In Dark Places

by Darryl J Keck

  “You’ll understand everything soon enough, my dear.”

  “If you say so,” I mumble. “I’m still convinced that I might be a spirit wandering about.”

  “You are not an apparition and are no longer in harm’s way. That’s a much better development than you were facing five minutes ago.”

  I’m trying to trust her, but it feels like she has placed me in a detailed hallucination; one recreated from a photograph taken about twenty years ago. Since she helped me ditch Robbie, I’m willing to traipse along with her through my slightly-changed town—even if it is merely a mirage.

  Abbey is walking rather slowly—probably due to her seemingly uncomfortable boots. Shoes that look delicious are often painful on the gams.

  “Can the people passing by see me?” I ask, even though the street is relatively quiet.

  “Of course, they can see you. We are no longer in repose.”

  “From the fancy way you’re dressed and my big blonde hair, aren’t we drawing some unneeded attention?”

  “It’s dark enough where no one will likely pay any attention,” she states.

  That makes sense, I guess.

  “Being able to slow down time must be a nice talent to have when you need to pass through a doorway that is trying to keep you out.”

  “I’ve rarely had a problem entering anywhere; I tend to harmonize with my surroundings.”

  “How is that possible?” I question. “You are so stunning that you must get noticed everywhere.” I sound like a closet lesbian, but I’m able to admit when I’m upstaged.

  “Believe it or not, but most men let their guard down around captivating women. If you use your looks, you can control most aspects of your world without resorting to trickery. I have a way of blending in without being noticed. A fetching woman can be a butterfly and a chameleon—it’s all in how they use their environment.”

  Apparently, she hasn’t glanced in a mirror lately. Every guy in a crowded room would either make a play for her or place her likeness in their spank bank! Abbey is full of shit to declare that she can be transparent.

  Abbey veers to the right upon reaching Emmett Court. I’m not very fond of this particular cul-de-sac. When I was in grade school, it was rumored that this stretch of road was haunted. Some ghosts were not all that happy with my asshole uncle. I have not stepped on this street since I was probably four.

  “Why are we walking down Emmett?” I ask, hoping she made a slight miscalculation. “This here street doesn’t lead anywhere but to my uncle’s homestead.”

  “You will understand shortly.”

  Under silent protest, I continue walking alongside her. Upon reaching the end of the court, she stands on the sidewalk facing a white, two-story house belonging to Willie. Due to a complete lack of upkeep, most of the white paint has chipped away leaving the exterior overpowered by the original dingy gray color. Tall weeds occupy the space that would typically be considered a yard. If not for a couple of interior lights glowing behind a parted curtain, I would swear the place was condemned.

  For over twenty-five years, Willie’s house has been the bane of Wilkinson Creek. Even though he’s incarcerated, he still owns the outright title to the place. Trudy pays property taxes to keep the city council from having the eyesore condemned and flattened. Wait a second . . . why would the lights be on inside the living room? I can even see the glow of the television.

  “Why are we here?” I ask, nervously. “I don’t want to be anywhere near Willie’s place.”

  “We are not on a sightseeing tour,” she says, sternly. “For your wish to be carried out, you will need to retrieve an important object from the interior of this house.”

  “Oh, you’ve got to be pulling my tit! Please, don’t make me go inside Willie’s house. It’s haunted.”

  “My dear, you clearly asked for your life to change, did you not?”

  “I did,” I confirm, “but how could my uncle’s creepy old place have anything to do with my wish? I had a lot to drink tonight, so I’m not certain which particular words were used. I had no idea so much red tape would be involved.”

  “Nonetheless, to bring about the necessary changes, your uncle’s crimes can no longer follow you around. This is why I’ve transcended the boundaries to open up a brief doorway to July 23rd of the year 1994. We’re here to make an essential tweak; a preordained result to guarantee that your wish will stick.”

  I’m attempting to make sense of what was just said. “Are you saying we’re actually standing in 1994? Have we actually traveled back in time? Is that even possible—well, outside of what I’ve seen in the movies?”

  “There are several names for what we’ve done, but I assure you we are absolutely standing in 1994. The doorway has a limited time to remain open, so don’t get too comfortable.”

  Up until this moment, I’ve been having trouble processing everything because I was in grave danger, but now I need some clarification. “How is this even possible? I mean, what are you exactly? You have the cool ability to slow down time, and now I’m being taken along as a passenger through time. On top of all that, you grant wishes. That is a lot of power for any woman to possess.”

  “You don’t want to know everything,” she states. “I am about to be the expeditor of your wishes. That should be enough!”

  “Well, yeah, but I could use a condensed explanation, so I don’t feel like I’m coming unglued.”

  She hesitates. “I have certain abilities that no other person on this planet possesses because of a unique cell structure. I only use these powers when I feel compelled to do so.”

  “Were you born with these abilities?”

  “In a matter of speaking,” she says. “It’s very complicated.”

