The Dark In-Between

by Elizabeth Hrib

  Casey studies him while she waits for their food. The woman in the truck hands her two foil-wrapped hot dogs and Casey shoves the cash across the counter.

  She hands one to Red and he moves to the condiment bar, drowning his hot dog in ketchup.

  “When did you die?”

  “Getting personal now, aren’t we?”

  She takes the ketchup from him. “You know when I died. How I died.”

  Red looks up at the back of the art gallery. There’s a giant, multicolored fish with bulging eyes painted against the bricks. “Angel-human privilege,” he says.

  “Did I sign some sort of confidentiality agreement I don’t remember?” She takes a bite of her food. She almost burns her tongue, but finishes half of it before they even reach the sidewalk again, starving all of a sudden.

  “I know what’s necessary to help you. That’s all.”

  “Was it a long time ago?” she says, licking ketchup off her finger.

  “Yes.”

  “A very long time ago?”

  He avoids her question by taking a bite and chewing.

  “Give me a time period,” she says. “Twentieth century?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Before then?”

  “Give or take fifty years.”

  “The eighteen hundreds?”

  “Memory’s a bit foggy, but I figure about then. It was a long time ago.”

  Casey tries not to let the food roll out of her mouth as she stares at him. “Do you remember it?”

  “My life?” he asks. “Or my death?”

  “Either … Both?”

  He considers it. “Pieces of it, I suppose, like everyone else. There are memories of my family. Of a time before. And then after.”

  “When you became an angel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does everyone who dies become—”

  “No,” he says. “Not everyone.”

  “Then how do you—”

  “Can’t tell you that,” he says. Then he laughs. “In case you go blabbing.”

  “Who am I going to tell?”

  “Evan, probably. He already knows far more than he’s supposed to.”

  “It’s not my fault those things attacked us while Evan was around.”

  “So you’re telling me that you never would have told him any of this otherwise?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not.”

  Red shakes his head, snorting in disbelief.

  “What?” Casey demands. “How else would I have explained you or Limbo or even what’s going on with Liddy to him?”

  “People will believe more than what you think.” He lifts his chin. “So, what’s the deal with you and Evan, anyway?”

  “There’s no deal,” Casey says, frowning.

  “I meant between you … you know, feelings.”

  “We’re just friends.” She balls up the foil wrapper in her hand and throws it at him. “We’ve always been just friends.”

  “I may be the oldest person you know,” he retorts, “but even I can tell when there’s something going on.”

  “You might also be the most annoying person I know,” she deflects as she turns down Evan’s street.

  Red laughs quietly to himself.

  When they reach Evan’s house, they climb the porch steps and Casey knocks. And waits. And knocks. And waits.

  “Maybe no one’s home,” Red says.

  Casey points to Evan’s truck parked on the street. “He’s home. Let’s go around back.”

  “Breaking and entering?” Red says.

  Casey unlatches the gate and walks up the deck to the back door. It slides easily. “Just entering,” she says. “Evan?” she calls as they step into the kitchen.

  The kitchen is dark, just like the dining room and living room. She walks down the hall, spying Evan’s shoes at the front door.

  “He’s probably sleeping,” she says but when she turns around, Red has his feather-daggers in hand. He twists slowly, following some invisible path across the ceiling.

  “There’s something here,” he whispers.

  Casey’s stomach lurches and she races up the stairs.

  When she skids into Evan’s bedroom, clutching the doorframe to keep her balance, the darkness feels different, and Casey hesitates at the edge of the room, waiting for her eyes to adjust. A sinking feeling pools in her gut, climbing up her throat like bile. Something else is in the room.

  She finds Evan’s pale features, the long limbs and rumpled clothes on the comforter, and then she sees it, black shifting against the black.

  Lanky, crooked fingers fall across Evan, stroking his skin. She follows them up to that humanoid face, reflecting something dangerous.

  “Get away from him!” she screams.

  EIGHT

  THE WORDS TEAR from her throat.

