Where Darkness Dwells

by Lynnette Brisia

  "I wanna go home. I just want my mom," she cries. Her sobs, although as quiet as imaginable, are growing stronger, her nails digging into my chest, breaking already fragile skin. "I want to die. I want to die and be with my mom."

  She's past the point of breaking. They've worked so diligently in destroying her. And watching her fall apart is what they've used to break me. They know it too. They know that the things they do to her, these things will kill her. But they also know, making me watch, on top of what they've made me do, that's what will kill me. And they are so very, very close.

  Long after our return, she is terrified of Jackson. It doesn't matter that he won't hurt her. He knows somehow. He knows what's happened. And that's enough for her fear.

  I do my best to shield her but she’s too far gone to notice.

  "Caleb," Jackson whispers just above Evie's sobs. There is distress in his voice saying my name.

  "They made me watch," I break so completely. He doesn’t ask, and I can’t stop the words from falling my lips. Tears cascade down my face like a flood, my agony seeping out. "They made me watch and then… Jesus fuck!" I pound my fist against the concrete. Images play through my head and I long to bash it against the wall, end everything then and there. But I can't leave Evie. I can't leave her to them.

  "Then they made you, as well," Jackson finishes for me.

  I choke on my anguish. I don't answer. What’s the point? He knows.

  He knows without my words that they demolished her, with my eyes burning at the sight. And then forced me to complete her destruction. To complete my own.

  I feel like a demon is trapped within my skin. I wish to rip it out. Burn it till it's nothing more than scattered ashes lost to the wind.

  "Your body, it can't… control its reactions, no matter how horrible the situation. No matter how diligently you fight against them. This isn't your fault, Caleb." He's close to my back as I entomb Evie against me. "This isn't your fault."

  His words are sweet, but mean nothing. They hang in the air, hollow and bitter.

  "I left my girl behind. At school, I mean," he begins, and I hold my breath to his words, wondering their purpose. "Vanessa Spencer. Called her Van. Jet black hair. Bright blue eyes. A real spitfire. Followed me to Portland. She was the love of my life and I left her because I couldn't handle the Counseling program. Didn't even tell her I was leaving, too much of a chicken shit to face her and see her disappointment." He quiets, and I feel his eyes on me. "She wouldn't have been disappointed though. I know that, now. She would have loved me no matter what. Now...well, now, I hope one day she knows how sorry I am. I hope she knows I'll always love her. I hope she can forgive me."

  The door opens, light as bright as the sun, pouring into the room. It blinds us, all part of their tricks. We're never able to get a good read on where they are, or who it is that's arrived. Plays with our heads so we can't think straight.

  And now more than ever, their games have increased.

  I can barely make out the silhouettes in the doorway. My eyes hurt so much trying to focus, that I can't really see anything. Evie stiffens in my arms, her whole body going completely rigid as their presence looms.

  We wait, on the breath of bullet, to see what they want now.

  "You. Your turn." I see shadows grab for the body near me.

  "Fuck off," he tells them, the hint of southern in his accent nearly lost in his fear. Lost in the images taken from our experience. Still, he tries to struggle free.

  "Little Missy sure gonna like his mouth today," one of them laughs. "Though, she did say something about consequences for not acting accordingly."

  "I hear ya. Can't wait to see what she's got in store for ya, Jackson. You be a good one and maybe she won't kill ya today! Ain’t making no promises though."

  I hear him grunt against their hands, against their laughter, as they've no doubt punched him, before forcing his body up and then dragging him out of the room.

  The door slams shut with a sense of finality. His words sounding eerily like a goodbye. And my heart disintegrates further. I don't think we'll "see" him again.

  Every time they've come, it's gotten worse. I don't know how much longer either of us can survive this.

  Once it's all over, I don't know if either of us will want to.

  In fact, I know we won’t want to.

  ELEVEN

  “It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.”

  ― Edgar Allan Poe

  Her textbook open to our assigned reading, I watched the way Evie’s eyes scanned each word, her pink lips moving slightly as she read.

  “You’re being a creeper,” she told me, never taking her attention away from the text. We had a test coming up, and even though we both knew she would pass it easily, Evie was a studier through and through.

  “I am not,” I retorted, even though I sort of was. But I found I couldn’t help it. We’d been chatting at the beginning of class about what our dreams were for after college. While I was still mostly leaning toward doctor, specifically oncology, Evie was flip-flopping between Investigative Journalist and professional hula dancer. Of course the latter “dream” making her giggle until she snorted.

  It was so fucking adorable.

  “Then why are you staring at me?” she asked. She’d stopped reading, and had made a note in her notebook before laying her pen down and looking at me. “You’ve been staring for at least five minutes. What gives?”

  “What’s your favorite color?” my mouth blurted. It wasn’t what was on my mind. The truth was, Evie was wearing this sweet smelling perfume today that was positively mouthwatering and it was really distracting me, playing with my head, and in a way, my emotions. But I didn’t want to dwell on that because…well, because it was only making me really confused.