  “Wow, all I got from my mother—aside from decent looks—was a fast metabolism and strong forearms.” Well, I also have some nicely-shaped areolas, but I’m sure Abbey doesn’t want that much personal information thrown at her. Chances are quite good that she’s aware of my webcam, so she probably knows exactly how my tits look.

  “I’ve never met my mother.” Her tone changes to sorrow. “These powers were bestowed on me at birth. As the years passed, I have learned how to control and modify these abilities. This umbrella serves as a conductor to the atmosphere because it was built from a very unique lightning rod. I don’t have time to explain all of this because the clock is ticking. Did I provide enough explanation for us to continue on our present course?”

  “Well, this certainly explains the changes to Main Street,” I admit. Holy balls, I’m standing alongside a woman with unearthly powers. This could all be a scam, but I’ll play along until it gets too weird. These days, the lines around what could be defined as ‘weird’ have become a little smudged. “I get this feeling you are much older than you look!”

  “I’ve been around for quite some time. It’s hard to explain, but I age very slowly.”

  “Well, sister, if you are older than 30, you look phenomenal. Cosmo would pay millions to acquire your beauty secrets.”

  “Are you ready to move on?” she asks, disregarding my heartfelt compliment. “Once we stepped through the doorway to this particular moment in time, an 87-minute window opened to wrap up our business here.”

  “87 minutes doesn’t seem all that long considering how far back we’ve come.”

  “It is more than enough time if you don’t waste the remaining minutes with redundant questions that won’t help you accomplish your goals.”

  Well, that was direct! I whisper, “Are we in 1994 to stop Willie from killing those people?” Would we even be able to accomplish a mission that involved in such a reduced amount of time?

  “Changing that event has nothing to do with our objective. Those murders occurred two days before this moment.”

  “Wait a second. Since you possess the capability to move our bodies through time, shouldn’t we stop him from committing the crimes? That murder spree has followed me around like a curse.”

 
“The crimes in of themselves have little to do with the outcome of your wish. If you were aware of the facts relating to the night of the 21st, you would realize that the only piece of evidence linking your uncle to these crimes was the gun used to execute the victims. The actual murders have not messed up your life; the arrest is what caused the upheaval. For you to generate a new life path, it is imperative to retrieve his pistol from these premises.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. How will I be able to do that?”

  “First, I cannot fully make the necessary alterations unless you authenticate your belief that we are actually present in 1994. You are still treating what is happening as a possible delusion.”

  “What do you mean by ‘authenticate?’ I totally believe we are in 1994—especially after seeing Main Street all lit up.”

  “I require a token to support your stated belief. That token will be the removal of the gun hidden inside the house.”

  “Come on, do you expect Willie just to hand over a weapon like that?” I ask, perspiring unnaturally. “He will never believe me. He hasn’t seen me since I was like four-years-old.”

  “You will not be getting the handgun directly from him. You are expected to secretly enter the house, locate the weapon, and covertly depart the premises with the token in hand.”

  “You don’t expect much, do you?” My jibe doesn’t change her serious expression. “Fine. How am I going to gain access?”

  “You will need to enter through a window. Time is running short. You have less than 50 minutes to gain possession of the handgun and return it to the wishing well. You must accomplish everything before the 87-minute window closes.”

  “What if I don’t have it on my person by then?”

  “Unfortunately, time will revert to the moment before we met. I’m sorry, but these guidelines must be followed. Keep in mind what was coming for you before the repose initiated.”

  I recall how close Robbie was to the wishing well. I get the feeling that those powerful kicks to the grapes won’t apply if I mess this up. “Jeez. Talk about pressure.”

  “I never said this would be simple,” she says. “In approximately 44 minutes, the sheriff and two other officers will arrive with a search warrant. This doesn’t give you much time to dillydally inside the house. If you successfully remove the gun and arrive at the wishing well in the allotted time, your life will change. Oh, and the young man in the park will be forever out of your life.”

  “Willie looks to be home,” I say, nervously.

  “Take a look for yourself.”

  Willie will hear me if I step on the porch, so I inch over to the window on the right side of the house. The curtains are cracked just enough to peer inside cautiously.

  “Just be careful he doesn’t see you,” she warns. “You will not be able to access the house if he suspects someone is watching him.”

  Willie is sitting on a torn couch sucking on a bong while the stereo blares “Have a Drink on Me” by AC/DC. With his unshaven face, beady eyes, and thinning hair, he looks less attractive than the pictures Trudy has proudly displayed throughout the living room. The big shiner on his right eye and visible fat lip will keep him from being asked to the prom. He is the stereotype of sloth. On his beer belly rests an ancient Nintendo controller. The TV is positioned on a slab of plywood mounted upon two cinder blocks. From here, I can tell he has quite the knack for embellishments. He must pull his decorating tips from Trailer Trash Monthly magazine.

  The living room is such a disaster that it’s difficult to look away. The shabby coffee table is covered with beer cans, pizza boxes, VHS tapes, and a few half-eaten bags of potato chips. Forget about sending this clown to prison for murder . . . the board of health might lock him up for public endangerment.