  Fear and panic and anger explode inside her limbs, flooding them with adrenaline. She grabs in the dark for the first thing she finds. Whatever it is, it’s heavy, weighted on the bottom. She throws it as hard as she can, sending it sailing toward the shadow-figure. There’s the shrill cry of a wounded animal, that desperate, decaying sound of the obsii, and then Red flicks the lights on behind her.

  The obsii, whether destroyed or having fled, is gone. Casey’s arm trembles with the force of the throw as Evan, awakened by noise, scrambles off the bed.

  “Flamin’ hell!” he shouts. He notices Red. “Flamin’ heck,” he amends. He stands there, plastered against the wall, eyes wide with fright. “Casey? What’s going on?”

  She just dashes across the room and throws herself into his arms—into the familiar circle of strength and warmth—and squeezes until she thinks her heart might burst.

  “You’re alive,” he says. “Limbo didn’t swallow you whole or anything.” His eyes widen as he pushes her back to see her face. “Liddy! Did you find her?”

  Casey shakes her head.

  “She was already gone when we showed up,” Red explains. “But we were close.”

  “Oh…” Slowly, Evan bends to pick up the pieces of the Little League trophy that she’d pulled off the shelf and thrown. He holds the little gold figurine in his hand. “Wait, what just happened?”

  What feels like hours later, they’ve worked their way downstairs and the conversation has shot in so many directions Casey is having trouble keeping it all straight.

  “But where did it go?” she demands. “That … obsii thing. What happened to it?”

  “So the soul just poofed?” Evan says from his spot at the dining room table, clearly following a different train of thought.

  Casey turns to him. “I mean, it didn’t just poof into thin air, but yeah, he just sort of walked through the door and disappeared.”

  “Wow, that’s nuts.”

  “Just like that thing sneaking in here?” She crosses the room. “I don’t even know what it would have done if we didn’t come in right then.”

  “But you did come in,” Evan says.

  “And threw a Little League trophy at it.”

  He lifts his shoulder. “It was a participation trophy. I never liked it anyway.”

  “I shouldn’t be around you,” she says slowly, the thought dawning on her all at once. Evan had been perfectly fine until she’d gone looking for him again. “These attacks, I’m dragging you into them.”

  “No, Casey. Don’t even go there.”

  “We shouldn’t be here.” She gets to her feet, glancing at Red. “Right?”

  “That’s up to you. I’ll go wherever you choose.”

  “But it’s putting him in danger, right? Me being around him?”

  “Don’t answer that!” Evan says stubbornly to Red as he rises to meet her. He sweeps both of Casey’s hands into his.

  “I’ll let you two talk a moment.” Red wanders into the living room. Casey chooses to ignore the look he gives her over his shoulder.

  She turns back to reason with Evan. “It’s way too dangerous. You didn’t see that thing. It was abou
t to turn you into some kind of snack.”

  “Safety in numbers,” he argues. “Isn’t that a thing?”

  “At, like, summer camp and on field trips and stuff! This is none of those things.”

  Evan’s entire face relaxes into that easy way of his. “No, this is definitely worse than camp, but not as bad as that time we went to the zoo to study biomes for biology class. People were wild. That kid zapped himself trying to climb into the camel exhibit, remember?”

  She feels the indecision in her body—in the tense form her shoulders hold, in the focused way she breathes in and out, but something seems to melt. Perhaps it’s the barely there hum that escapes Evan’s throat as he pulls her into a hug. Then he gives her a gentle, nudging shake as if saying, It’s okay to laugh. It’s okay to find something a bit funny in the middle of all the chaos.

  “I don’t know,” Casey breathes against his chest.

  “Say yes,” he pleads. “Say ‘Yes, Evan, I’ll stay.’ C’mon.” He tugs on her arms. “Text Karen and tell her you’re staying over. We’ll make peanut butter sandwiches and camp in the living room like we used to do when we were ten.”

