Threshold Read online

  Table of Contents

  Threshold

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Threshold

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  Scott

  Scott

  Scott

  Scott

  Hudson

  Hazel

  Scott

  Scott

  Hazel

  Scott

  Hudson

  Scott

  Scott

  Hudson

  Hazel

  Scott

  Scott

  Hudson

  Hudson

  Scott

  Alastair

  Hazel

  Hudson

  Scott

  Hazel

  Hudson

  Scott

  Hazel

  Hazel

  Scott

  Hazel

  Scott

  Hudson

  Hazel

  Scott

  Hudson

  Hazel

  Hudson

  Scott

  Hazel

  Scott

  Hudson

  Alastair

  Hudson

  Alastair

  Scott

  Alastair

  Mulkailot

  Scott

  Alastair

  Scott

  Alastair

  Learn the Story Behind Threshold

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  About the Authors

  THRESHOLD

  BY SEAN PLATT & DAVID WRIGHT

  Copyright © 2016 by Sean Platt & David Wright. All rights reserved

  Edited by: Jason Whited jason-whited.com

  Email at: [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The authors have taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  The authors greatly appreciate you taking the time to read our work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends or blog readers about this book to help us spread the word.

  Thank you for supporting our work. You rock!

  Published by Collective Inkwell

  Visit: CollectiveInkwell.Com

  eBook Edition — v2

  Sept. 9, 2016

  * * * *

  Dedicated to Our Fathers.

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  Sean Platt & David W. Wright

  SCOTT

  Scott swung the battered Nissan into his driveway and killed the engine. He sighed, looking up at the peeling paint on the antique home he and Holly spent too much on — faith, dollars, years. Two stories were capped by a low-pitched roof with broad eaves and a drooping face that looked sad despite the bright-yellow paint. Like inside, where the living room looked hollow despite stuffed shelves and mountains of life. The backyard had verandas, wide porches, and a nice patio, but even in shape they were broken, with scattered stacks of boxes — interior refugees with little hope of ever returning.

  It was a crappy home, but it was their home. Until the bank came and took it.

  Scott looked at Hudson and Hazel in the Nissan’s rearview. On the outside, they looked like your average fifteen-year-old boy and eleven-year-old girl. But in their eyes he could see how much they’d aged in the six months since their mother vanished without a trace.

  It’s okay, I miss Holly too.

  Of course, he didn’t say that. Bringing her up was getting harder to do with each day gone without her.

  Scott smiled, burying his anxiety as the kids reached for the door handles. He looked past them, out the car windows, looking to make sure that no one was coming. No men with certified letters, or police telling them to get out. At least not yet.

  Scott yanked his keys from the ignition, hit the button to open the trunk, and stepped out into the late summer sun. He went to the trunk. Hazel was already leaning inside and grabbing two plastic bags while Hudson made a beeline to the front door, without offering to help.

  Sighing, Scott slipped his fingers through the straps of six plastic bags — three per hand.

  Hazel nodded toward the house. “Want me to get him?”

  “No. Probably not a good idea.”

  The idea was, in fact, awful. If Hazel went inside to tell Hudson he had to help Dad with the groceries because it was his job, Hudson would be his usual moody teen self, lash out at Hazel, tell her to stop managing him and that she’s not his mother. That would lead to yet another fight he’d have to break up, and more hurt feelings as the kids sulked in their respective corners.

  Holly had a saint’s patience, and had always been so much better at navigating sibling squabbles. Scott, not so much.

  He followed Hazel up the drive, onto the porch, through the front door into the living room, and across to the kitchen. Hudson — giant surprise — was already on the PS4, playing The Last of Us, picking up from where he left off before Scott demanded that they go shopping as a family. Not because he didn’t trust Hudson alone (Scott doubted he would do anything other than play the game he borrowed from his buddy Brady), but because he specifically didn’t trust him to refuse the notice of default that would be arriving any time: the notice that had haunted Scott since losing their house became inevitable.

  “No, we don’t need any help unloading the groceries,” Scott said to Hudson as he passed. “But it’s awesome of you to offer.”

  Scott hated himself for being a passive-aggressive parent, but lately couldn’t help it. Without Holly around, he had no balance, and if he didn’t pepper a bit of passive into his aggressive, Scott was afraid that his aggression might go too far. He wondered if his children knew how close to the edge he felt. How close he was to exploding, again. Scott had no idea how much Hudson remembered of his earliest years, if the kid could remember Scott’s temper before they had Hazel, before Holly had helped him see just how destructive his behavior was.

  Raising children was hard; raising them without a mom was harder. Raising them without a mom because she vanished without a trace, well, Scott couldn’t imagine too many things harder than that. Hudson was confrontational and moody: A mouth like his mother with few of her manners. Hazel was withdrawn like Scott, but had Holly’s deep, intelligent soul. She sought answers inside herself and trusted their whisper.

