The Darkness to Come Read Online Free Page A

salon two years ago, and business had been booming from day one. Every time she arrived to work, she felt a rush of pride at how she’d achieved her dream.
    Certain individuals from her past had doubted her abilities, had told her she’d never amount to anything on her own. As the saying went, living well was the best revenge.
    The Open sign was already aglow, the interior track lights shining brightly. When Rachel pushed through the glass double-doors, she heard a gospel song by Mary, Mary rocking on the satellite radio, and saw Tanisha organizing magazines in the waiting area—copies of Essence, Hype Hair , Gospel Music Today , Ebony, and other glossy periodicals their clients read to pass the time.
    “Morning,” Rachel said. “I didn’t expect you to be here already.”
    “Hey, girl,” Tanisha said. “I’ve got a seven-fifteen. Otherwise, you know a sista wouldn’t be rollin’ in till eight.”
    Tanisha was a tall, light-skinned sister in her mid-thirties, with a sprinkle of chocolate freckles across her cheeks and a hairdo that changed weekly. That week, her brown hair was styled in a twisted up-do with highlights that accentuated her hazel eyes. It looked fabulous, of course; Tanisha believed that each stylist’s own hair was their best means of advertising, and Rachel tended to agree with her.
    Tanisha was the first friend Rachel had made when she’d moved to Atlanta. They had worked side-by-side at a shop in College Park. Both of them were driven, talented at their craft, and ambitious. It was only natural that they would decide to step out on faith and open their own salon.
    Tanisha frowned at her. “You feelin’ okay? Your eyes are lookin’ kinda red.”
    “I didn’t sleep well,” Rachel said, the understatement of the year. But she would never share anything about last night with Tanisha. Although Tanisha was a good friend, had been the maid of honor in her wedding, Rachel had drawn a firm line between what she would share with friends such as Tanisha—and what she would never share with anyone.
    “When’s your first appointment?” Tanisha asked. “Maybe you can catch a catnap in the back.”
    “I’ve got an eight-thirty, so I may just do that.”
    Swinging her purse from over her shoulder, Rachel went down the center aisle of the salon, automatically surveying the sixteen stylist stations as she walked, to ensure that each would be ready for business when their stylists arrived. For most of the day, every chair would be occupied with a mix of walk-ins and appointments. If sistas believed in one thing, it was keeping their hair done—it was no surprise that Madame C.J. Walker, the inventor of the hot comb, had become America’s first black woman millionaire.
    In the back, behind a door marked “Staff Only,” there was a supply closet, a staff lounge furnished with comfortable chairs, a sofa, a coffee table, and a TV, a restroom, and an enclosed office. The office contained a bank of filing cabinets and two desks, one for Rachel, the other for Tanisha.
    Rachel plopped into the swivel chair in front of her desk. The sofa in the lounge did look inviting . . . but she was afraid to go to sleep, lest she have another nightmare about him.
    Besides, there was something much more important that she intended to do first.
    She unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk. Inside, there was a plastic bag from Walgreen’s Pharmacy, sitting atop a black metal case.
    She took the grocery bag inside the restroom, opened it.
    It contained an early pregnancy test kit.
    Rachel bowed her head, whispered a prayer, and tore open the box.
     

Chapter 3
     
     
    When Dexter Bates awoke, the world was so white and hazy he thought he’d gone blind.
    Panic rising in his heart, he blinked, shook his head as if clearing away soot. His vision slowly came into focus.
    He was behind the steering wheel of a car, lodged in a drift of snow on the side of a road. A vast, snowy plain filled the world beyond the windshield.