Dawn Awakening

The Native Dawn Series Book 3

Dawn Awakening

Chapter 1

John Mark wandered through the woods, lost in a world all his own. The sun hung lazily on the horizon, settling into the western sky. There was no privacy in his head. He'd escaped into the dense summertime cover of trees in hope of a little alone time. No such luck there. All this drama first with Lucien and Alex and now between Janine and Patrick grated his nerves until he wanted to pluck his brain right out of his skull. Give it a good scrubbing to get rid of all the emo crap and stuff it back inside the old cranium. Who needed that shit?

You either loved someone or you didn't. You either did something about it or you sucked it up like a man and jerked off in the shower all by your lonesome. Just you and a bar of Ivory soap. Yeah, he knew a thing or two about that too. Oh hell, who was he kidding? He loved someone, had been in love with someone, since grade school. And well, since grade school, he hadn't done a damned thing about it. Sure made for a lot of lonely showers and a whole hell of a lot of bars of Ivory soap.

He hoped the fresh air would make him drowsy. But, it agitated him all the more. Usually, after a short walk he could cuddle against the rough bark of a tree trunk and be out cold. Not today.

He checked his internal sensors. Nothing seemed to be out of kilter. All gauges were in the green. He wasn't hungry; he wasn't too cold or too hot. And damn if the porridge wasn't just right for this little bear. No. Go. However. Sleepy time wouldn't come. After a long night of patrolling and an even longer day of babysitting Janine. He should be good and tired, ready for some ZZZZs. Instead, he just felt... edgy. Like at any minute, the shit was going to hit the fan.

Ok, so he was pouting. Disappointed about Robbie; she wasn't coming home this summer. She wanted to live in the big city. Cut the apron strings. Be her own woman. She had a job and an apartment lined up. This was supposed to be the summer. THE SUMMER. When she came home to help out in her family's ice cream parlor over the summer, like she did every summer. He was going to make his move. WAS. Until he found out she wasn't on board with his plan and wasn't coming home.

Robbie had been his first and only love since the day he first set eyes on her. Red hair neatly divided into two pigtails, bony knees poking out from under the hem of a blue and yellow plaid dress, and those green eyes, as big as quarters, peeking out from behind her dad's hip in terror. That had been in Kindergarten. And from that first day, he was a goner.

Robbie's lips were first and only lips he'd ever kissed. Too bad he was twelve when it happened. Years of unrequited admiration later, all on his part, in their senior year of high school, when her date for the prom got sick, he'd stepped up to the plate. For all his chivalry and efforts, all he'd gotten was a raging hard on and a chaste peck on the cheek. And when she drove off to college in that beat up hand-me-down Honda. He'd been there, all decked out in his grocery store stock boy uniform, to see her off. God, he was such a dork back then. Hell, he still was. Over the last four years, a thing or two had changed. Yeah... just a li'l thing or two was different about him. But, wasn't it the little things that kept life interesting?

Good old John Mark, that was how she saw him. Her buddy. Her pal. Her one time best friend. The kid across the street she used to play with in grade school. That was who he was in her eyes. Not John Mark the stud. Not John Mark the 'OMG he's so gorgeous how come I never noticed him before now?'... John Mark. Nah, that wasn't him. He was John Mark. The neighbor kid, who hadn't been a neighbor nor a kid in the last four years.

Like clockwork, he sent a card every year at Christmas, addressed generically to the Harris's. Sometimes, he called on her birthday, just for a quick 'hi, how are ya?', then hung up the phone before her voice mail or worse... she... picked up on the other end.

Robbie would remember the short kid who picked on her in fourth grade and stole her lunch money. She'd remember her sadistic gym teacher and all the laps she'd been forced to run around the gym in ninth grade. She'd remember the wrinkly sweet face of the school librarian. She'd remember every pop quiz she'd taken in college. And she'd remember the guy who held the door for her at the mall one rainy afternoon. But, not him, he was invisible. And no wonder. He'd never done a thing to make himself stand out as anything to her other than Good old John Mark, Boy Blunder Extraordinaire, an all around, totally generic and non-descript, nice guy.

