What Comes Before Dawn: A Mynart Mystery Thriller Read online

  WHAT COMES BEFORE DAWN

  ADDISON MICHAEL

  2021 Pages & Pie Publishing

  Copyright © 2021 by Addison Michael

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-7359621-1-5

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Michael, Addison.

  What comes before dawn: a mynart mystery thriller / Addison Michael

  Cover Design by Art by Karri

  Editing by Tiffany Avery

  While set in real places, this novel is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and police agencies portrayed are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to established practices or similarity that may depict actual people, either alive or deceased, are entirely fictional and purely coincidental.

  www.addisonmichael.com

  For my Family - Chris, Zoe, and Link

  Thanks for letting me stay up past bedtime

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  The End

  About the Author

  Also by Addison Michael

  WHAT COMES BEFORE DAWN

  PROLOGUE

  Icy cold winter wind pushed its way through the window that was not supposed to be open. It wrapped its frozen fingers around her wrist, her face, and her neck. The chill settled in her heart. Krysta Mynart gasped loudly, coming awake from a deep, dark slumber.

  She snuggled into her husband for warmth. His body always radiated heat but right now, nothing seemed to help. She was so very cold. Her brain was waking but her eyes refused to open as she processed one eerie fact. Her husband, Jason, woke religiously before the sun rose every single day.

  “Jason?” Her voice came out in a hoarse but hopeful whisper. His arm was hanging over her body, limp and heavy, a dead weight across her stomach. She struggled to breathe as she felt hysteria rising inside of her. Something was wrong. She was afraid to open her eyes. She began to shiver and then shake from head to toe. Jason was always a light sleeper.

  She could feel her head stuck in place to the pillow. She was so twisted in her sheets she could not move. Frozen air was blowing through the room. Senses suddenly heightened, Krysta noticed the sheets had wrapped her into a mummy-like cocoon as if she had tossed and turned violently. As if there had been a struggle. She gasped at the thought and tried to lift her head. She refused to open her eyes. Strands of hair pulled painfully. That wasn’t the only thing that hurt. Her head throbbed, right at the temple. She was literally stuck. Stuck how? Her heart sank in her chest because the answer came to her with absolute clarity.

  Krysta could smell a light, faint metallic odor. Not a foreign smell exactly, and she was able to place it instantly. She lay very still and finally opened her green eyes. She could no longer deny what her mind was telling her. There was no arguing the trails of brown-red she saw on her white sheets.

  Jason was dead.

  She sat up now, throwing the blankets and sheets up with her, ripping her blond hair off the pillow. Red blood matted her normally silky strands. Unearthing the tangle of sheets, she saw the horrific truth.

  Jason was not just dead. He had been massacred. In his sleep. There was blood everywhere. Blood seeped from under the sheets, soaking through to the oversized comforter. Fresh pools of blood so vast it seemed no number of blankets would sop it all up.

  Then she saw the knife. There was a knife laying at the foot of the bed. Her knife. Jason had given it to her as a wedding gift. She remembered it now as if it had happened yesterday, not seven years ago.

  What in the world would I do with a knife? She had protested.

  It’s pretty. A souvenir… Consider it a wedding present? Jason had said. His eyes were full of mischief and he was amused. He had leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose with his full, red lips. His beard tickled her.

  You’re lying! She had pushed his broad chest. She had gently touched the knife.

  Okay, he had shrugged sheepishly. You may need to defend yourself someday. Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to do it…

  Her mind worked quickly backwards through the night, but she had no explanation. Too shocked to cry, she stared into space. Why couldn’t she remember anything?

  She willed herself to remember but she knew it would not work. It was a thing she did. Chunks of time were missing from her life. One minute, she was in the moment, living life, the next, she was just… somewhere else. Always with the sensation that she had been teleported into a new scene in a movie. She just blacked out. And she knew, with absolute certainty, that she had done it again at the exact wrong moment. It had cost her husband his life. It was her fault that Jason was dead. No one would convince her otherwise.

  “Jason?” she whimpered. “No!” She willed herself to cry. To take time to grieve for the loss of her beloved husband. But she couldn’t. There was no time. She had to clean this mess up.

  Forty-five minutes later, Krysta realized that the only blood she could clean up and make disappear was her own. All showered with a clean set of clothes on, she looked in the mirror. She had such a thin, long pixie face. Her blond hair fell just past her shoulders. Her big green eyes looked around as she said good-bye in her heart to her home. She packed a small bag. In the bag was a wad of cash, a few changes of clothes, and a passport with the name “Krysta Deffer.”

