Redemption - A Darla Gray Novel

  REDEMPTION

  A Darla Gray Novel

  By

  Tina Marshall

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © Tina Marshall

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without prior written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  The right of Tina Marshall to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Design Villens

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  “Is she ready?” The solitary angel watched the projected image of the woman nimbly climbing on to the cold steel handrail of the bridge.

  “She has to be,” replied the disembodied voice. “Time has run out. She is needed more than she knows.”

  Feathers the colour of fresh laid snow rippled lightly in the breeze the only movement from a body so perfectly defined that it could have been moulded from marble. “And what happens if she is not?”

  “Then they are all doomed,” came the reply.

  The angel’s stoic expression remained unaltered even in the face of such a dire response. He continued unmoved watching the projected scene playing out exactly as it was happening millions of miles from the place where he stood.

  The female’s image revealed nothing extraordinary about her. Her natural beauty was something to be admired but not entirely unique for one of her race. He had not noticed any outstanding speed or remarkable strength. All in all she appeared quite ordinary. What he did however admire was her calm repose in the face of her on-coming death.

  The disembodied voice spoke once more and years of automatic obedience drew the angel from his musings.

  “I am relying on you in this. I cannot be seen to interfere. The consequences would be too high.”

  “I understand,” the angel replied his focus remaining fixed on the woman’s plight.

  “You must remain vigilant at all times to ensure that she never discovers who she truly is, not before the final battle. It is then and only then that the final choice must be made.”

  “And what of her gift’s?” the angel asked.

  “They will be offered as agreed, but only if the right choices are made. It is crucial that every decision is to be made by free will.”

  The angel nodded sharply. “I will not fail you father.”

  “When have you ever Michael?”

  There was no denying the volume of love laced throughout the heavenly voice. The angel closed his eyes for the briefest of moments allowed it to nourish him.

  “Go now,” the voice ordered softly. “See her through safely. If we are watching her you can be sure that they are too.”

  “As you command.” Without a moments delay the angel lifted his majestic wings and soared up high.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Death!

  Darla felt its presence growing ever nearer. Welcoming arms reaching out, drawing her ever closer to its cold embrace; bringing with it the welcome release that she craved. A release from the pain. A release from suffering.

  With a deep sense of purpose and conviction in her heart, she pressed forward, peering over the railings of the bridge, ignoring the hard aged steel that cut a cold bitter path through the thin fabric of her clothes to her vulnerable skin beneath. Try as she might to see the heavily flowing river below, the darkness of the night had transformed its immense mass into a black obsidian void. The only proof of its existence was the greedy lapping sounds, forged in its wake as it brutally assaulted the steep banks; the fortress that constrained its deadly path

  Fear of the journey she was about to make could easily have reduced a grown man to tears and yet as she stood there gazing down into the murky grave that awaited her Darla felt nothing but emptiness, a total void of any and all emotion.

  When was the last time she had allowed herself to feel anything?

  The question struck from out of nowhere triggering her thoughts to spiral through memories of her past. To reflect on the tragic events that had brought her to this one moment in time and her single minded purpose.

  Born of a Russian mother and a Korean father her childhood had been blessed. Her parents had lavished her with an abundance of love. From a young and tender age they regaled her with stories of how they had first met and fallen in love, staying together against all the odds. Listening intently she had always been enthralled and captivated by their heartfelt stories.

  Her father- a second generation immigrant in America- had collided with her mother on a cold December’s day. So preoccupied with completing their Christmas shopping, neither of them had seen the other until it was too late. A collision had ensued resulting in them and their gifts landing in a combined heap on the cold snow covered pavement.

  As her father had reached out a hand to help her mother back to her feet their eyes had met and the rest as they say was history.

  Their romance was not however the type made from fairy tales; it was fast, intense and passionate. But far from the joy of smooth sailing it was to be tested over and over again.

  Her mother and other members of her family were visitors to America, acrobats travelling with the Russian state circus. With both families disapproving so fiercely to any suggestion of a union, her mother was inevitably forced to make the hardest decision of her life. When her family had returned to Russia her mother had remained behind. Disowned and cut off from everyone and everything she had ever known. Her love for her father had been so strong, so intense that she had willingly sacrificed everything to be with him. Her family, her home, even her country.

