A Name in the Dark

by G S Fortis

  David glares at me, but I don’t let him intimidate me. It’s a tough world, and I’ve spent the better part of it dealing with dangerous criminals, aggressive cops, and literal demons. When you’re my size, you have to learn how to punch, curse, and spit with the boys if you don’t want to get pushed around. Unfortunately, when a woman asserts herself like that, she soon earns the reputation of being a bitch.

  David knows this about me. He even once admitted it’s what he likes about me. Tonight, however, he’s the detective and I’m a person of interest. I don’t blame him for wanting the truth, but I can’t afford to provide that. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

  “Was there anyone else here when you arrived?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Why is there blood on your hands?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, looking down at my recently washed hands. They’re still pink with the stain of blood. I nod in the direction of where Lupe still lies. “I wasn’t thinking when I checked to see if she was okay.”

  “You know better than to touch a body at a crime scene.”

  “That body,” I say angrily, “was my friend.” I realize he has a job to do, but I’m getting tired of him treating me like one of his usual suspects. We go back a long way, and he should know me better.

  David pulls away, and I can sense his regret for pushing too far. Despite his tough-guy attitude, I know he cares about me. He scans the room again. “Sorry. And I’m sorry about Lupe, but you and I both know you’re not telling me everything.”

  “Can I be perfectly honest with you?”

  His demeanor softens. For a moment, the old David I know is standing before me. “Of course.”

  It kills me to keep him at bay, but I have to. “I’ve given you my full and complete statement. And that’s all I’m going to say tonight.”

  David has lived in Los Angeles for the past twelve years, but he’s a true New Yorker. He grew up in Brooklyn—Vinegar Hill, to be exact. Life wasn’t easy for him when he was young. He was in constant trouble because of his big mouth and quick fists. Having spent his life fending for himself on Flushing Avenue, he didn’t exactly develop the temper and patience of a Tibetan monk. So I expect David to rip me a new one, but he doesn’t. He just scratches his perpetual day-old beard and shakes his head.

  “I don’t know what happened,” I add after an uncomfortable silence. “I don’t know who did it. I came here tonight and found her. Found this.”

  Another detective approaches us. He walks with a swagger as if to bring attention to his masculine stride. The horseshoe moustache is another component of his macho facade. He wears a more expensive suit than David but is stiff and uncomfortable in it despite his lean build. Judging by the can of Coke in his hand, I’m guessing he’s not much of a coffee drinker. His hair is thickly unnatural with a too-perfect hairline—probably courtesy of some hair plugs that have since healed. I can’t decide if he looks great for sixty or terrible for forty.

  David stiffens and mutters, “Try not to be a smartass for two minutes.”

  That remark stings. I mean, it’s true, but still…

  “How’s it going?” the detective asks us.

  “Ed, this is Darcy Caine. Darcy, this is my new partner. Well, I’m his new partner. Detective Ed Snyder.”

  I nod a hello.

  Snyder barely offers a grunt my way before turning to David. “What’s her story?”

  “She’s all right, Ed.”

  “She’s a suspect.”

  “She’s a witness,” David counters.

  It’s a relief to hear that I’m actually not suspect number one. At least, not in David’s eyes. He shifts slightly, placing himself indirectly between Snyder and me. This subconscious gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by me. He knows I can handle myself, but that doesn’t stop him from protecting me. It’s one of the things I love about David.

  Sorry, not “love.” It’s one of the things I like about David. That’s what I meant. Like.

  Instead of giving Detective Snyder a piece of my mind, I bite my tongue out of consideration for David. He’s the junior detective, and the only reason he’s questioning me is because of our history. Otherwise, Snyder would be trying to sweat me.

  Snyder shoots me a look. “Then let’s hear it, witness. What time did you get here?”

  “Nine o’clock.” I glance at David. See? No smartass remark.

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “By the time I found Lupe, you guys were already outside.”

  “What were you doing all the way down the hall, sitting against the railing with blood on your hands?”

  “I was being emotionally distraught,” I say.

