Dark Roads

by Chevy Stevens

They passed my room. Vaughn’s aftershave drifted under the door. Cash chatted with him in the kitchen, spoons clattering. Vaughn promised they would play video games later. When he finally left, I used the bathroom, then headed straight for the coffee.

  Lana turned from the sink where she was washing dishes. She was humming a cheerful tune. “You’re up! Here, I made muffins.” She set one on a plate and slid it in front of me.

  So much for escaping back to my room. I slumped into a chair. “Thanks.”

  Lana sat across from me and launched into questions about my house. Like did I want any dishes, my mom’s paintings, and she told me that she’d gone over with boxes and began to sort through Dad’s personal belongings. I gritted my teeth at that. We had agreed to wait.

  “Vaughn thinks we should put your dad’s outdoor equipment on Craigslist, but we need to do it soon. He said the house is a target with no one living there now.”

  “I just woke up. Can we talk about this later?” This was the second breakfast in which Lana had tried to use her baking to soften a hard conversation. It didn’t work. The idea of Vaughn going through my dad’s things, deciding on prices, talking to people, all smooth and polite as he made them a deal, gave me a gnawing, desperate feeling. He didn’t have the right.

  “Of course. Sorry.”

  I got up quickly, my knees hitting the table and the chair sliding out loudly behind me. Lana winced, probably thinking about her wood floors. I washed my plate, refilled my coffee. I glanced over my shoulder. Lana was watching me with a concerned expression. My tone had been too abrupt. She might tell Vaughn I was rude. He might find some new way to punish me.

  “Do you need any help with chores?”

  Her face brightened. “That would be wonderful.”

  We did laundry, changed all the bedding. She vacuumed while I dusted. We even washed the windows, which she was thrilled about. “Vaughn loves coming home to a clean house.” It already seemed clean to me, but I smiled and kept scrubbing. Lunch passed, and I ate a sandwich while I hung sheets up outside in the sun. I kept looking at the shed. I wanted back inside.

  I was wiping the shelves in the fridge when I bumped into the new jug of milk and it fell out onto the tiled floor. It flowed everywhere in a white tidal wave.

  I dropped to my knees with a cloth. “I’m so sorry, Lana.”

  “It’s okay.” She crouched beside me and wiped at the cabinets. Cash had run over when he heard the noise and looked at me accusingly.

  “You spilled my milk!”

  “We’ll go to the store,” Lana said. “I need a few things for dinner anyway.”

  Perfect. She’d be gone for at least an hour. I kept my expression flat and worked on soaking up the puddle of milk.

  Cash wandered back out of the kitchen, flopped onto the couch. “I want to stay here. I’m watching my show.”

  Lana got to her feet. “Do you mind? It would give me a chance to run a few errands, and I’d love to stop by the salon and get a manicure.”

  Shit. Of course she’d want time alone. Going anywhere for a couple of hours without a kid was probably a luxury vacation for her. I tried to think of an excuse, but I had no good reason for not being willing to hang out with Cash for a while. No school. No other job.

  “No problem.”

  * * *

  I made Cash popcorn, poured some juice, and checked how far he was into his movie. I’d watched Cars so many times with him I almost had it memorized. There was an action scene coming up. If I moved fast, I should be able to get back inside before he needed anything.

  “Hey, Cash. I’m going out to weed the garden for a bit, okay?”

  “Okay.” He dipped his hand into the popcorn bowl and didn’t look up. Good. I grabbed some gloves, Lana’s bag of garden tools, and dropped them in the flower bed.

  A glance over my shoulder, a minute to pick the lock, and I was inside. The camera was still in the same spot. I pulled it down and played the video. Vaughn sitting at his desk. His shoulders were hunched, and he was wearing a ball cap. He moved in quick motions, flipping his laptop open and typing in his password with one hand. I paused the video and typed the series of numbers and letters into notes on my phone. They didn’t form a word or code that I recognized.

  Something filled his screen, a website or photos, dark colors. He took his camera out of the case, which was sitting on the desk, and plugged in a cord. He was transferring photos.

  I tried to make out the images, but all I could see were the thumbnails, and they were too small. He plugged something else into the computer. Maybe a portable hard drive.