  Hudson ignored Scott’s passive-aggressive remark, which pissed Scott off more than his blind eye to the groceries. Scott considered escalating the situation, letting his son know that attitude wouldn’t be tolerated. Instead, he heard Holly in his head: Put yourself in his shoes.

  Scott had been a jerk at fifteen, too, and hadn’t had to swallow any of the crap that Hudson was forced to gulp as their world decayed from bad to worse to what in the hell are we gonna do now?

  He set his bags on the kitchen counter. On the way back outside, Scott stopped at the couch for a word with his son. He wouldn’t get Hudson off the PS4 without an argument, and wouldn’t try. Worrying about the house — and the unrelenting threat of getting served — was hard enough. Until things we
re settled, Scott’s mantra was No conflict.

  “So, is the game as good as you hoped?”

  Hudson paused his game, shrugging. “Yeah. But the hype kinda ruined it for me. I’m playing what I thought it would be, instead of what it is. Wished I played it before everyone said it was the Second Coming.”

  Hudson tucked a long strand of hair behind his ear and turned back to the game.

  “Yeah, movies are like that, too. You read all the great reviews and anything short of perfect fails to live up to the hype. Lower your expectations, and life gets a lot better.”

  “Sage advice, Dad,” Hudson said, staring at the screen.

  Scott felt like a jerk, teaching his son to subtract from his dreams. He wanted to correct it, maybe ask another question about the game, but his heart hammered in a way he couldn’t explain. He turned from the couch, looking around.

  Where’s Hazel?

  He looked outside and saw his fear turned real: Hazel speaking with a stranger.

  “I’ll be back.” Scott slapped his hand on the sofa and launched himself toward the door. Hudson caught his father’s stress, leaped up behind him — without pausing his game — and followed Scott outside.

  Scott headed straight for the man, who looked exactly like the sort of person who came delivering news that promised an end to Life as They Knew It. Even though Scott had been preparing since the inevitable first blew its breath on their necks, with their lives and histories packed, Scott could never be ready to go. For one, he had no money, no job, no credit, and no prospects to send them anywhere but wayward. For two, he wasn’t ready to leave. None of them were.

  What if Holly comes home?

  As odd as it felt, leaving meant closing the door to the possibility of Holly’s return. It was agreeing with those who said she was dead. He’d accept her death, but not without proof.

  Scott stepped between his daughter and the man who threatened their world.

  * * * *

  SCOTT

  The man smiled like a man who took pleasure from delivering bad news.

  “Mr. Dawson.”

  Scott hated everything about him — the man’s phony smile, his tiny gold-rimmed glasses, the perfect head of wavy milk chocolate hair, his trim waist, the phone on his belt, and most of all, the suit that looked like it cost enough to feed them for months. Scott wanted to punch him, hard. He wanted to fall asleep with a dull ache in his bruised knuckles after having felled the man who ambushed his daughter in the driveway and drove them from their home.

  “Who’s asking?”

  Scott’s heart beat faster as he realized things weren’t making sense. The car was a rental, and a nice one. The Italian suit was wrong. He had warned the kids about a man in a tie, but never pictured silk. The person sent to deliver their paperwork would be a glorified clerk, not the lawyer himself.

  The man reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to Scott. “My name is Jared Davenport, sir. I’ve come—”

  Scott shook his head, held his hands palms out, and retreated several steps back. He grabbed Hazel — almost too roughly — and spun her to Hudson, who had followed him out to see what was happening.

  “Take her inside. I need a minute.”

  “Sir …”

  “Whatever you have, I don’t want it. I’m not taking it. You need to get off of my property, now!”

  Scott had to swallow hard not to roar. He spoke through gritted teeth and barely kept the growl from his throat. He was tempted to say, “Before I call the cops,” but in cases like this, the police would only facilitate the delivery of terrible news.

  “I mean you no harm, Mr. Dawson.” The man cleared his throat and took a step toward Scott. “I’m here about Holly.”

  Holly’s name felt like a thunderclap on a clear day.

  Hazel pulled away from Hudson and ran toward the stranger. She grabbed Scott’s hand and yelled, “Mommy?”

  Scott had one happy second. His heart gave a grateful thud, and his mind swam, brightened by an unexpected spark of hope. Then he felt crushed ice in his bloodstream as he realized that whatever this man — lawyer — had to say about Holly, it couldn’t be good.

  Good news meant Holly standing in their lightly stained driveway, not this mysterious stranger in his expensive suit and charitable expression. Scott turned to Hudson.

  “Take her inside. Now.”

  Hudson took Hazel by the wrist and turned her toward the house.