He stomped on a stray twig, relishing the dry, brittle snap it made under the heel of his boot. As if the sound was some kind of an affirmation. Sometimes, life didn't seem fair. Hell, sometimes it wasn't. No doubt about that one. He was committed, at least. Sometimes though he had to wonder if he'd made the right choices was committed to the right things. Deep in his heart, he knew he had. No matter what they may cost him personally. His life was dedicated to serving others. But, that didn't mean, he couldn't want, couldn't hope for a little something for himself.

Thinking about Robbie always made him weak in the knees and caused his heart to pound. He secretly thought maybe, somewhere during the course of their lives, they'd end up together. She'd finally unravel the mystery and get a clue. He wasn't so bad. For her, he was perfect. Hell, if a Kindergartener had figured it out at first sight. Maybe, there was hope for his little librarian after all.

With a small bound, John Mark cleared the brook and landed with a graceful flex of his knees on the other side. Before he changed, he would have fallen flat on his ass, drenched. Now, it took no effort at all. He smiled smugly and moved through the woods. Instead of being stuck on a trail blazed by someone else. He blazed his own. This new life definitely had its perks.

He paused knee deep in brush. His feet planted on a spot, perhaps, no one had ever walked on before. Or at least since the first settlers had come to this dull spot in the universe and loosely declared it habitable. Something had his senses on high alert. Something...something... wasn't right. No! Wrong...something was definitely wrong.

The first wave of agony ripped through his chest like a wrecking ball right to the sternum. Dropping him to the ground. He kicked and struggled for breath as the impact of that two-ton wrecking ball tore through him. Grappling haphazardly at the thorny underbrush, as if the jab of thorns could hold him to this world. The physical world where things were real instead of the psychic world, where they were no less real, but where he was a bystander. He wailed in torture. Pain! So much pain his stomach lurched and heaved, wadded into knots. And then... there was darkness...calm... and after that... nothing. He lay in the tall spindly grasses panting, trying desperately to put the jacked up jigsaw puzzle in his mind together.

He heard a deep, but gentle voice, as recognizable as his own dad's, echo in his mind. "John Mark," it whispered, "Take care of my baby girl." Scrambling to his feet he rushed blindly through the woods, headed in the direction of the highway. He knew he should slow down and be more cautious, gain control of his limbs. But, he couldn't. In that moment, he just needed to be there. Bind the promise whispered so urgently into his mind.

Blindly, he stumbled onto the edge of the road, bolting down the loose gravel that made up the shoulder. John Mark skidded to a stop and battled to regain his breath out of habit, not necessity. The smell of gasoline, burned rubber, and death hung in a sickeningly sweet mixture in the air, contaminating the cool evening breeze. He masked his appearance, moving at a snail's pace to pretend to be other than what he was as he emerged from behind the wreckage of the semi trailer.

He didn't have to get any closer to know who was involved. The breeze, which should have brought relief with its coolness, instead, brought the horror of their scent to his nose. Broken glass crunched under his boots. Blind to anything but the battered truck cab, intertwined with the grill of the semi, smashed to twisted bits of steel and chrome; the two vehicles fused into a barely recognizable twisted hunk of metal. He bulldozed through the debris, unable to stop himself.

He gasped in denial. Seeing, but not believing, as if it were a dream and not real. NOT REAL. Couldn't be real. Couldn't be them. He wouldn't allow it. NOT THEM! He just talked to them the other day! They...they were supposed to meet up at the lodge later this week. This couldn't be happening. "NO!" his mouth formed the words, throat constricted so tightly the word could not break free.

Chapter 2

Mack pushed at John Mark's chest. Shouting to get his attention over the shrill wail of sirens, whispers of onlookers, and chugging of idling engines. Cautioning him not to get any closer. Trying to stop the boy was like trying to stop the semi that had careened head on into the truck. "There isn't anything you could have done!" he raised his voice louder, decibels louder than his shout, into a scream. The heels of his standard issue cop shoes slid backwards in the loose gravel of the road's shoulder. Frustrated by his lack of ability to get through to the boy, he slammed his palms hard on John Mark's beefy, bodybuilder pecs and shouted, making sure his voice was loud enough to get through the shit storm going on in John Mark's mind. "They're dead! John Mark, are you hearing me? They're gone!"