  Jason had told her this day would come. The day when she would have to run. She was prepared. She could grieve later. But for now, she needed to give herself as much time and distance as possible to get away. Once they found her husband’s body, she would be the prime suspect. She had no alibi. None that she could remember anyway. For all she knew, she had killed him. Some witness she would be on the stand! She would only incriminate herself. The only thing she knew was she had been there when it happened. She was alive and he wasn’t.

  She could hear her mother’s words floating in her head. The voice she had heard all the years of her childhood but tried to forget.

  You're a wicked child, Krysta Suzanna, and one day the whole world will see you for who you are…

  Now Krysta knew the truth. Her mother was right. All mothers are. She had no choice now but to believe her. Krysta was wick
ed. Soon, everyone would know as well.

  Krysta opened the door to her home and paused. The sun was just creeping into the sky and a beautiful sunrise had dawned. She was struck by the evil that lurks in the night. It’s what comes before dawn, she thought.

  The ride to the airport took several hours from her rural home. Finding a plane ticket took even longer. Finally, at approximately 10:35 p.m., Krysta Mynart stepped off the plane in Canada and embraced a new identity, Krysta Deffer. No one ever questioned her.

  The one thing Krysta hadn’t counted on and had no plan for was her barely conceived embryo. Her daughter Paige would be born within the year and she would have to work hard to make sure Paige didn’t turn out just like her. But that’s all Krysta knew. The rest of the story would belong to Paige.

  1

  It was pitch black and I could see nothing. I had a blindfold tied tightly around my eyes. I took deep breaths in and out to calm my anxiety. I had learned that trick years ago. Never mind the fact that I was with a person I trusted. Though this was meant to be a good surprise, I could not stop the strange double jump I felt in my heart. In fact, this was probably the best surprise a girl could ask for in her life. I wasn't sure if my anxiety was due to not knowing what was happening or if it was from being quite certain of what was to come next. Was I ready to make such a big decision? What should I say and how should I react?

  I pushed aside a stray piece of hair that had worked its way out of my blindfold. It never occurred to me that I should try harder with my hair. It’s not like it was unkempt. Quite the opposite. It was thin, flat, and perpetually straight. Then there was the matter of make-up. I didn’t have the slightest idea how to magnify my green eyes with make-up, so I didn’t. On rare occasions, I wore mascara. Occasions like this one. But then wearing mascara and blindfolds don’t go well together, I supposed.

  Blindfolded with absolutely zero control over what was to come next was extremely uncomfortable. Is this how mom felt when she had her blackouts? Was she in such a state of unawareness with her body still moving forward but seeing only blackness? Did she feel out of control too, or was her brain completely asleep while she continued moving on autopilot through half her life?

  How strange that no one had ever heard of the condition mom suffered. Not even the therapist I had called the other day to make an appointment with had heard of mom’s condition. Even I felt like it was a cop out! A way for mom to not have to own or remember anything that happened while she was blacked out.

  I wondered if I would ever grow out of the resentment I felt towards mom. She had no excuse whatsoever! Yet she was constantly missing in action. Literally. It might not be so bad if I had other relatives around, but there was no one else. Because mom had these episodes so often, we didn’t have any real friends or connections who were a regular part of my life. I had no clue how I managed to grow into a perfectly responsible adult.

  I had also landed in a kind and loving relationship for the past six years, which was nothing short of a miracle. No thanks to mom! I mean, what did I really know about relationships? I certainly had never seen one modeled for me. The ones I watched growing up on TV seemed very unrealistic. I knew I didn't want to even try to copy those glamorized story lines. I had one friend in grade school whose parents seemed to really have it together. I supposed that was the example I was trying to follow. I guess it was working. But if I were really honest with myself, would I admit the discomfort I felt with my “healthy” relationship? I mean, the majority of our relationship had been spent on the phone while I was away at college. We said “goodnight” while I studied and worked on assignments and he went to bed. Did we really know each other? Still, I had to smile when I remembered how Stephen and I first met.

  My mother and I had arrived at a busy bookstore one afternoon with a list of books I needed for college in the fall. I was marveling at how fast time passes and that I was actually about to start college. But here I was. Though this was a mainstream bookstore, I had planned to get as many books as I could prior to my first semester in the fall. I even planned to read a few to get jumpstarted during the summer. I was beyond excited.

  “Here, mom.” I handed her half the book list so she could look with me. One minute, I was reading the back of a book, the next minute I looked up to scan the store for mom but she was gone. “Mom?” I said aloud, then sighed. Here we go again, I thought. Why couldn’t mom just stay with me when we were in public?

