whatsoever that Drayton had been badly hurt just a few hours earlier.

  Drayton yanked his arm free and walked toward his truck.

  “Jon Drayton, you’re a god-damned freak of nature,” Waters yelled.

  Within a few minutes of Drayton leaving the docks, the rain started. It poured down in thick sheets and made visibility close to nothing.

  It usually took Drayton thirty minutes to drive from the docks to his house. He had bought a place outside of town. It was isolated, and there wasn’t a neighbor for miles. It wasn’t a convenient location either. It had just one long narrow dirt road leading to it, but he valued his privacy far more than the ability to make a quick and easy run to the store.

  The rain came down harder, and Drayton assumed his commute might now exceed an hour. The wiper blades swooshed back and forth at their top speed, but they couldn’t keep up with the torrential downpour.

  He drove through town and was several miles outside its limits when he approached a tight turn in the road. He slowed down and was careful not to brake too hard on the wet surface. Half-way through the turn, he slammed on the brakes and was lucky not to skid off the slick road. His headlights illuminated a gruesome scene. A man lay in the middle of the road. Beside him was a young woman in her early twenties. Her hair and clothes were soaked. She was crying. He couldn’t distinguish between her tears and the rain running down her face. He could, however, see her chest and shoulders rise and fall as she sobbed.

  She looked up at Drayton’s truck. Drayton could see what he assumed was her vehicle behind her. Her car’s headlights were on, and they bathed her and the injured man in bright light.

  Drayton shifted his truck into park and climbed out into the rain. Within seconds, he too was drenched. He saw lightning flash across the sky. It seemed so close. He was surprised the young woman or he hadn’t been struck. A second later he heard the thunder boom.

  He took a few steps toward the woman and stopped.

  He felt its presence, but he hadn’t seen it yet. The coldness always felt the same. It washed over his body like a tidal wave.

  Then he saw it, floating several feet behind the fallen man.

  It was the Darkness. At least that was the vague name Drayton had given the things he saw but could not explain. He had seen dozens, perhaps hundreds over the years. They were distorted, flowing shapes, like moving shadows across the surface of water. The Darkness didn’t speak to him, but he could feel its thoughts. The Darkness had come for the dying man, but Drayton didn’t need to hear its thoughts to know that. The Darkness was always nearby when death was inevitable. It had come for his life a few times, but he had been lucky, and death had been delayed.

  Drayton walked toward the woman and stopped just a few feet from her. She pushed her wet hair away from her face. She had bright-blue eyes and delicate features, but her face looked like a mask of agony
and despair.

  “I didn’t see him in the rain. He was walking down the middle of the road,” she said.

  Drayton looked at the cell phone on the street beside her. She noticed his gaze.

  “I tried to call for help. I can’t get a signal.” She started to cry even harder.

  Drayton looked back at the unconscious man. He was maybe forty years old. He had short dark hair that was lighter than Drayton’s, but his face was clean-shaven. The man was a good forty pounds overweight, and his stomach pushed hard against the tight shirt. Blood flowed from the back of his head and mixed with the puddle of rain water that surrounded his body. Drayton thought he could hear the man’s heart rate slow. The pounding thumped in his ears and mixed with the sound of the pouring rain and distant thunder. Drayton guessed the man would be dead within minutes. Maybe even seconds.

  Drayton looked over to the Darkness. It moved even closer to them, floating across the surface of the wet pavement.

  This is the man’s time to die, Drayton thought. This is his fate. This is how the universe planned his life to end, on a rain-soaked road with two strangers watching the event unfold. Who am I to interfere? It isn’t my place or responsibility. He knew what he should do. He should turn around, walk back to his truck, get inside, start the engine, and drive away from this scene of death.

  Instead, he knelt down beside the man. Maybe it was the young woman’s sobs. Maybe he didn’t want her to carry the guilt of killing a man. It wasn’t her fault, but that wouldn’t matter. She would blame herself for the rest of her days. Her life would never be complete. Also, what of the man? Did he have a family? Probably, and they would miss him. Their lives would never be the same either.

  Drayton reached over and held the man’s hand. He closed his eyes and felt the energy flow from his body to the man’s. The man gasped, and his back arched. His eyes flared open as if waking from a terrible nightmare.

  The young woman stared on in utter disbelief.

  Drayton let go of the man’s hand. He looked over toward the Darkness and watched the shadow disappear as if washed away in the rain.