  “That’s your big plan? Liddy is trapped somewhere in the afterlife and dark creatures are sneaking into your bedroom and you want to eat sandwiches in your living room?”

  “Uh … yeah.” He ticks the next words off on his fingers. “Shelter. Sustenance. A defensive position while you wait for Liddy to make contact again.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Evan.” She pulls away but his hands tangle around her.

  “I know. Hey! Hey, I know. Look, I’m just trying to help, okay?” He shrugs. “It’s the best I can do seeing as I’m just little old me. No superpowers.” He looks into the living room where Red’s studiously examining the remote controls. “Angel-boy, you hungry?”

  “Yes,” Red says.

  Casey grumbles. “I just fed you!”

  “There,” Evan announces. “It’s settled. You stay the night here; we can fortify this place like Fort Knox if it makes you feel better.”

  “Fine,” she huffs. Honestly, she doesn’t have a better plan. And if it’s not Evan who’s in danger because of her, it’ll be her aunt, unless she resigns herself to spending the foreseeable future living in an abandoned church. At least Evan’s already in on her secret.

  “Good.” He puts his hands on her shoulders and steers her toward the counter. “I need a sous chef in the kitchen.”

  The kitchen is small, with minimal counter space, so they cram together side by side at the cutting board. Evan pulls a stack of plates from the cupboard and hands them to her. A green vine with blue flowers circles the ceramic.

  “Where are your parents, anyway?” Casey says.

  “One of those nonrefundable last-minute vacations to some island I can’t remember the name of.”

  “You didn’t want to go?” she asks, smoothing jam across a piece of bread.

  Evan slaps some peanut butter on another slice. “They booked it for me. Thought it might be good for me to get out of town for a while.”

  “Then why did you stay?”

  He shrugs. “Because you were here. I didn’t want you to be alone after … you know.”

  “Bet you’re starting to regret that right about now,” she retorts. “You could be somewhere with white sandy beaches and tiny umbrella drinks and giant floppy hats.”

  “Never,” he says. “Though I do like a giant floppy hat.” He lifts his slice of bread and drops it onto hers with the sandwich-making precision that comes from not knowing how to operate the stove properly. He raises his brows in a look at that motion.

  She shakes her head. She won’t let herself spiral down the fantasy rabbit hole. Projecting what ifs and maybes and might be s. Keep your head, she tells herself. Getting emotional right now, when Liddy needs her most … it can only end badly.

  But then Evan smiles at her, a twisty, half grin with just a bit of teeth and all jawline. It makes her giddy to the very tips of her toes.

  “I’m glad you stayed,” he says quietly.

  “Me too.”

  When did it get like this between them? When did Evan turn from a friend—a best friend—to someone who makes her heart beat to the tune of cheesy pop ballads?

  She cuts the last sandwich in half, putting it on a plate, then takes it and heads into the living room before she has to give herself an answer.

  Red is still attempting to navigate the contraption that is Evan’s entertainment system. She snatches the remote from his hand and puts a plate in it instead. “Let me,” she says. “You’ll end up in space before you figure out how to change the channel.”

  Red inhales half the sandwich in two bites.

  “Anyone gonna need seconds?” Evan calls, poking his head through the doorway.

  Red gives him a thumbs-up, mouth stuck together with peanut butter.

  “Bet you never thought you’d be here doing this,” Casey says, leaning over the back of the couch.

  “The price of my fall,” he says. His head turns toward the ground, casting his face in shadow.

  Her breath leaves her in a rush as the image of Red hurtling toward the ground plays out in her mind. It had taken on a kind of comical impression before, but now it conjures an image of intense fear. Watching the ground draw closer and closer must have been a terrible sight, even if he hadn’t been harmed in the process.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, not knowing what exactly she’s apologizing for, but recognizing how heartbroken he sounds.

  His laugh is resigned, drawing up short. “There are worse things to be, I suppose.”

  “Are there for your kind?”

  “Yes. Without a doubt.”