  Sometimes I found her quickly. Other times it took hours. That day I was frantically walking the aisles of the bookstore. I’d been up and down about five aisles of books when I noticed him. He was the type of man who would normally stop me in my tracks but my focus was on finding mom.

  "Pardon me, miss. Are you looking for something? Are you lost?" he asked.

  "Oh… yes." I continued my search. I was now standing on tiptoes to scan over bookshelves.

  "Can I help you find whatever you're looking for?" he tried again.

  Almost impatiently, I barely glanced in his direction. "My mother," I’d said. "I'm looking for my mother."

  "Oh? What does she look like? Perhaps I can help you find her?"

  "She does this all the time!" I said. I was so frustrated. "We can be in a grocery store, we can be at home, it really doesn't matter where we are. She just blacks out and wanders off."

  “What does she look like?” he patiently asked again.

  This was a huge waste of time. No doubt he had conjured up a picture of a little gray-haired lady with dementia. “She looks just like me, only older. My face is more oval. Hers is longer and thinner. Her hair is long and dark blond, much longer than mine and lighter – well, she has an ombre thing going – dark blond on top and lighter on the bottom, and her hair is a little thicker than mine. Same green eyes. I’m taller but we have the same nose. She’s thin… too thin. She’s wearing a white sweater and blue jeans.”

  For the next ten minutes, he helped me search the store.

  A motion outside the window caught my eye. I glanced up, almost missing the bus that stopped by a bench where mom was sitting as though waiting to get out of town. I ran out of the store and barely blocked the entrance of the bus in time to stop mom from going who knew where this time.

  "Mom. Stop!" I turned to the surprised bus driver who was waiting for mom to get on the bus. "She doesn't need a ride anywhere. She's with me."

  The confused bus driver squinted his eyes at us, closed the door, and drove off.

  "Mom. Snap out of it! Why do you always do this?" I felt tears in my eyes. Then I pulled mom into a hug. I felt, rather than saw, the handsome guy who had been helping me standing awkwardly nearby. In the moment, I had forgotten he was there.

  His concerned eyes were a bold shade of blue and his nose was sharp and chiseled. His chin was angular and he had a slightly prominent Adam’s apple. His profile was Romanesque. The blond disheveled curls on top of his head seemed a little on the long side. I noticed he was tall. Way taller than me, and that was saying something since I’m five foot eight. Was he six foot four?

  "Handsome," I said out loud as I released my grip on mom. I was instantly mortified. "I'm so sorry," I tried to backpedal. "Thank you! For helping me look for my mom. That was too kind."

  "You're welcome," he chuckled. "I'm glad you found your mom."

  "Yes. Me too. You go way above and beyond for your job. You're supposed to help me find books, not my mother." I could feel my face turn red at the failed attempt to joke. Was I flirting? To my surprise, he burst out laughing.

  "I don't work here. I was looking for a book when you passed me and seemed so frantic. I couldn't help but wonder what you had lost. I had no idea.”

  I sighed and looked at mom. She was digging in her purse and didn’t appear to be listening. Still, I hushed my voice. "This may seem very strange to you. But my mother does this thing where she completely blacks out and it appears that she’s functioning and going about her day. When really, she won't remember any of t
his tomorrow." I was vaguely aware that I was repeating myself.

  "Fascinating," he said. He paused, pondering my words. "How do you know when she’s blacked out and when she’s fully present?"

  I shook my head. "That's just it. I never actually know."

  "I can't imagine how difficult that must be for you. I’m Stephen, by the way." His eyes were inquisitive.

  "Paige." As I grasped his hand in a shake, my breath caught in my chest. My heart beat faster and my stomach fluttered at the same time.

  We’d been together ever since. Here we were six years later. He had stuck with me through a bachelor’s degree and two years toward my doctorate degree. He understood my desire to be a vet someday. I was so close. Most of my classwork was done. I only had a couple of years of clinical rotations left.

  “Paige?” Stephen’s voice brought me back to the present. “You’re awfully quiet over there.” He patted my leg and rested his hand on my bony knee.

  I shifted around in my seat. My seatbelt was so uncomfortable. Were we going up? I had been noticing lately, ever since I finished my bachelor’s degree and came back home, that Stephen was quickly becoming my everything. Was that even healthy? I supposed I should make a few other friends for balance. But the thought of bonding to another human being with my odd life circumstances sounded excruciating.