  After a few minutes, he removed it and closed the laptop. He never checked emails or made a phone call. Never opened a file cabinet. All he did was transfer those photos. His large shape moved toward the door. He paused and looked back, and for a terrifying moment I forgot he couldn’t see me. This was recorded video, not live. The screen went black. He’d turned off the light.

  I sat in his chair and typed the code into his laptop. His desktop screen came into view. It worked! Now, which folder to try first? I clicked on a few. Taxes, banking info. One of the files was labeled “birds.” I opened it and found a series of other folders. Numbered—no names. My heart had begun to beat fast, my mouth dry. What if it was dead bodies?

  My hand hovered over the tracking pad, then I clicked. Thumbnails. I opened one and a hazy black-and-white image filled the screen. Like from a video still. I wasn’t sure what I was looking at, then I realized it was a bathroom—and the photo was aimed between a woman’s legs.

  On autopilot, I clicked through more photos. Women’s legs, underwear pulled down, a flash of a tattoo on someone’s lower stomach, bright colors, the hollow of a belly button. No faces were ever shown. I click opened another folder labeled with numbers. New images appeared. A girl sleeping in a bed, the shots grainy and blue. Then I recognized the bedding.

  My heart stilled, no longer able to keep up its frantic beat, exhausted from shock. I clicked through the photos. My face was never visible, like he hadn’t wanted to see me, just my body. My white tank top, nipples showing under the thin material, my bare legs kicking out. My underwear, the shadow between my thighs. The shots were taken from above, at an angle. I couldn’t see the window or the dresser or the closet. The camera was only aimed at the bed.

  There were shots of me riding my bike, close-ups of my butt on the seat, my bare legs, the back of my thighs. And in the bathroom. I’m undressing, pulling off my T-shirt, stepping out of my underwear. Drying off after my shower, the towel draped loosely around my chest, my wet hair on my shoulders.

  Others showed me in the distance. Sitting on the shore in a bikini, looking down, my face in shadow. The lake in the evening light. I peered closer. Jonny stood on the wharf with some of the guys. Was he wearing those shorts the night of the bonfire, when Vaughn picked me up?

  I opened the next folder. Amber and me on the picnic table—not our faces—just our mouths pressed together, hands in each other’s hair, towels around our waists, breasts touching.

  A loud slam echoed across the yard—the back door. I jerked to my feet.

  “Hailey! Where are you?” Cash.

  I signed out, slapping at the keys, closed the laptop, and shoved the security camera into my pocket. When I stepped out of the office, Cash was marching across the lawn, his gaze fixed on the flower bed on the other side of the yard, searching for me.

  “What’s going on, buddy? Movie over already?”

  He stopped, hands on hips, his bony kid’s chest bare, camouflaged shorts oversized and showing the band of his dinosaur underwear. “Why are you in Vaughn’s office?”

  “I’m not. I was checking some plants behind it.”

  “What plants?” He was walking toward me now, curious. I forgot you can’t lie to kids, not easily anyway. They wanted proof of anything different.

  “Itchy ones. They sting.”

  He stopped abruptly with his eyes wide. “Sting?”

&nb
sp; “Yup. Stinging nettles.” I headed toward him, reached down for his hand, and swung it lightly. “Let’s see if there’s any ice cream left.”

  He peered up at me, his face scrunched. “Your hand is shaking.”

  “I’m excited for ice cream. Come on, race me to the house.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I stared blankly at the TV. Cash leaned against me, laughing at the movie as if he’d never seen it before. Then he climbed down to play with his toy cars on his racetrack and asked if I could put him to bed tonight because he liked it when I read his favorite truck book. “You make the best engine noises!” But his voice seemed to be coming from far away, and I wasn’t sure if I answered.

  He was still hungry, even after the ice cream, so I got him a bag of chips, and changed the channel to Spy Kids. “Back in a minute, buddy.” I went into my bedroom and acted as if I were casually gathering a few things—phone charger, lip balm, a pair of socks—all the while hunting for Vaughn’s camera. It had to be near my bed. The dresser, window, and closet weren’t in any photos. Then I noticed the wall clock, lined up with my mattress. Of course. The asshole.