  “No!” She pulled away. “It’s about Mom, not the house! I’m allowed to know that. I’m allowed to be here!”

  Scott bellowed with his back to the stranger.

  “Go inside with your brother, now!”

  Hazel’s eyes turned into two great lakes as she tried to stifle a flood.

  “Come on, Hazel,” Hudson said, taking his sister by the shoulder and leading her toward the porch.

  Scott waited a moment for Hazel and Hudson to get inside the house, and for his breathing to settle, before turning to face the patient stranger. The man seemed as if he had nowhere to go, and was in no way offended when Scott finally found his voice. “What?”

  He cleared his throat again. “I can understand your alarm. But I’m here to help.” His smile seemed awkward as he tried again to hand Scott the envelope.

  Reluctantly, he took it.

  “You can read it later. I’m sure you’d like to get back inside. But please, let me give you the broad strokes: Again, sir, my name is Jared Davenport. I’m a lawyer representing the late Mr. Alastair Galloway. You and your children have been named in Mr. Galloway’s last will and testament.”

  “Who the hell is Alastair Galloway?”

  The name sounded made up, like it belonged to a rich villain in a badly written movie full of clichés and clunky dialogue.

  “Ah, yes, we did anticipate some confusion.”

  “Some confusion? Try total confusion, pal. I don’t know anyone with the last name Galloway, except for my third-grade teacher. And I don’t remember her first name, but it sure as hell wasn’t Alastair. I’ve no idea what this has to do with me or my family.”

  “Yes, Mr. Galloway was under the assumption that Holly wasn’t exactly forthcoming about her family tree.”

  “What are you saying, Davenport?”

  “Mr. Galloway is Holly’s uncle, husband to her aunt Lucille.”

  “Never heard of either of them.”

  “Yes, I understand what you’re saying, Mr. Dawson …” Davenport held his awkward smile. “But I can assure you, Holly was quite aware of her uncle, whether she ever spoke of him or not.”

  A too-long pause settled between them. It seemed to Scott that the man was waiting for him to say — or maybe do — something.

  “So, what do you want from me?”

  “I’m so sorry. I feel like we’ve started this all wrong. Again, I know how difficult things have been for you and your family.”

  “How do you know anything about my family?” Scott’s anger was swelling. He could feel Hudson and Hazel staring from the dining room.

  “It is my business to know everything about your family, my family’s business, actually.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m a lawyer with one client, same as my father and my father’s father before him … and so on. It is my job to serve the Galloway family. I could continue, but prefer not to do so here. There are things we’ll need you to do, some things that must be tended to. These things must be done elsewhere. I’ll need you and your family to come with me to Clovis Point in three days.”

  “Clovis Point? Where’s that?”

  “Right outside Galloway Falls, Oregon. The envelope has a letter explaining the nature of Mr. Galloway’s last will and testament, along with your itinerary.”

  “Itinerary?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dawson. Everything has been arranged. You’ll find plane tickets for you, Hudson, and Hazel. Our man Johnston will pick you up at the airport.”

  “Sor
ry, Davenport. I can’t do that. Too many things happening here.” Scott thrust his thumb behind him. “We’re days from losing this house. I’m on pins and needles waiting to hear from Holly, and, well, I can’t just drop shit and go, at least not if you’re unwilling to tell me what this is about.”

  “I understand your concern, and your hesitation. But I assure you this is in your family’s best interests, Mr. Dawson. You and your children are in the will because of your relationship with Holly. She is the intended beneficiary. Because she is missing, you three will inherit her share.”

  Scott looked around, searching for a hidden camera, or some jackass from a prank reality show or Youtube channel. If someone was pranking him, using Holly no less, he’d probably kill them with his bare hands.

  “Again, I apologize for the lack of clarity, but this is all expressly detailed in Mr. Galloway’s will. You must be present at the estate for the reading, no exceptions. I can promise, however, that your house here means nothing. Not anymore. Let the bank take it. You can leave and never return. Once the will is read, housing will never be a concern for your family again.”

  “What?” Scott almost whispered.

  “Yes,” Davenport nodded. “I promise you’ll be quite happy once the will is read. But that is all I can say. Again, everything you’ll need is in the envelope, along with my card. Call if you need anything at all — I’m here to help you however I’m able, twenty-four hours a day.”

  “Twenty-four hours a day?”

  “Yes,” Davenport continued to nod and smile. “I serve the Galloways, which means I’m now serving your family.”

  “My family?”

  “Yes.” The lawyer broke into a quiet chuckle. “I know how odd this must seem, but everything will make sense when we meet again.” He gestured toward the house. “I see that Hudson and Hazel are worried; please tell them there’s nothing to fret about, and that although I’m afraid I don’t have good news about their mother’s whereabouts, I do offer some very real hope for all of you.”