  “Random. Um, forest green, I guess,” she responded. “You?”

  “Reddish-brown,” my tongue responded without my brain’s consent. My favorite color was and had always been cobalt blue. But looking at Evie’s eyes, seeing that light reddish-brown color alight with amusement, my tongue decided blue was out.

  “That’s not a color you see get a whole lot of love. Any particular reason why you picked it?”

  She was teasing me and I knew it. And even though I didn’t have a full grasp on her motive, I liked it. “You’re right, it’s not usual. Perhaps it’s time it received the love and respect it deserves.”

  I hadn’t only shocked her with my words, but myself too. Where that came from, I didn’t know. But I wasn’t taking it back. Her eyes were beautiful. Expressive. Hypnotizing. I felt screwed up inside just looking into them.

  Clearing my throat, I tried to smile casually. “You have any plans for Thanksgiving?” There that was safe.

  “Not really,” she shook her head. “Dad might have to work, so there’s no point in travelling anywhere. Will probably be just the two of us. Unless some relatives decided to come visit which I doubt. How about you?”

  “Carmen is coming home. She’s bringing her boyfriend too. Guess they’re pretty serious. And I think some other family might be too. I don’t know. My mom gets kind of crazy with holidays,” I answered. Part of me thought about asking Evie if she wanted to spend the day with me, with my family, if her dad ended up working, but I didn’t know how that’d go over. I knew my parents wouldn’t care, mom would no doubt love it, but still. Would it be too forward? Would it sound inappropriate or would it be a kind gesture? Fuck, if I knew.

  “My mom was like that too. The whole house would be decorated from Thanksgiving to Christmas to New Years, inside and out. Would drive my dad nuts,” she laughed softly, mindful of the other kids around us still reading and studying. “Who knows, maybe I’ll take up that tradition.”

  While it was nostalgic, her voiced thoughts, I could tell Evie was remembering the good rather than being sad about the loss. “You’ll have to let me know if you do. I’d
like to come and see.”

  “Count on it. And who knows, I may ask you to help me decorate.”

  I laughed. “That would be a sight.”

  “Come on, Sutton. We make a great team.”

  “We most certainly do, Ms. Drake.”

  “Besides, there are definitely worse ways to spend our time together.”

  It was funny. Seeing that smile on her face, that teasing invitation to help her, I realized I couldn’t imagine any time she and I spent together as bad. It just couldn’t be possible.

  TWELVE

  “If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”

  ― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

  My teeth chatter against each other.

  My bones shivering against the emptiness of the room.

  A rough, dirty wool blanket no match for evil personified.

  Jackson never returns. Not that I expected him too.

  But I don't know what's become of him and that weighs on my mind.

  Is he alive? Is he dead?

  Maybe he escaped.

  I hope for the latter but fear I am wrong.

  Still, there are more pressing matters weighing on me.

  Evie continues to wither away.

  She doesn't say much anymore, but I know she is silently bidding death to claim her. Claim her swiftly. Effectively.

  I will it too, but only if I lose her.

  I will not go without her.

  Without knowing time, I can't be certain, but an interminable about of space has occurred between our captor’s last vicious visit, and now. It feels like a reprieve. It feels like the breath before the storm.

  I wonder what day it is. I can't remember when the Super Bowl was supposed to occur this year. Early February, no doubt. But no specific date comes to mind. Then again, my mind feels more troubled than anything.

  How far into February are we now then?

  Has Valentine's Day come and gone? I've never had one before. A Valentine, that is. I wish for Evie to be mine now.

  I wish to give her my heart and receive hers in return. I wish for us to be real. Real beyond these tormented walls. Real beyond this hell and this certain end.

  My heart jumps in my chest. A new kind of fear has taken up residence. And I know, time is against us. Now more than ever.

  "Evie?" I nudge her form. She's not asleep, but for all intents and purposes, she is not awake any longer. She's lost in the void, her mind preferring to exist elsewhere. "Evie, I need to tell you something."

  Rising slowly, her face comes into focus within my limited sight. "Yes?" Her voice is raspy, empty.

  "I love you." There's no preamble. No build up. No hesitation. My heart understands what my mind has not yet caught up to. Time is against us. "I love you so fucking much, Evangeline Drake. I'm in love you. I need you to know that. I need to say it, not just feel it anymore."

  Tears fall to my arm. She's crying.

  "I love you, too, Caleb," she tells me and my thundering heart skips momentarily.

  "I'm sorry this is where I tell you. That this is how I tell you. I'm sorry for everything I've done, for everything they've done. But I just really needed you to know. I couldn't go another moment without telling you my truth." I've rambled, my breath lost quickly in my state of weakness, but I don't stop. "I don't know what will happen to us. But I needed you to know. No matter what. If we can get out of here somehow or not. I love you, Evie."

  Her lips press against mine. They are no longer soft, like that first time my lips touched hers. Cracked and no doubt bleeding, she presses her lips to mine. I kiss her back with an energy I didn't know I still possessed.

