Made of Darkness

by Erica M Kim

  “Stop, you’re making me blush,” I said, my words sweet, but my voice stern. Despite my mild annoyance, I didn't push him away as he scooted closer to me. Now our hips pressed side by side against each other.

  Once dinner and the performance were over, the venue quickly changed pace into a techno-bumping, bass-dropping club, and other guests started to trickle in.

  A vodka tonic, cranberry vodka, and Redbull vodka later, I could barely stand on my own. It was the first time I became intoxicated in public, and I clung onto Ben as if he was my lifeline. This had to have been the plan all along! Despite my suspicion, I held onto Ben tightly out of fear that I would eat shit in front of this high-class crowd. To my surprise, Ben had rhythm, and his arms cradled me as our bodies bumped, swayed, and rocked to the beat of the music. By the time I cleared another Redbull vodka, I couldn’t tell whether I was moving my limbs, or if it was Ben that was moving them for me. I didn’t know. And frankly, I didn’t care.

  We finally exited the club doors at nearly 2 a.m., Ben securely holding up my ever-swaying body as we waited for the valet to bring the car around.

  “That was soooooo much fun,” I exclaimed. My parents were rather strict, and I was never, ever allowed to go to a club. And now I understood why.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Ben said. His eyes glowed as he intently gazed at me. He brought me closer to his body, and I didn't push him away. Good friends can snuggle like this, right? I suddenly found myself up against the wall, with Ben pressed against me. He gazed longingly in my eyes, then his eyes traveled toward my lips. Okay, so maybe good friends don't do this.

  Ben moved in closer until I could clearly see each stubble of blond facial hair and smell the alcohol mixed with mint on his breath. I wasn’t surprised about what was happening, and in fact, I knew I was partly asking for it, but I still didn’t want it to happen. In the last possible second, before his lips hit my mouth, I turned my head to the right, and Ben’s lips found my earlobe instead. He licked and sucked at my skin, his arms tightening around my hips.

  Before long, his hands traveled up my waist to my chest, and his hand gripped one of my breasts. I was suddenly and vehemently overwhelmed by the need to get out of his grasp. I couldn't do this. Not with him. I pushed him harder than I meant to.

  “What the hell, Sugarpie?” he said, but there was a small smile in his eyes. He was satisfied with what he got.

  “Take me home, Ben. I’m tired.”

  When the full moon arrived, I spent day in deep meditation in preparation for the night’s fight. Exercising utmost control would be key. In the final hour before Ben’s arrival, I dressed solemnly in workout clothes and carefully put in green contacts that covered the glowing orbs that were my eyes.

  Ben picked me up and let me know that he needed to run an errand first. The moon hadn’t fully risen, but I was on painstakingly sharp needles as I tried my damnedest to harness the growing agitation and hostility in me. My hands were knotted into tight fists as I recited a chant in my head. I am in control. I am in control.

  We parked near a warehouse where Ben got out to meet three men. They all looked pretty sketchy, so I kept a close eye on the situation despite my rising anxiety.

  “Well, well, well, Ben. I’m actually surprised you had the balls to show up here. And with a bitch in your car too,” a guy with a blue bandana and goatee said as he glanced in my direction. The car’s door was closed, but I could clearly hear and see them due to my heightened senses. The hackles on the back of my neck stood up straight when I heard the word “bitch.” I gripped the car’s handle tightly, suppressing a growl forming in the back of my throat.

  “I’m here to drop off half of the payment for tonight,” Ben said as he handed over a package. I was a little puzzled as to what they were referring to but was too on edge to think more deeply about their transaction.

  “We ain’t doing shit for you and Andre, tonight or ever. You skimped us last time. You and Andre got us doin’ all your dirty work. You think we can’t count, mothafucka? Nah. This payment is the rest of what you owe us for last time and the end of our deal. Good luck dealin’ with the Russians.” Then the man with the bandana spit on the ground near Ben’s feet. Oh, hell no. My head rolled to release the tension, followed by each of the knuckles on my hands.