  Her father’s family had proven to be no better, opposing their union with equal vehemence. Left alone in the world the young couple had sealed their love at an intimate service in a small chapel with no-one to share the joy of their love. A year later they had managed to acquire an old run down dance studio with a penthouse apartment included. After a long day at work the young couple would spend all their time till the early hours of the morning lovingly restoring the studio to its former glory until eventually it was ready to open.

  Her father had taught Hapkido, an ancient form of martial arts while her mother had taught gymnastics. The business had swelled becoming so successful that eventually they were able to dispense with their day jobs and spend more time working alongside one another. Two years later she had been born. A lack of Grandparents, aunts and uncles had given her parents cause to feel that their beautiful baby daughter was missing out on so much and so in turn they had lavish
ed her with as much love and praise as a child could possibly bear. Reluctant to part with their daughter any more than was necessary they would keep her with them in the studio as they worked.

  As she grew so did her eagerness to learn until eventually her participation in each class became normal behaviour to them all. By the age of eighteen she had become proficient in both Hapkido and gymnastics.

  With such a happy and blessed life as a child, she had often wondered where her destiny would lead her. Would she become a teacher? A doctor? On one occasion she had even toyed with the idea of becoming an agent in the F.B.I. But amongst all her daydreaming and childhood fantasies never once had she envisioned that pain, heartache and despair were all that was waiting for her; hovering on the horizon of her future.

  Both her parents had become devout Christians the year before her birth and in doing so they had diligently attended church every Sunday since, finally finding a community where they belonged. Having known no other way of life, she would always prepare for church by dressing in her finest prettiest dress, and it was on one such Sunday that she had first met Alistair.

  New to the neighbourhood he’d formally introduced himself to her parents. He had explained how his own parents had tragically died a few years previously and how he was using his inheritance wisely to put himself through law school.

  Experiencing her first bloom of attraction she had stood bashfully blushing at the occasional quick glances he had thrown in her direction. When her parents had finally turned to introduce her to the handsome young man their eyes had met and instinctively she had known that Alistair was her future.

  In a little over a year they were married in the church where they had first met. After the reception she had kissed her parent’s goodbye and amid floods of tears she and her new husband had boarded on a flight to Hawaii. Two whole weeks of honeymoon bliss awaited them in the sun, lovingly bestowed on them as a wedding gift from her parents; an indication of their overwhelming joy at her choice of husband.

  Four days after the plane had taken off they returned home. In that short space of time her idyllic life had been shattered and her heart devastated by tragedy and loss. Both her beloved parents had been murdered.

  Whilst the female officer had sat on her parent’s sofa respectfully describing the events that had led to the tragedy, she had experienced her first real feeling of numbness. It didn’t take her long to realise that by disengaging her mind she could experience events as if they were happening to someone else, much as a director must see things through the lens of a camera. The burning, aching, intense despair that she’d felt inside had receded leaving a hollow emptiness in its wake.

  Unemotional and detached she had listened as the police officer continued describing the events. How a teenage boy, homeless and hungry had approached her parents late in the evening on their way home from the theatre. The boy had pulled a gun on them that he’d later explained had been found discarded in a dumpster while he had been searching for food

  He had held the couple at gunpoint never truly intending to use it, demanding they give him all their cash and Jewellery. As her father had reached inside his coat for his wallet the frightened youth had panicked and accidentally pulled on the trigger. Her father- shot through the heart- had died almost instantly before hitting the ground. Her mother dropping to her knees at the side of her dead husband had begun sobbing and screaming hysterically. In a moment of blind panic and fear at being discovered the boy had raised the gun and shot her point blank in the head.

  The thought of her parents lying dead in the street had summoned a single tear to fall down her cheek threatening to tear down the barriers she had thrown around herself. The irony of it all was that given the chance her parents would willingly have taken the boy in, providing him with food and shelter. It was just such a senseless crime and a futile waste of lives.

  In the days that followed, she had immersed herself in the arrangements for her parents’ funeral. And when the day arrived she had stood at the graveside, the sun shining down brightly as people offered their condolences, and still she had felt nothing. Her emotions were so tightly contained that it was as if a block of ice had encased her heart.

  Less than a week later she had sat in a courtroom waiting to see the face of her parent’s murderer. Devoid of any feelings she had remained frozen, her eyes fixed firmly on the judge. As he read the charges to the accused she had slowly turned her head and gazed upon the monster that had torn her life apart, destroying her happiness.