Sometimes, no matter how seasoned a person was. No matter how much shit they'd seen and no matter in what capacity they'd seen it. Nothing prepared a person for the inevitable. When whatever the shit was ended up on their doorstep. When it got up close and personal. The moment of epiphany when a person realized just how helpless they were and there wasn't anything to be done...that damned cosmic wheel of fate just kept on turning. John Mark was there. How many times had Mack seen the exact expression on John Mark's face on someone else's face? Seen that same blankness in their eyes when they realized that life had kicked them in the proverbial balls?

John Mark did not need to see what happened next. He did not need to watch the medics rush in and pretend to save the lives that were already gone. They'd try. And they'd fail. It was what they did. And once in a while, they won. Not this time, though. This time it was game over. It was a damn shame, that for all their fancy equipment and all their skills, dead was still very fucking dead. And there wasn't shit all these monitors and an annual pancake breakfast at the firehouse were going to do about it. "Go home."

The woman's tiny hand hung limply to the side. The demure wedding set on her ring finger shone dully in the fading daylight. The paramedics slid her free from the wreckage and lowered what was left of the mangled flesh into the black, plastic body bag, folding limb over limb and zipping it up tight. Snug as a bug in a rug.

John Mark blinked as if he had just awakened and stared. Danielle. The last time he saw her..., he couldn't remember...couldn't remember the last thing she said to him or that he'd said to her. Suddenly, in the midst of all this blood and death, it seemed so important to remember. When at the time, whatever words they'd exchanged, seemed so mundane, almost commonplace. It had to be something important, something meaningful. If he'd known what was going to happen, he would have made damned sure he said something better than whatever shit had come out of his mouth. He would have hung on every word that passed from her lips. Because, looking back, they were important. They were her last.

The man's shoulders slumped against the steering wheel in a position of defeat. A thick, wool blanket draped across his frame, the olive drab ends flapping like a flag in the breeze. "Both of them?" John Mark asked Mack, as if he didn't already know. Still, he needed to hear it from someone else's mouth. His voice cracked with emotion because, he already knew the answer. Robert was gone too. His body mangled beyond repair by the collision. His aorta ripped free from his heart from the impact. Aortic sheer or something like that, he thought it was called.

Quick. Dead. Final. Light's out for good. A punch your time card and get the hell out of Dodge kind of death. Robert hadn't suffered. That Bastard, the Grim Reaper, had stolen the show and left the living with some lovely parting gifts.

Mack draped an arm across John Mark's shoulders, guiding him away from the paramedics. Turning his back while the jaws of life worked Robert's empty shell free from the wreckage. John Mark didn't need the image of a body retrieval as his last memory of Robert. That kind of shit stuck. Haunted you in your dreams and crept up and bit you in the ass when you least expected it. Mack ought to know. He'd made a special guest appearance, just a cameo really, at too many such events to count. Each and every one of them recorded in gruesome detail in the gray matter between his ears for his viewing pleasure night after night. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too." John Mark rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and forced his eyes to focus on something besides looking over his shoulder. "Robbie? Have you told her yet?" She'd be alone when she got the call. She was alone in the world now. No, she wasn't alone. She had a whole family that she knew nothing about. She'd never be alone. Ever.

"No, I'm going to wait until this is cleaned up and then give her a call." Mack replied, shaking his head as he shuffled the gravel with the toe of his boot. This was the part of his job he hated the most. He wished this were one call he didn't have to make. What could he say to that girl? What could he really say?

"I'll help her as much as I can, Mack. You know that." John Mark stated. Behind him the ambulance doors slammed shut and tires ground against the surface of the road. No lights, no sirens, no need to rush.

The yellow strobe lights on the wreckers flashed against the tops of the trees. John Mark would have left things just as they were. The vehicles twisted and broken in the middle of the highway as a memorial, the glass scattered like daisies over a grave. That wasn't how things worked. The crew labored to hook on to the wreckage, metal groaning against metal in such a low grinding sorrowful moan he almost lost it right then and there. Almost as if as long as he didn't see it, didn't hear it, the whole thing had never happened. It had. And judging by the way traffic was backed up on the road, all the way past the on ramp to the interstate. Life had to go on. Life waited on no one.

Clapping John Mark briskly on the back, Mack replied, "I know you will."