  I made myself walk back out to the living room. How could I ever shower again in this house, lie down in that bed? I thought back to the times I’d spoken on the phone and FaceTimed with Amber. Did the videos have audio too? I was glad that I had hidden in the closet when I called Jonny. I wanted to talk to him now. I had to tell him. My uncle had naked photos of me. What had he been doing with them? I thought about him touching himself while looking at me, and my body recoiled into the corner of the couch as Cash ran his toy trucks over the cushions.

  Vaughn must have been transferring the photos the night I spied on him. Creepy guys had online forums. The dark web. My photos could be on porn sites. Men all over the world might be looking at me. Fantasizing. Masturbating. And who were all those other women?

  He hadn’t taken photos—that I knew of—from the living room, but I still felt like I was being watched and kept my legs crossed and my arms over my breasts. From my spot on the couch, I glanced around. What would the camera look like? It could be hidden in anything. I was scared that somehow, just by how I walked or acted, he would realize I knew his secret. Should I take a chance, get the laptop and take it to the police?

  I didn’t have a car. Cash would follow me outside.

  Vaughn would kill me.

  When Lana came home, I thought I could escape for a while, but where could I go? She was in a rush as she dumped her purse onto the counter and said, “Can you help with dinner?” She opened the fridge and passed me vegetables.

  I chopped. I ripped lettuce. Behind me, my aunt moved around the kitchen. How could she not know that Vaughn was a creep? Wasn’t she suspicious of him at all? She’d even reminded me to keep the bathroom window open. I felt sick with hurt. Like she had betrayed me.

  The salad was finished. Lana glanced at it with a smile. “You’re an angel.” She asked me to strain the noodles, and explained how she made the sauce, pointed out the spices. I frowned at the bubbling liquid and fought back tears when I realized she was being motherly and passing on her recipe. Lana scooped spaghetti sauce onto a bowl of steaming pasta and passed it to me.

  “Ta-da!”

  I held the bowl, staring down at the food. My throat was so tight I couldn’t imagine trying to swallow a single mouthful. “I’m not really all that hungry.”

  She gave me a look. “What have you eaten today?”

  My thoughts fumbled. Had I eaten? The morning felt like years ago. The day was a void. Cash yelled, “She didn’t eat anything! Not even ice cream!”

  I smiled weakly and set the bowl on the table, moved back to the kitchen to help Lana serve the rest. I might be able to get through it. I’d watch TV later and pretend to fall asleep on the couch. I’d send Jonny a message and meet him somewhere tomorrow. Vaughn was supposed to be working late, but then I heard the truck and turned to look out the front window.

  “Can you give this to Cash?” Lana was holding out another bowl.

  “Vaughn’s home.” I almost choked on the words. Did he know I’d found the photos? What was he going to do?

  “Oh, good! He must have finished early.” She made a small motion with the bowl to get my attention. I took it and set it hard onto the wood table in front of Cash, who was playing a video game on his tablet. He looked up, startled, but I was already turning away. I’d go to the bathroom, say that my stomach cramps were back.

  Too late. Vaughn was coming through the door, his dark shape looming in the hallway, boots heavy on the hardwood. I was caught between the dining table and the kitchen.

  He was holding a bouquet of roses, his other hand around the neck of what looked like a wine bottle in a paper bag. His eyes skimmed over me, then lit up when he saw Lana.

  “There she is!”

  She spun around, laughing. He handed her the roses, pulled her in for a hug, and danced her a couple of steps around the kitchen floor. Cash giggled. I couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t move. I was paralyzed again. How could he seem so normal? It was awful watching Lana with him. She had to be oblivious, to let him touch her like that.

  When Vaughn finally released Lana, she turned to me with a smile. “Can you put these in a vase while I finish dishing out everyone’s food?” She passed me the roses in their plastic wrapping.

  Vaughn leaned against the kitchen counter, stealing bits of garlic bread while Lana admonished him. Their voices were low, intimate. I snipped the bottom of the roses. Thorns stabbed into my thumb. I gripped until blood swelled, then dropped the flowers with a cry.

  “I need a Band-Aid.” I rushed to the bathroom—the suite off Cash’s room—where I sucked at the air in heaving gasps, splashed cold water on my face.