  “And how do you … get back?” She struggles to find the right words. “When are you no longer fallen?”

  “When I earn my wings back. Until then I’m grounded.” He smirks at his own joke and hands her his empty plate.

  Casey clutches it against her chest. Are Red’s wings riding on her finding Liddy? Is that the price of his freedom from the ground?

  “Hey!” Evan calls from the kitchen. She looks up and he gestures with his head for her to come into the kitchen.

  When she meets him, he hands her a plate with a sandwich with the crusts cut off. She trades him for Red’s empty plate, which he slides onto the counter.

  “You know I outgrew my phobia of crusts on sandwiches, right?”

  “Lies,” he says.

  She looks down at the bread, peanut butter bursting over the edges.

  “What’s wrong?” Evan asks. “No good?”

  “It’s not that,” she says. “The sandwich is fine.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “What if I can’t do this?” she whispers. “What if I can’t find Liddy?”

  He takes her plate from her and slides it onto the counter beside Red’s. Then he folds his hands over her arms, rubbing up and down until her skin is warm from the friction. “Stop thinking like that.”

  “I’m just being realistic.”

  “Nothing about this is realistic. It’s not even reasonable. We’re dealing with something completely out of the ordinary.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you can’t screw it up.”

  “No,” she says slowly, dragging out the word. “I think you’ll be surprised to learn that I can.”

  “You actually can’t. We don’t know how any of this works. There’s no precedent. There’s no rules or guidebook or handy info packets. All you’ve got is a fallen angel who can’t even hear Liddy.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” he says. “I know you’re not a quitter and that you’d run to the ends of the earth to get Liddy back,” he says with a shrug. “That’s just what you do.”

  “Thanks, Evan,” she whispers.

  “Good enough?”

  “Good enough.”

  He pretends to wipe sweat from his brow. “Good, because my upliftin
g speech reserve is tapped. That’s all I had in the tank.”

  He makes a face and Casey bursts out laughing.

  Her heart flutters in an unusual way, only really sticking out in her mind because these days she’s functioning in a state of constant fear or anxiety. But this isn’t the desperate race of her heart as she faces off against dangerous, nightmare creatures or as she tumbles into some dark, in-between world chasing Liddy. This is lighter … like a butterfly has landed upon her chest, brushing its wings over her skin.

  The flush in her cheeks is warm, the rush of her blood, hot.

  Her pulse hums beneath her skin as Evan’s head tilts, tipping closer. She steps onto her tiptoes, places one hand along his cheek. Her hand traces the edge of his jaw before feathering into the hair at the back of his neck, and his arms loop around her waist, pulling them together.

  And then his forehead dips, his brows knotting above his nose. His eyes lift, looking over her shoulder and his fingers tighten in the fabric against her hips.

  “Evan—?”

  “Move!” he shouts, knocking her out of the way.

  She catches herself against the counter, taking the hit against her ribs. Casey turns to see the slender stretch of shadow. Behind that she can see Red hurdle over the back of the sofa like a track star.

  Evan smacks the obsii hard with a frying pan and the creature soars backward toward Red, who punches his arm out to drive his dagger directly through the creature. It melts around his hand, covering it in wispy black tar.

  “Damn, these things are everywhere,” Evan groans.

  “I wondered where that one had gotten to,” Red says.

  “It’s drawn to me,” Casey says, worry beating away inside her. “I can’t stay.”

  “We’re not doing this again,” Evan says. “You’re going to stay.”

  “And what, stay awake all night?”

  “We’ll sleep in shifts if we have to,” he says. “You’re not going anywhere.” He drops his hands to his hips. “We’re going to Home Alone the shit out of this place.”

  * * *

  “WELL, IT’S NOT exactly bandit-proof, but I think it might do for some soul-sucking shadow leeches.” Evan lines his baseball bat up against the wall in the living room, looking around proudly.

  Casey turns on another light switch. “Do you have any more lamps?”