  “That supposed to be funny?”

  “My friend was murdered tonight, so no. I’m sorry if I don’t remember all the details. I’m still in shock.”

  Snyder glares at me then turns to David. “The captain is going to want a full report first thing in the morning. We’d better make sense out of all this crap. If we don’t get an arrest soon—”

  His threat is interrupted by commotion from an antechamber next to the rotunda. I can hear voices calling out. Officers start moving toward a doorway.

  “We found the guard!” someone shouts.

  A group of officers emerge from the hallway that leads to the gallery. A black security guard limps forward, resting his weight on two uniformed cops who walk on either side. He holds a white bloodstained cloth to his head, but he is very much alive and conscious. It’s Terrell.

  Snyder hurries toward the group. I instinctively move to follow, desperately wanting to hug Terrell and see if he’s okay. A hand grabs me by the elbow gently but firmly. David reels me in and leans into my ear. “Just wait.”

  Despite my normal tendency to ignore sound advice, I do as he instructs and stand by his side. Snyder exchanges a few words with Terrell, who is dazed but nods and shakes his head in response. I can barely make out what he says from across the room.

  “No. Someone attacked me from behind… hit me on the head… I was able to make it to the rear hall and lock the employee door behind me. I called 911. At least, I think I did. I don’t know what happened next. Then I woke up, and you guys were here.”

  He suddenly seems to notice the covered body in the center of the rotunda. Terrell’s voice echoes in the chamber. “Is that Darcy?”

  “Terrell!” I shout, wanting to put his fears at ease.

  He looks up and sees me, and the relief spreads across his face. His legs give out beneath him, but another police officer keeps him on his feet. His aged body suddenly looks much older. I break free from David and hurry to Terrell. The police officers let me by, and I grab him in my arms.

  “You’re okay!” he says, holding me tight. He sobs against me. “I thought…” He trails off. “Who’s that?”

  David is behind me and asking the question I’m thinking. “Why did you think that was Darcy?”

  I release Terrell and watch him wipe the tears from his eyes. “I was on rounds when Roger radioed from the front desk. Oh God. Roger?”

  Roger Watkins. His must have been the body the police found behind the security desk. I didn’t know him well. Roger was a security guard who usually worked the night shift. What I did know about him led me to believe he was a good guy. He was a grandfather from New Orleans, a veteran of the Vietnam War, and two years away from retirement.

  Terrell looks at me, his face pleading to know if Roger is okay. I look back, silently telling him all he needs to know. He struggles to pull himself together. I grab his hand and wait patiently for him to process the news. Fortunately, so do the officers around me.

  Terrell finally continues, “Roger—Roger said someone was here to see Darcy. I-I told him you were working in the gallery.” Terrell turns to me. “I thought that was you here tonight.”

  My stomach sinks as I turn back to the body beneath the sheet. That was supposed to be me.
Someone came to the front desk, looking for me. That person killed the front desk security guard, Roger Watkins. Then Santa Muerte came up here and found a small brunette working where I should have been. She killed Lupe, thinking it was me.

  My mind continues to race through the situation. Who asked Roger where I was? He wasn’t going to calmly radio for my location because the spirit of Santa Muerte drifted to his station. She and that owl were with someone else tonight. Who?

  “Lupe?” Terrell asks. His question jerks me back to the present. “Is that Lupe?”

  I turn to him and nod. Terrell covers his face with his hands, and I hold on to him as his legs begin to buckle again. Two people died, and it’s clearly too much for him to bear.

  “Did you see who attacked you?” Snyder asks Terrell. Then he points at me with his stubby finger. “Was it her?”

  Terrell looks at him in disbelief. “Is this a joke? Someone was trying to kill her!” he says, holding me tighter. His eyes burn into Snyder’s.

  “Okay,” David says, stepping between them. He turns to Terrell and addresses him respectfully. “Sir, why don’t we take you outside? We’ll get you something to drink and have someone look at your head.” He gestures to a uniformed officer, who tries to grab Terrell, but he shakes him off.