  Ben looked increasingly agitated. He should have run, but he looked like he was thinking of how he was going to take down three men at once. Wrong move. All three men started moving their hands toward their waist to grab what I can only assume were weapons. I gripped the door harder as my heart started pounding. Before the men could make a move, my body took over, and my mind lost control.

  In a blink of an eye, I ran toward the bandana man and leapt from the ground landing a highspeed kick straight across his face. I heard the sharp crack of his neck snapping, and a wicked smile spread across my face. Then I greedily turn to the wingmen. They both must have been too stunned by the turn of events to do much but stand there with their mouths slack, so I just went for the closest one. I jumped and landed a roundhouse kick on the back of his head. Before his body had a chance to touch the ground, I landed two or three blows to his gut and finished him off by smashing an uppercut into his chin. He tumbled over uselessly. It was too easy!

  The second wingman had enough wits to get a little more ready before my next flurry of attacks. He held out a Glock, but hesitation slowed his reaction. I smirked in response, and in one smooth movement, I reached down to the top of my right boot, where I had a butterfly knife hidden in a pocket that I stitched into it. I moved my wrists, and the handles glided apart, revealing the sharp silver blade. Before the wingman took another breath, I twirled him around and I sliced the back of his neck and brought the knife down his back in a sequence of slashes.

  Once his body hit the ground, I grabbed the unused Glock from his hand and popped three bullets into his back and two each for the other wingman and the bandana man.

  The final scene was a bloody mess, but I’d barely broken a sweat. Game over.

  “Let’s go,” I said roughly to Ben and then walked toward the car. Ben picked up the white envelope that dropped near one of the men and followed me. We drove a few miles before chucking the wiped down weapons into a dumpster.

  The car ride was a quiet one. I wasn’t sure if Ben was in shock about being nearly beat up. Or because I just gleefully killed three men without hesitation. Probably both.

  “I’m pulling you out of the fight tonight,” Ben said quietly after several minutes. Both hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white.

  “What? What the fuck, Ben? I need this money badly. I went on all those stupid dates with you! I did everything you asked me to!” My fists were clenched into furious balls as I prepared to use them to strangle him. Control, Lunis. Control. I took in a forceful deep breath.

  “Whoa, whoa calm down. I have another gig for you tonight. After I saw what you just did, I realized that you have skills that go above and beyond what the ring calls for. You would destroy your opponent in a matter of minutes, and that would be no fun. Actually, Andre would be pissed.” Ben wiped his brow from sweat. His heart was pounding frantically, a sweet melody to my ears. I closed my eyes to settle down the predator in me.

  “I can slow down my roll. I can make it interesting,” I pleaded. “Please, Ben. You have no idea how much I need this.” I was down to my last pennies, and I would be thrown out of my apartment if I didn’t make rent.

  “Sugarpie, I have something better for you. But you have to hear me out first, okay? Just hear me out.”

  And that’s when Ben offered me my first assignment.

  Andre needed someone to be taken out, and it turned out that I took out the hitmen for the job. Given what Ben witnessed, he had no doubt that I could take on the assignment. Ben’s voice trembled as he laid out the offer.

  10,000 dollars in one night. Just one night.

  Hesitation was my first reaction. I was out of con
trol during the full moon, but commit premeditated murder for money seemed too evil, even for me. On the other hand, I would be able to get out of the rat-hole of an apartment. I would be able to eat what I wanted. I would be able to buy a new wardrobe. Hell, I might even be able to afford a used car.

  That’s when I decided to explain my curse to Ben. It was the first time I ever told anyone what happened to me during the full moon. Ben pulled the vehicle over, listened attentively, and nodded slowly. I kept waiting for him to say, “You’re shittin’ me,” but he never did. Once I finished telling him, he looked at the monster in me with such sadness and said, “I’m sorry, Lunis. You deserve a better life than this.” Something loosened in my chest and shoulders—a knotted ball of hatred for myself that I carried for years. It was acceptance. He offered me acceptance. The beast faded away as I regained control. I found myself smiling at Ben.