"I'd like to stay here for a while, Mack. I feel like I knew Robert and Danielle well enough to sing their death song." John Mark lowered his head, focusing on the scuffed toes of his boots. "They were my friends." Hands shoved deep into the front pockets of his jeans. He walked away from the wreck. Shoulders slumped and his head hung low. Tears sprung from the corners of his eyes. He lowered his lids against the sting, trapping the salinity behind his lashes. Chanting in a deep bass voice, he honored the memory of his fallen family. Answering Robert's last request in the words. He'd take care of Robbie until she and her family were reunited, and maybe after that even.

Mack spoke into the microphone pinned to the collar of his shirt. Staties. Typical. They could come on down, grab a broom and a dustpan, and help out or they could shut the fuck up until he got it done. He barked a quick guess on how long the highway would be out of commission, a total fabrication, into the handset and clipped the damned thing to his utility belt. The last thing he needed was some smart ass fresh out of "Cop College" telling him how to do his job. The damned highway would be open when it got open.

Some days he truly hated his job. Things were different now than they had been back in the day, a lifetime ago. Days like this were enough to make him count the years left till retirement. With a dismal shake of his head, he muttered, "Too many. Way too many."

Chapter 3

Robbie surveyed her old dorm room, making sure she hadn't left any of her treasures behind. After four years of college, she thought there would be more. Who was she kidding? She had plenty to haul out of the room. Mostly books, textbooks, some of which she hadn't opened since her freshman year, if at all. Maybe, it was the future librarian in her. But, she couldn't bear the thought of parting with a single one of the heavy tomes of knowledge.

Besides, her apartment was unfurnished, and so far, she had an air mattress and a lawn chair as her only furniture. Perhaps, she could stack the books and make an end table out of them until she got the real thing. It had taken every dime she had to pay the deposit and first month's rent. Furniture was way down on the list of priorities. Not nearly as important as having her own place and declaring, at long last, her independence.

Robbie grabbed the last armload of clothes from her closet and wiggled into the throng of people. The hallways were teaming with activity, students moving out and others moving in. Parents and wide-eyed freshmen and cool, aloof grads, like her, crowded the halls. She smiled to herself as she picked her way through the masses. Her new life was just beginning. She was a little timid about leaving the dorms and striking out on her own. But, hey, it was all good. Right?

She still couldn't believe that almost everything she owned fit inside her beat up Civic. Once she started to make some real money the car would be history. Ok, so a tad above minimum wage didn't exactly make her a Donald Trump type. But, she was on her way. And it so beat wasting another summer behind the counter of her mom and dad's ice cream shop for room and board and all the jimmies she could eat.

Yeah, buying a new car was the first thing on her "to do" list when she finished grad school and got a real job. Sliding behind the wheel and adjusting her weight so the worn out spring in the middle of the seat didn't poke her in the butt, she wiped beads of sweat off her brow and onto her favorite pair of cut-off jean shorts.

For May, it was unusually stuffy, humid with the promise of rain heavy in the damp air. Robbie looked through the cracked windshield spattered with bug guts. Spotting the dark clouds brewing in the western sky, frowning, she put the key in the ignition. She had plans to splurge on one last decent meal out at the pub on campus, before she settled down to a steady diet of Raman noodles, hot dogs, and bologna. But, those menacing clouds looming over downtown squashed those plans. For the moment, her main priority was to lug her stuff up the rickety stairs to her new apartment and get her car emptied out, while she still had the chance. When that storm hit. It was going to be a soaker.

The Civic roared to life with a gasp and a shudder. The engine whined like it was bitching solely at her. Her dad was the master mechanic and that old engine had more duct tape holding it together than the local hardware store in her hometown had rolls to sell. She hoped her dad's patch jobs would hold out long enough for her to finish grad school. A new car or even a used clunker was not in her immediate future. And, as a grown woman out on her own, she was not, NOT, going to borrow one more cent off her parents for anything.

Robbie entertained fantasies about the day she would eagerly plop the keys into the hand of a salesman and drive away in her brand spanking new SUV. No more little compact cars for her. No more prayers to the Automotive Goddess that the car would actually start when she cranked over the engine. She envisioned herself driving off the lot in luxury and comfort. To her, air conditioning and a heater that actually put out something other than cold air would be a luxury.