  “I’m okay,” Terrell says as he struggles to walk on his own. He looks at me and reaches out to squeeze my hand. “I’m glad you’re okay, Darcy.”

  Snyder watches Terrell walk out then turns to face me. Neither of us says a word, but I know that in his mind, I’ve just been removed as a suspect, and that pisses him off. He turns and stomps away.

  “Darcy?” David nods in the direction of the atrium.

  Silently, I follow him to the hall and away from the eyes of the Los Angeles Police Department. The hallway floor is littered with yellow flags indicating every single drop of blood that spilled as Santa Muerte and I went sliding along the marble hall.

  “I still need to make sense of what happened here tonight,” he says, looking at all the evidence markers as we pass. He’s talking not only to me but also to himself. “Why someone was murdered, why her heart was torn out, and what you were doing here.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “You working another case?”

  “I’m working a lot of cases.” It’s a half-truth. In my defense, one case is a lot for me these days.

  We stop at the railing that overlooks the atrium. The crack where I slammed into the tempered glass is marked with another flag of evidence. Another investigative team is checking the glass on the floor several stories below where Santa Muerte and the owl flew out the window.

  David points. “Did you see that happen?”

  I shake my head.

  “We found blood in the shards inside and out on the street. It looks like someone did a Superman out of an eight-story window.”

  He waits for me to respond. I say nothing.

  “Jesus, Darcy, you have to give me something. Are you protecting someone? Hiding from someone? There’s no way you would have touched Lupe. You know how important a crime scene is.” I can see him working the evening’s events in his mind. I keep my expression blank. “You didn’t touch her—you grabbed someone else. That’s how you got blood on your hands. Maybe you struggled with this person. Maybe this person was the assailant. I don’t know yet.”

  I still don’t say anything. My attention stays focused on the crew cleaning the glass on the bottom floor.

  “How many secrets are you keeping?”

  David, if you only knew…

  I finally turn to him. I’m reminded of how much I lie to people every day—about who I am, what I am, and what I’m doing. Some days it comes naturally, and I hate how easily I can deceive people. As much as I would love to let it all out, I can’t reveal who I truly am.

  David continues. “The best-case scenario is that we do figure out what happened here tonight—that I find out you’re lying and hiding something from me and impeding a police investigation and we charge you for obstructing justice. That’s the best-case scenario.”

  I can sense his reluctance to finish his thought.

  “The worst-case scenario is that we put this all on you.” He turns and walks away.

  Chapter 11

  ____◊____

  THE RAIN HAS PASSED. I’m not allowed to leave for another two hours. That’s how long it takes forensics to wipe down and analyze my car for evidence, from the tires outside to under the seats inside. When Paige and I settle into the car, it still reeks of isopropyl alcohol and the metallic powder residue.

  Before I pull away, Sergeant Ortiz leans in through the passenger window and comes face-to-face with Paige. My car is so small he has to take a knee to look inside. I can see his surprise when he realizes the steering wheel is on the wrong side.

  He shifts his attention to me. “Detective Resnick wanted me to remind you that you are not to leave the county without letting us know.”

  I’m aware of the drill and thank the officer for his help this evening. He points down the street to the edge of the cordoned-off area. “The officers will open a path for you to leave. Drive slowly, because there are a lot of journalists and paparazzi out there tonight.”

  “Paparazzi?” Paige asks.

  “Yeah,” he says, resigned. “Some idiot called in a fake report that a reality TV star was here tonight. Now we have to deal with this shit, too. Be safe.”

  With that, he taps the roof of my car, and I’m good to go. As instructed, I drive slowly toward the police line, where a horde of people with video and still cameras shine lights in my direction. The police open a narrow path, and I cautiously make my way through it.

  I have never had such a hard time seeing in my life. The lights are oppressively bright and sear into my retinas. Flashes pop off in rapid succession, creating a strobe effect. Video lights follow my progress as my car inches forward. Paige looks away, but I have to be careful not to hit any one of the dozens of pedestrians who press into my car. Once I’m finally past the last of them, I speed up. It’s still night outside, and the stark contrast from blinding lights to darkness takes getting used to.