  The decision was still difficult. Committing a mortal sin in exchange for some greenbacks seemed completely heartless. Utterly soulless. But it was still an option. An opportunity. Perhaps if I at least found out who my victim was, and if he was a ruthless gangster or a greedy drug dealer, I could bear it. So, I asked Ben who my target was, and when I heard about the lowlife scumbag, I didn’t feel so bad after all.

  And that’s how it all began—my new career. Ben and I entered a business contract, roughly once a month, I would kill someone. And make 10,000 dollars for it. It seemed simple and easy enough. Deep down, I knew my parents must have been turning in their graves.

  41

  The sky is gloriously blue this morning, and the sun brightly shines as if spring has arrived early, and nothing is going to stop it. Despite the sunny weather, my mood is any but that. In fact, a pretty fucking huge rain cloud is still storming over me as I brood over the events that will unfold in the next day. Better to focus on killing Vincent tomorrow than reliving the heartbreaking past filled with Lio. I stare blankly outside, eating a routine breakfast that I don’t even taste. A vibrating jolt interrupts my gloomy thoughts. It’s a text message from Markus Sirelle.

  Markus: Are you ready for tomorrow?

  I simply respond with one word: Yes.

  The rest of the day is spent at the shooting range, familiarizing myself with my favorite new weapon. Target after target comes back shredded to pieces in just the right places. In the middle of my third box of ammunition, my phone vibrates. Expecting Markus again, I feel annoyed before I even see the screen. It’s Lio. Oh shit.

  Lio: Hi, are you doing okay?

  I don’t think I should respond to him, but my fingers are aching to type something back. Try as I might, I can’t put the phone down. I stare at the phone fighting a mental battle before I respond.

  Me: I’m fine.

  I quickly stash the phone away before my fingers do more damage by typing something stupid. As much as I wish he would just leave me alone, a part of me is relieved that he’s thinking about me. At the very least, I know he is alive, and that Vincent hasn’t gotten to him.

  Before I can prevent it, my heart tears apart at the poorly stitched together seams as memories of Lio flood my mind. I yearn to hear his voice and ache to feel his warm touch. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes, but instead, I swiftly reload the revolver and imagine the target as my love for Lio. I put bullet after bullet in it. Until there’s nothing left but holes.

  By the afternoon, I am thoroughly acquainted with the Smith and Wesson. All I can smell is metal and gunpowder, and I revel in it. One more place to visit to complete my training. My ritual and my escape. It’s time to go see my parents.

  A forty-minute drive east of Los Angeles later, I find myself on a hilly lawn covered with tombstones. Near the giant oak tree, I find Peter and Claire Kendall, laying side by side. I softly drop a bouquet of white roses on both of their tombstones.

  “Mom. Dad.” My voice wavers as it whispers. “I miss you guys both so much. I’m so sorry that you aren’t here with me. I can never forgive myself for that day.” I hold back tears as I continue. My mind jumps to a memory of my father carrying me on his back through the beach while I’m laughing hysterically. My mother is smiling under her giant sunglasses. They were so loving. “I’m not the girl that you imagined I’d become one day. But I’m trying my best to get by.” A family walks by to a nearby grave, and I am quiet for several moments until they pass.

  “I know you’ll never be proud of me. But I hope one day, wherever you are, you can accept me.” I wipe a single tear away when silence squeezes the space around me. The winds have quieted around us, and the trees have stopped whispering to one another. Even the birds have gone silent. They’re waiting for me. They’re waiting for me to say it. I love you. I can’t bear to say the words aloud. I am not allowed to say the words aloud.

  42

  Full Moon

  The room is dimly lit, and the scent of lavender, lemon, and jasmine essential oils waft through the apartment. I inhale deeply as I calmly sit in the center of my living room cross-legged, in deep, undisturbed meditation. The sun continues to blast the streets of Los Angeles with summer-like weather, but all of the blinds are drawn, as the world passes by me as if I’m not a part of it. My mind is empty. At least I am trying with all my might to keep it that way.

