The Thing in the Dark to Fear

Chapter 3

Kristen’s life had turned upside down. She had been stationed at Fort Sam Houston while she was in the Army, so it felt natural to return to Texas to further her education. The environment was not unfamiliar and it was far enough from Virginia to make short visits from or to her parents home an expense and inconvenience.
Emotionally, she was just starting to get over being dumped for a younger woman. Intellectually, she was finishing her last few weeks of college. A degree in criminology seemed more tolerable than working in the medical profession, where every smiling doctor would remind her of her ex-fiancé. Her part time job as a Deputy Sheriff was well suited to her studies; Kristen had plenty of time to study on duty, and the job fulfilled the internship requirements for her Degree. Kristen's life was at full speed when out of nowhere, her kid sister, Jennifer, was brutally murdered. Maybe it was all the stress that had allowed the dreams to return, but she would have thought an insight to her sister’s death would have come, but it did not.
Jennifer had suffered severe trauma to the throat, and Kristen immediately thought of her dream. More often than not, Kristen dreamed with such meticulous detail, the task of validating a precognitive dream was never an issue. Her latest may have been a pre-cognitive-symbolic dream, but Kristen had not anticipated the loss of her sister. As a child, Kristen had been shunned, to an extent, and discouraged from telling anyone about her dreams. To the God fearing family that raised her, the gift was a little too mysterious, and never held good tidings. It made her a freak, of sorts, and her gift was quietly labeled the work of the devil. Kristen knew there was no reason to share the information that lurked in the shadows of her mind.
The funeral was held at a local cemetery, and more than a hundred people showed up. It was a sunny Spring day, the kind of day made for celebrating life, not bidding a loved one goodbye. For Kristen it was a good cover to allow the stress to manifest itself in an onslaught of tears. It was reasonable to assume the loss of a sister would bring great grief. It wasn’t entirely so.
It seemed the instant Kristen landed at the airport, her parents put a lot of pressure on her to look into Jennifer’s death. They assumed her studies and law enforcement ties could gain her access to information the parents could not get. They overlooked the fact that out living a child is fundamentally unnatural, and no answers would ever ease their grief. All the right answers would never fill the void of loss. Kristen knew this but still promised to do what she could.
She also harbored some resentment. Kristen thought, “Never mind my troubles”. Of course she didn’t let on that she had any. Her parents had been great folks and encouraged their children to succeed. The reunion at the airport was tearful. The homecoming was tearful. The wake was private and tearful, but Kristen was able to concentrate on the business aspect of the event. The Church service and the funeral were the most difficult for Kristen. There were so many of Jennifer’s beautiful young friends and colleagues. They were hanging on the arms of their young and handsome escorts. The pain of her loneliness, her daily frustrations, and the guilt of her jealously for Jennifer, was too much.
Kristen's entire life was full of memories of doting over Jennifer. In the early years, the five years of difference in age was not a problem, but as Jennifer advanced into her adolescent years, Kristen’s role as care giver and baby sitter gave way to Jennifer’s need for a chaperone. Those were the most difficult times for Kristen, she wanted to explore her own individuality, not to mention her sexuality, but Jennifer was a constant companion. Kristen completely overlooked the freedom her parents had gained, because she was constantly preoccupied by the freedom she lost. The circumstances conspired to develop in Kristen a strong resentment for the baby of the family.
Jennifer was just twenty-two years old. Looking into the casket, Kristen thought no one would ever remember Jen as anything but young, beautiful, and full of potential. Jennifer had none of the telltale signs of aging. At twenty-seven, Kristen felt like a troll in comparison to her sister. She was not, of course.
Kristen had bloomed into a true beauty. Her shoulder length light brown hair was still vibrant and soft; her body was very lean, muscular, and agile. She was very independent and self-assertive. The total package for the right man. But it seemed she fell short in ways she could not understand. She could never settle for someone lacking vibrancy for life. Yet the men she found attractive preferred the demure ‘Trophy Wife’ type. Cute, sultry, and full of those inane smiles you expect to be followed by a bright-eyed shrug and a peppy “Okay” to anything a man might suggest. Kristen could be a partner, but never just a plaything.
There is nothing so wounding to one’s self esteem as rejection. Kristen had been rejected and had turned her pain into bitter anger and resentment.
“Let’s face it,” she once told a friend. “Men are just looking to simplify their lives. If I could find someone beautiful, that did really cool things to my naughty parts, and followed my every suggestion, I might be tempted to hang on to him.”
She felt she could never compete with most of the lovely young women that attended the funeral, and she found herself feeling bitter at every glance. It was easy to pass it off as grief for the loss of her sister.
Mr. Robertson, the mortician, bought the act. He was a gentleman in his fifties, and although he only knew Kristen through their recent business dealings, it always tugged at his heart to see suffering. He and a slightly younger gentleman, the Minister, approached Kristen
“Kristen,” Reverend James began, “ I know the depth of your grief will allow you little comfort for sometime. I am sorry for your loss. I advise prayer, and I would like you to visit my home tonight. Mr. Robertson,” he lifted an upturned palm to indicate the mortician, “and I have a mutual acquaintance that may help you find some peace.”
Kristen nodded her consent from behind sunglasses, which covered puffy eyes, and a kerchief that hid her red nose. Perhaps the ‘mutual acquaintance’ of theirs was a grief counselor, she thought. Even that would be a welcome relief to the brooding home of her parents.
“Good, we’ll expect you around 7:00 tonight.” Reverend James gave her a hug, and Mr. Robertson shook her hand. Kristen watched them depart together, then she headed to the family car.