  My Mini cruises through downtown for a few blocks before Paige finally asks, “What happened tonight?”

  I tell her about everything—the owl, Lupe’s dead body, Santa Muerte, the fact that Santa Muerte knows the demon’s name.

  “Holy shit. Holy shit! This could be it!” She’s excited now. “If you get the name, you can exorcise it. You need to tell Father Ramon!”

  I don’t say anything. I just park and turn off the engine.

  “Darcy?” she asks, but I don’t respond. I start crying. My eyes are closed. Paige’s arms wrap around me, trying to comfort me… trying to console me… trying to understand why I’m suddenly distraught.

  I am at a complete loss of control as my crying intensifies. The sobs come out like barks, and my body convulses. My mind races through thoughts of regret, sadness, and torment. And guilt.

  When the guilt hits, the tears come harder and faster. As much as I feel saddened by the deaths of Lupe and Roger, I’m not crying for any of them. I’m crying because of Bennet.

  * * *

  “What time is it?” I ask Paige once the tears have stopped and I’m finally breathing normally again.

  “Four a.m.,” she says, looking at her phone.

  I’ve been crying for a solid half hour. The windows of my car have fogged up completely, diffusing the city lights. I wipe the last of my tears and lean back in my seat. I would have thought that after all of that, I’d be exhausted. But I’m past that point of being tired, and I still have four cups of midnight coffee coursing through my veins.

  Paige sits there quietly. I know she wants to understand what’s going on in my mind but is willing to give me space and time to talk about it. But there’s really no good way to ever bring this up.

  “Did I ever tell you how Bennet di
ed?”

  Paige is taken aback. “You never told me exactly how. You told me it happened when Dudley had control.”

  In the three years we’ve been friends, Paige has never probed for the gruesome details, which I appreciate, because the truth is much more complicated than I ever revealed. “That’s not… entirely true.”

  Paige does her best to maintain her poker face. I take a deep breath and shudder from the cold and the anguish. “When I was possessed and they had brought me home, Bennet wouldn’t leave my room. Nearly that entire time, he stayed with me. God only knows what he heard and saw, but he never left.”

  My stomach turns.

  “That last exorcism, the priests told him he couldn’t be in my room. So he stood outside my door. I can picture him standing guard outside my bedroom on the upper landing of our house. We had a beautiful house. It was one of those old post-war colonial houses with the old wrought-iron fence all the way around—a two-story house, three if you counted the attic.

  “Bennet and I used to love sneaking out of the windows at night to climb on the roof and look up at the stars. There was practically no light pollution in Malbrook, so the sky was filled with stars. I haven’t seen so many since I left home.”

  I think back, remembering how one time we snuck out with soda and snacks so we could watch the Perseid meteor shower. We stayed up all night and were so tired the next day that we both ditched school so we could sleep.

  “Darcy?”

  Paige is looking at me, and I realize I zoned out for a while. “Sorry.”

  “Why are you telling me about the roof of your house?”

  “Because that’s where I killed him.”

  Paige covers her mouth with her hand.

  It scares me to tell her this. Despite everything we’ve been through, I still have secrets I’m not ready to share—secrets I’m afraid might be the straw that breaks the back of our friendship. “During the exorcism, I escaped. Or Dudley did. Since I was possessed, I don’t remember any of this except what happened next.”

  “What happened next?” she asks.

  “I woke up, and Bennet and I were on the roof. During my possession, I’d dragged him out up there. I was holding on to our chimney with one hand, and the other was wrapped around Bennet’s neck. I was holding him over the edge—thirty feet in the air. We were both so confused in that split second—he at seeing me regain control, I at seeing him like that. I didn’t know what was happening. It was like I’d just woken up from a dream. But when I woke, I lost the demon’s power. I lost the strength to hold him up. And I let go.”