  I pressed my palms hard against my face, squeezed my cheekbones, and stared at the side of the tub until my vision came back into focus. One of Cash’s toy trucks sat on the edge. He’d asked me to read to him later. I picked up the truck, spun the wheels, and formed a plan.

  When I felt calmer, I made my way back to the kitchen, slid into the seat beside Cash, who said sweetly, “You okay, Hailey?”

  “You bet.” I kissed his cheek.

  Lana smiled and pushed the container of Parmesan across to me. I didn’t look at Vaughn, but I could feel his presence at the end of the table. The sickeningly sweet scent of the roses was mixing with the scent of the spaghetti sauce and I wondered what would happen if I threw up all over the table. Would I be excused then? Somehow, I managed to sprinkle cheese across my sauce, blow on my spoon to cool a mouthful, and nod in approval.

  I glanced at Lana. “Okay if I read to Cash tonight? I was thinking that I could sleep on his floor—my mattress should fit.” I turned to Cash. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “He’ll never fall asleep.” Vaughn’s voice was firm. Was this what Lana thought made Vaughn such a good dad? Laying down rules? He was just a sick control freak. He’d probably become a cop so that he could make sure he never got caught while doing his dirty deeds.

  “I will. I will!”

  I kept my gaze on Lana. “The nights have been really hard, you know?” I hesitated, moved pasta around on my plate. “I start thinking about my dad, and I feel so alone…”

  Her eyes softened. “Of course. We’ll set up your bed after dinner.”

  “Thanks.” I took a slice of garlic bread. “Just until I get more settled.” Cash chattered about how we could build a fort, while I chewed slowly, nodding and smiling. I still didn’t look at Vaughn. Not once. But I heard every scrape of his fork against his plate.

  * * *

  The window wouldn’t open. I used the flashlight app on my phone to shine around the frame. Behind me, Cash was sprawled across his bed, softly snoring. Lana had drunk a lot of wine at dinner. Vaughn too. I hoped that meant they were sleeping soundly. Amber texted when she got off work at eleven, but I hadn’t answered. I couldn’t fake a normal conversation. Not when I was thinki
ng about those photos. Once I had evidence and could have Vaughn arrested, I’d tell her.

  There was some sort of childproof lock on the window—high up. The only way I was getting to it was if I moved a shelf of toys. Legos, musical instruments. Might as well have lined it with rat traps. The back door was too close to the master suite. I had to go out the front.

  I turned the bedroom doorknob slowly, holding my breath as I stared at Cash’s shape in the dark. He was still. I crept down the hallway and shoved my feet in my sandals at the entranceway. The door opened smoothly, but I used another shoe to wedge it slightly open so it wouldn’t lock behind me. Before I left the safety of the porch, I stopped and listened, let my eyes adjust. Vaughn’s police truck glowed white in the driveway, moonlight reflecting on the stripes.

  No movement in the house. No lights flicking on.

  I moved swiftly across the grass.

  It was harder to pick the lock on the shed in the dark and my fingers fumbled with the tools. Each time I broke into the shed, I risked leaving a scratch. This had to be the last time. I pleaded under my breath. Then finally a click, and the handle turned.

  Hands out, I felt my way through the room, using the glow from my phone to guide me. My knee bumped Vaughn’s chair. It was turned around. Had I left it that way earlier? I didn’t have time to think about it. I reached for his laptop—and touched a smooth wood surface. I shone my phone at the desk. His laptop was gone. I stared at the empty space.

  He must have come out here after dinner—or when I was giving Cash his bath. Did that mean that he knew I’d found out his secret? Was there a camera? I looked around the office. No lights, no small shapes. It could be hidden inside anything. I had to get out of here.

  It was easier getting back inside the house. The door closed softly. I slipped off my shoes, padded through the living room, using my cell phone screen as a light. The laptop wasn’t in his briefcase, or on the coffee table, or in the kitchen. I weighed the risk of sneaking into their room while they slept. I couldn’t do it. He’d wake in an instant, and then how would I explain myself? Maybe I could do it when he showered in the morning. I’d make it seem as though I wanted to ask Lana something.