Terence West - Saint 02 - Until the Stars Grow Cold.pdf

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UNTIL THE STARS GROW COLD
By
Terence West
Contents
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Until the Stars Grow Cold
Terence West
Until the Stars Grow Cold
Copyright © 2006 Terence West
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in Canada
by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double Dragon Publishing Inc. of Markham Ontario, Canada.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic,
electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or
retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
Double Dragon eBooks
PO Box 54016 1-5762 Highway 7 East
Markham, Ontario L3P 7Y4 Canada
Layout and Cover Illustration by Deron Douglas
ISBN-10: 1-55404-382-4
ISBN-13: 978-1-55404-382-8
First Edition August 28, 2006
Also Available as a Large Type Paperback
Now Available as paperback and hard cover
A Celebration of Cover Art: 2001 to 2006
Five Years of Cover Art
[Companion calendars also available]
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Dedication
To Shannon, Rich, and Donna
They made sure I was still around to finish this novel.
Thank you. I owe you three my life.
PART ONE
The darkness is patient .
Its time would come again .
The darkness is all consuming .
A drop in a pond, the darkness spreads out, quickly diffusing. Unseen currents of emotion carry the
globule deeper into the clear water as it undulates and transforms. Reaching out with tendrils of anger,
regret, and desire, the darkness begins to vanish .
Hiding in plain sight .
The darkness is patient .
It will be until the stars grow cold .
Chapter One
Hell found him.
Skittering across the floorboards with bare feet, Thomas hit his knees and rolled toward his bed. He
pushed his diminutive frame into the space almost too tiny for him and quickly pulled down the covers
to hide his location. Kicking old toys, books, and discarded hobbies out of the way, he pressed up
against the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest. This was it. He had fled into a literal corner with
no means of escape. If they came now, there would be nowhere to go. This was his punishment. He
knew why. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks while he did his best to stifle the sobs that so desperately
wanted free. He had watched them die and did nothing.
After all, Thomas was only twelve years old.
Taking a long, deep breath, he held it and became very quiet. The house was silent. It had transformed
from a loving home to a tomb. He couldn’t hear them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t close. Peering
between two clear Tupperware containers that held his multicolored Legos and Tinker Toys, he stared
intently at the open door across from his bed. It was dark in the house, except for the nightlight his
mother had installed in the hallway for him. The tiny light cast long shadows across his doorway from
the grandfather clock that stood outside his room. It had never worked in his lifetime, but his mom
always referred to it as an heirloom—she would have it repaired someday. It seemed like a moot point
now. He heard the scuffle of shoes on the stairs outside. His heart thumped and jumped in his chest. He
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feared it was loud enough for them to hear it. Crossing his hands over his chest, he tried to muffle the
sound pounding in his ears. He watched the door intently.
“Where are you, little one?”
The voice was light and playful as if this were some horrible game. And Thomas knew it was, to them.
“Why don’t you come out? It wasn’t nice to run away like that.”
He pushed himself further into the corner, the darkness enveloping him. He had seen his mother, father,
and sisters die tonight at the monsters’ hands. He would not willingly suffer the same fate. He had been
assured—many times—that monsters didn’t exist and yet here he was, hiding from his nightmares
become reality. Anger began to well up deep within his heart. Those who had hurt his family would be
made to suffer…he would see to it. His tiny, innocent heart was suddenly engulfed in flame as it
became a furnace of hatred. Holding his hand in front of his face, he balled his fingers and squeezed
until the fragile, still developing tendons and muscles popped and cracked in protest. His tears, no
longer salty and distressed, were now drops of raw venom rolling down his face.
You can kill them all .
In his anger, he heard a voice whispering to him from the blackness that surrounded him. It was as
familiar as an old friend. It was deep and gravely, as if a normal, human voice had been dropped
several octaves and scarred with the coarsest sandpaper. He shut his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth.
He had heard this voice many, many times in his life, and only through an act of sheer willpower was
he able to ignore it. Each time it reappeared, it somehow became more persuasive.
Use your gifts. You can make them pay .
Yet this time, he didn’t want to ignore it. The voice was right. He could seek his revenge on those
horrible creatures, and every act of evil they wrought on his family would be returned in kind. He
lowered his hand to the floor and started to pull himself toward the edge—
Yes…the fire that burns in you now, use it to make them suffer for what they have done to you. Unleash
your true potential !
He stopped. Biting his lower lip, he withdrew his hand and scooted back into the corner. His heart grew
cold once again as the flames were snuffed by guilt and promises made—promises now growing cold
in the family room below. He would not betray the memory of his mother and father this way. He had
long ago assured them that he would not unleash his gifts in anger. He owed that much to them. There
was another way.
The sound of scuffing against the hard wood silenced his internal struggle. Glancing out between the
semi-clear containers that surrounded him, he saw a pair of dirty, black boots appear outside his
bedroom door. The nearest one had a dark discoloration on the toe. He knew instantly what it was.
Several streaks ran down from the blotch to the thick rubber sole. It was his family’s blood. The sight
both sickened and infuriated him. He felt nausea hit his stomach like a clenched fist and a spark ignite
in his heart again.
They should be made to pay. You have the power. Use it !
He watched the boots turn to face his position. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a slow breath to
calm his nerves. This wasn’t the way , he reminded himself. Only his self-restraint could save him now.
This was, after all, his fault. He had tempted the fates after his parents warned him not to and called
down the very wrath of Hell to his doorstep. He was to blame. He would not attain salvation this way.
But without his parent’s guidance…he frowned.
Perhaps there was no salvation at all.

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