  That day still remained so vivid in her memories. Her initial reaction had been confusion followed swiftly by the stark realisation of the truth. The person before her was no monster! He was merely a young boy, terrified and alone. His shoulders had shook as he’d sobbed for his wasted life and with a heart finally softened by sorrow, she couldn’t help but wondered how tragic his life must have been to have steered him towards the events of that night.

  Sensing her stare the young male had hesitantly raised his head and looked directly across at her.

  A wave of empathy had washed over her and knowing in her heart that it was the right thing to do, she had mouthed the words, “I forgive you.” The youth had simply buried his face in his hands and resumed his silent sobbing.

  Later that night, whilst Alistair had cradled her in his arms, she had finally broken down the barriers and cried. She’d cried for the loss of the love her parents had always shown her. She’d cried for the loss of the love her parents had had for one another and finally she’d cried for the loss of innocence, for a young boy whose life now lay ruined.

  Months had slowly passed by and with the patience and support of a loving husband her heart had gradually healed. Pain and loss were eventually replaced with happiness over the new life that now grew inside of her. The only shadow looming over her joy of her expectant child was the knowledge that he or she would grow up never knowing the special love that only a grandparent could provide. History repeating itself! But in this instance, the loss of the love her parents would have bestowed upon her child was enough to cause her heart to ache.

  Eight months onwards, on a cold and windy November night she had laid in a hospital bed wired up to a monitor with drips attached to her weak and damaged body. Fiercely determined despite her weakness she had held out her arms and received her day old son, Adam. Thirty nine hours of labour had taken its toll causing unforeseen complications. The doctors had worked so very hard to save the life of both herself and her baby but at such a terrible cost.

  Never again would her body be able to carry a child. But as she had nursed her beautiful baby boy for the first time all her sorrow at such news had faded away. Lost in that moment, holding him so close to her chest, tears had streamed down her face, and she had vowed that she would provide her child with as much love as he could handle, just as her parents had for her.

  Adam had proven to be the most wonderful of sons; Content as a baby, cheeky and mischievous as a toddler and extremely loving and inquisitive as a small child. But just before his third birthday events took a sudden and drastic changed; Adam had fallen ill.

  Tired all the time he was constantly fighting infections and even the simplest of taps could produce a bruise. Anxious and concerned she and Alistair had taken their beloved son to the hospital.

  Days were filled with agonising waits as endless tests were performed on his rapidly waning body, until finally she had sat in a small room with Alistair by her side and listened as her world came crashing down.

  Juvenile Myelomonocytic Leukaemia, a rare and potentially deadly illness in young children. Without treatment he stood a 5% chance of survival and even with his chances only rose to 50%...

  In the months that followed she had devoted every ounce of her energy to her son’s battle, knowing she would never give up fighting to save him. Both she and Alistair were tested immediately for bone marrow compatibility while Adam had begun the first of eight rounds of total body irradiation and doses of cycloph
osphamide to prepare his body for transplant. Watching his small body being pumped full of potentially damaging drugs in order to prolong his life was almost more than she could bear.

  The only ray of light during this dark time had been Alistair’s compatibility for the stem cell transplant. The oncologist had assured her that a family match almost always produced a favourable result. A week after the Irradiation the transplant was carried out and a couple of weeks later they received the news they had diligently prayed for. Adam could go home!

  Several fraught months passed slowly as they waited to see if the transplant had been successful. The strong and loving marriage they had always taken for granted steadily began to crumble under the pressure and strain as she had increasingly lavished all her love and devotion on her child. What once had been a comfortable, natural, and loving relationship gradually became a situation of polite acceptance.

  Shortly after his fifth birthday Adam had become ill and was rushed back into hospital. Sitting in a tiny grey office she had listened in horror and despair as the word relapse fell from the oncologist’s lips. There was nothing more they could do for her beautiful boy beyond extended what little time he had left with yet more harmful drugs. Outside his room she had fallen to her knees and sobbed. He was so young, and yet her brave child had become so grown up in the short time he had spent around the doctors and nurses, experiencing daily a pain and suffering she could barely begin to comprehend.

  How was she to imagine a life devoid of his light? A heart left empty and wanting without the nourishment it craved from his unconditional love.

  Later that night, unwilling to leave him alone for even a single moment, she had waited patiently until her son had fallen asleep before silently slipping away to the hospital chapel.