  Between the vast stretches of emptiness, an occasional memory of Lio creeps into my head. His radiant smile. His warm laughter. His clear blue eyes. With every relapse, I expunge my mind clean, only to find myself unsuccessful again and again. I am more unfocused than I have been in a very long time, which also means that I could lose control tonight. If something goes wrong tonight, it can cost me my life, or worse yet, an innocent person’s life. Control, Lunis. Control. I refocus on my breathing to rein it in.

  Before I know it, the sunlight is already dimming. Despite the summer-like weather, daylight fades quickly, and the sun starts to tuck behind the horizon, in place of the pinkish-purple dusk that is melting over the sky. I finally rise from the position that I’ve held for hours and peek outside. A faded version of the moon is rising to take its place in the sky. It is enormous and yellow, like the color of cheesecake, and it is a sight for sore eyes. No matter how grisly and awful I become during the full moon, I still cannot help but be utterly mesmerized in admiration for its beauty.

  I return to my seated position on the floor. It would only be a few more moments now. Releasing one final, resolved breath, I concentrate on clearing my mind once more. I listen carefully to my steady breathing, I hear my heart’s anxious beating, and then I start to feel the blood coursing through my veins. Within my core, deep within the center of my soul, I see a pale seed-size light slowly unfolding within itself. It unfurls and unravels beautifully as it grows, filling that once dark place with blinding white light.

  The overwhelming salty scent of the Pacific Ocean invades my senses, and I hear the hundreds of seagulls flying around the neighborhood as they scavenge for their next meal. The vehicles on the street sound like they are inside my apartment, and I can count the number of cars, twenty-seven to be exact, coursing through the busy street. I hear a woman’s hearty laughter, teenagers gossiping about their upcoming Winter Formal dance, a tiny newborn baby wailing for his mother.

  I smell the chocolate ice cream someone dropped on the sidewalk outside that had melted on the warm pavement in the afternoon and the sweet fragrance of the camellias that have started to blossom on my street under the sun. I hear the flowers singing in joyful harmony with the bees and feel the life teeming in the hard earth beneath them. The whirring of electronic devices in my apartment overwhelm me, and I want to destroy them all. I feel every microbe of every carpet fiber that is indenting my folded legs. I can hear each pump of my beating heart as the blood gushes in and out of my aortic valve, and I can feel life coursing through my body and veins.

  I feel everything. I feel nothing. I feel alive.

  At last, I open my eyes, knowing full well that they are illuminated, like two mini-moons residing within the orbs
of my eye sockets. It’s showtime.

  Thursday is steak day. I chew on my medium-rare steak with a blank stare, focusing on chewing and swallowing. Every task needs my utmost complete attention; any broken concentration could lead to losing control.

  By the time I finish my dinner, I feel like I’m in control. I even let the smallest smile escape from my otherwise stoic face, and when I steal a glance in the bathroom mirror as I walk by. I look like pure evil. But it doesn’t frighten me. In fact, I bask in it. I cover the luminescent orbs in my eyes with contact lenses. I then make my face, lining my eyes with black kohl that end in catlike tips. My lips are dressed in a luscious red color.

  After opening the closet door, I pull out the dress that Ben picked for this occasion. Its matte black faux leather material hugs my curves like it was made for my body. After I put on the necklace and cuffs I also bought for the occasion, I pull on fishnet stockings. I hide two knives, each strapped to the inside of my over-the-knee leather boots. I fill my gold oversized clutch with my phone, lipstick, powder, mirror, a butterfly knife, and the Smith and Wesson.

  My hair is down and needs little attention, but I pull a hot iron straightener through it to tame any fly-away hairs. During the entire process, I’m neither here nor there. My mind is utterly focused on one mission tonight: kill Vincent Moreno. When I think about slicing his skin open, my lips curl in excitement and my hands tremble in eagerness and rage. I gaze into the mirror to assess the final product before it ships.

  My pale skin looks like milk against the black clothes, almost luminescent. My lips are perfectly red against my skin and would make Angelina Jolie jealous. My dark hair glistens in the light, long and lush. I top off the look with my favorite perfume, and the smell of wild freesia, springy jasmine, and sweet orange blossoms fill the air. With one final glance, I am ready to walk out the door.