  “Ms. McAllister, we need to get moving here.”

  I slowly back away from the window making sure my movements are subtle and unnoticeable. Since this is “supposedly” two nights following his killing spree, anything more suspicious than a gopher fart might send him over the edge.

  “What a pig,” I sigh. “Please tell me the pistol isn’t tucked anywhere near where he’s parked on the couch.”

  “Fortunately for you, I have knowledge of each detail surrounding his arrest. The weapon is secured inside the laundry chute in the basement. Getting downstairs and locating it will be the trick.”

  “Not the basement,” I respond in fear. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I hate basements.”

  “Considering that he is preoccupied on the first floor, the basement is the ideal location to conduct such a search.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say ideal.”

  “I’ve told you where the pistol is located, so having this knowledge will be quite the benefit. Gaining easy access inside the house will be problematic. This house was constructed with only two tiny basement windows. The lower window on the south side of the house is covered by shrubs.”

  “How do you know that? We haven’t even looked over there yet.”

  “As I said, I know my history.”

  I bend down to check the basement window on the north side of the house. Of course, the damn thing would be locked.

  “This window isn’t going to open on its own. Can you spring it open?”

  “You are on your own, dear,” she informs me. “You need to fulfill your end of the arrangement by getting inside the house without my assistance.”

  “Well, I need to get inside somehow. Can’t you make the time move as slow as you did back when we were in the park?”

  “Sorry, dear, but there is only one repose allowed.”

  “Wonderful! So, how am I supposed to gain entry?”

  “You may need to enter from the back of the house,” she states.

  We make our way to the backyard. Without the glow of the streetlight, it’s difficult to see where we’re heading. Jesus Christ, it’s like a minefield back here. Engine parts are spread all over the yard. I almost jammed my thigh into a wooden picnic table that blended into the darkness.

  “What is Willie’s damage?” I ask. “Can’t he pick anything up? He’s like a dropper.”

  “He is your kin, dear.”

  “I’m starting to wonder if Trudy ever made Willie lift a damn finger when he was growing up.” With a backyard this disorganized, I can only predict the mess that must be waiting inside.

  “There is a way in.” Abbey points to a window directly above the central air unit that is slightly ajar. “You will need to hoist yourself up and climb inside.”

  She must be mistaking me for a gymnast. “What about the back door?” I point to the centrally-located entrance. “That seems much safer. There is no point locking it. Only an acrobat or moldable superhero would try to maneuver through such a cluttered back yard.”

  “I wouldn’t chance opening it. That screen door is in disrepair.” She is correct—the cheap aluminum door is practically hanging off the rusty hinges. “To go unnoticed, you must enter through the opening in that window I showed you.”

  “Not in this outfit.” I motion at my clothing. “I’m in a skirt and boots. This isn’t what I’d call ideal breaking and entering attire.”

  “You may need to remove your boots to clear the open space.”

  “Not happening! If the rest of the hellhole is anything like the state of this yard and his disgusting living room, I’d need a tetanus shot tomorrow. It might be much safer just to break that basement window.”

  “You could break it, but the odds of cutting a major artery upon entering is quite plausible. From the way you were squirreled away behind the wishing well, I was under the impression that you have some interest welcoming in a new day.”

  “I have a good chance of becoming victim number eight if he catches me lurking around on the first floor,” I say, looking at the window. “Are you sure that climbing through a window is my only option?” I ask, hoping she’ll offer a better choice. “I’m still a little buzzed. Getting inside that space looks a bit dangerous.�
��

  “You must enter quietly. You would have the grace of a ballerina with your boots off.”

  “Would you walk around in that skanky place without your shoes?”

  She nods. “To bring about change to my life, I’d be willing to remove more than my boots. Ms. McAllister, you need to have complete faith in yourself and realize luck is on your side tonight.”

  Well, I can’t argue with that. Still, the boots are staying on!

  Time is ticking, so I step onto the old air-conditioning unit. I cautiously glance inside to check that the coast is clear. The room beyond the window appears to be a dining room, although the wooden table seems to be a catchall for a year’s worth of magazines and junk mail. The racing video game reverberating from the living room is a clear indicator that he’s occupied. As long as the television keeps blaring, I should be able to infiltrate this shithole with no problem.

  “Here goes nothing,” I declare as I grab the base of the window. I sure as hell hope the glass above doesn’t fall or break when my bodyweight crosses the threshold. I’m thin but not without a few places that could use a bit of toning.

  “Before entering, you will need this.” She reaches up, dropping a pocket-watch into my palm. When I glance down, the hands of the watch are moving in reverse, indicating the countdown to when I must precisely arrive at the wishing well. This looks like something directly from the Pee Wee’s Playhouse collection. “Meet me in approximately forty minutes, assuming you can find your way back.”

  “I definitely know how to get there,” I assure her. Forty minutes doesn’t seem long enough to enter the house, find the handgun, and bolt all the way to Town Square, but I’ll make it work. I long for those carefree days when I loved a challenge.