  Unlike most declarations, there is no celebration.

  We don't make out. We don't have sex. We just kiss until we are breathless and then we breathe against each other.

  I now know dying will be so easy. And I won't be alone.

  THIRTEEN

  “It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”

  ― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

  My hair is matted and greasy. Slipping into my eyes, it’s longer than I’ve ever had it grown before. I’m sure if I could see it, my usual brown would more resemble a matted black. And my skin feels as though a layer of dirt has taken its place.

  Caked and grimy, a physical manifestation of the filth within.

  How long has it been since my last shower? The one I took after practice that November night so long ago? How long since I was able to do something as simple as brush my teeth?

  I’ve no doubt there is a stench surrounding us that would be similar to decaying flesh.

  We've become less than an animal in a cage. Less than the discarded waste of an experiment deemed unfit.

  Sleep only appears in intervals. Instinct tells us not to let our guard down.

  Reality tells us mercy is a false god we cannot believe in.

  No matter how much time seems to have passed.

  But we are wise to follow such thought.

  I try not to sleep when Evie does. I try not to sleep when she doesn’t.

  My fear keeps me awake.

  She's fragile. Her decimated state too delicate to be left unwatched.

  Even if I am a villain that made her that way.

  My mind still understands logic. I am not this wickedness I feel growing within me.

  What I've done to Evie; it wasn't my choice. My actions were not my own to create.

  A compulsion beyond my control forced me to become this beast.

  But my heart, the one that beats for her; that lives for her very existence? My heart cannot see past this laceration.

  I yearn to atone. Pray on the alter of her love and find myself absolved of the malignance that was encased in me with every sin enacted.

  Even if they are not of my own making. Even though they are not my own design.

  The next time light appears, they take me alone.

  For once, my body is my own. But it brings me no relief.

  I search for Jackson, for any clue as to his whereabouts or well-being. I come up empty.

  A small part of me hopes he is alive somewhere far and away from this nightmare. Perhaps sending help our way at this very moment. If we could only be so fortunate. Another part fears he is lost.

  It has been so long since he was taken.

  And yet, still another part, the part I haven't listened to in so long makes me wonder.

  And that part is full of paranoia. Ripe. Ready to pounce at the first inclination it’s allowed.

  Could he really be who he said he was? A college drop-out on his way home and in the wrong place at the wrong time? Is Vanessa even real? The supposed love of his life? Or was she part of the play?

  That paranoid part of me does not gain enough strength to defeat the other parts though.

  The things they did to him. The way he would cough upon return, spitting up blood regularly. Wheezing through his sleep.

  What good would it do to hurt him so bad it might kill him just to make us trust him? And what would that gain the three?

  I can think of nothing. Even in my limited state of awareness, it doesn’t make sense. Besides, we never did trust him enough to fall for any tricks he could have presented. We were never close. Never friends. We were cellmates, locked together until we weren’t. His presence means nothing in the grand scheme of things in regards to our survival.

  I shake my head. Force thoughts of Jackson away. I won't think about him. I won't think about him because I fear the answer I seek is not something I am ready for. Whatever it may be.

  My eyes once again take in my surroundings. My eyes take in the lack of intent.

  There are vacant chairs lining the walls. The bed is neatly made. There is no music. No candles dancing along the walls. The mood is not set.

  In nearly all the times I'v
e been brought to this room, all but for that first, an audience was present. This visit is different.

  The two minions stand beside me as a black mask presses into my line of sight.

  There is no torture this time around. At least nothing physical. At least, nothing that will immediately conflict within me once this moment is over.

  I am taunted, uselessly, by the honeyed voice. Her lips, painted a scarlet red, lance me with what she calls my inadequacies. My “obvious” shortcomings, as she believes them to be.

  She decorates visions of my happily ever after with Evie in shades of shame, humiliation, and degradation.

  There is no getting out, she tells me. Even if we were to go free, the things we've done, Evie would never love me for real. She wouldn't be able to.

  How could she? After the things I've done to her? After the abuse I've pushed into her?

  Regardless of not wanting to.

  My face, my body; they are the physical manifestation of her torment.

  Her love for me is merely a means to an end.

  She loves me because her options are limited. She loves me because she fears me.

  An 'I love you' from Evie is equivalent to dust caught up in a gust of wind. Blows over me until it can find a path away.

  It occurs to me then, as the syrupy lies continue to nudge, they have been listening to our every word. Watching our every action. Even in the absolute darkness.

  My thoughts from earlier, thoughts of the misery I’ve helped to bring about, that pound fiercely in the beat of my heart, for once, are silenced by the sensibility of my mind.

  I try to shut the sickly sweet voice out. Push my focus into something divine and peaceful.

  I concentrate on an image of Evie. A moment from class, where she told me she was glad I pretended to save her a seat. She was happy she was able to get to know me better.

  How I could have picked anyone, but chose her.

  Even though it appeared to have embarrassed her slightly, she had put herself out there, acknowledged her feelings and presented them to me so openly.