Darkness Falls

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  An oppressively hot field of hay.

  “I need shade,” I said to Jenny and Annette. “Desperately. It’s way too hot.

  “We’re sitting in the shade!” laughed Jenny, and Annette laughed too.

  “I need more shade,” I said, fanning my face with a notebook. “This isn’t helping!”

  “It’s the humidity,” said Annette. “That was a lot of rain we had Sunday afternoon and the grass was watered during the night, which makes it worse.”

  “Between the humidity, the heat, and no cloud cover today, it’s miserable,” said Jenny.

  “I’m really looking forward to fall,” I said, taking a drink from the water bottle I’d stowed in my bag.

  “Me too,” said Annette. “Winter sounds wonderful right now, actually.”

  My phone alerted me that I had a text from Miles.

  On our way

  I texted back,

  Good!

  “The guys are on their way,” I said.

  “Thank goodness!” said Annette. “I’m so ready to get inside! I don’t even care about lunch, I just want out of this heat.”

  “Do you know what’s great about this year?” I said, putting my phone and my water bottle away.

  “Don’t make us guess, please,” groaned Annette. “My brain is too fried to come up with anything.”

  “I can think of a lot of things that are great,” said Jenny. “So which one are you talking about specifically? It wouldn’t happen to be that you and Miles are married now, would it?”

  We all three laughed. Apparently I say that a lot.

  “Well, yes, that. But also, I was just thinking how great it is that on Tuesdays and Thursdays we’re all able to meet for lunch,” I said, standing and waving as Miles, Xander, and John crossed the sweltering grass to meet us.

  “Hi,” I smiled, as they approached.

  “Hi back,” said Miles. He put his arm around me and kissed me. “Ready for lunch?”

  “Yes!” I said.

  Miles was hot, I was hot, and with his arm around me I thought I might burst into flames, but I wasn’t going to complain. I wondered if we were the hottest couple alive, and made myself laugh. I just smiled at Miles when he looked at me with a question in his eyes. I’d tell him later.

  “It is HOT!” exclaimed Xander, kissing Jenny quickly. “Let’s get inside where it’s cool.”

  “I second that,” said John, as he picked up Annette’s backpack and they held hands. “A nice snow covered mountain sounds great, right about now.”

  “Snow cone trucks aren’t just for kids. Where’s one when you need it?” exclaimed Xander, as we all made our way to the Student Center, and the food court.

  “I hope we can find a place to sit indoors,” said Jenny. “We’ll be competing with every other student who’s having lunch on campus right now.”

  “I’ll stand if I have to,” said Annette.

  “When it’s hot like this, you girls really should wait inside,” said Miles. “I know we agreed to meet at the tree, but you can always text us so we know where to find you instead.”

  “We should have!” I said. “What were we thinking!”

  “It’s easier to think when your brain isn’t swelling up from the heat,” said Annette.

  “It’s bad, but not that bad,” John laughed. “You’re just not used to it, living in the mountains all your lives.”

  “And the desert,” I reminded him. “This, is the worst of two extremes. Full sun, and humidity.”

  We reached the Student Center. The cold air that rushed out of the doors as we opened them felt unbearably good. My plan to stand there for the rest of the day was thwarted by my very own husband, who insisted on going inside and taking me with him.

  We walked down the broad corridor that led to the food court. Not quite all of the seats were taken, but the tables were. We all looked at each other.

  “What about this?” suggested Xander, pointing to a doorway with a neon sign that said O’Brien’s.

  “That gets my vote,” said Miles.

  “Mine too,” said John, moving forward with Annette.

  We all followed.

  O’Brien’s stood apart from the rest of the food court, and not only because it had walls, a sign, and a door. It was as close to restaurant dining as one could get on campus. O’Brien’s had menus and waiters, and tended to be quieter than the food court. It was also more expensive and therefore less likely to be filled with students on a tight budget, which most students were.

  “Perfect,” said John, as we filed through the door to find that there were only four people in front of us. And yay, they were together, so now it was our turn.

  “How many?” asked the hostess, as she looked up from her clipboard.

  “Six,” said Miles. “If one of the corner booths is available, that would be ideal.”

  She ran her finger down a list.

  “Right this way,” she said, picking up a handful of menus on her way past the hostess station. We followed her between rows of booths and tables until she stopped at a corner booth, as Miles requested.

  “Your server will be right with you,” she said as she handed out menus, then hastily returned to the hostess station to guide the next group of students to their seats.

  “I’m so glad you suggested this,” said Jenny, her eyes on the menu in front of her. “I forget O’Brien’s is even here.”

  “Me too,” I agreed, glancing around.

  Paper shamrocks in metallic green were scattered across the dark brown walls. The backs of the booths were high, and artificial ferns added additional privacy between seating areas. The seats were covered in a dark green fabric and the lighting was soft. A little too soft. I considered using the flashlight function on my iPhone so I could read the menu.

  The music that played was also soft, and conversation was kept low. It was a completely different environment than the bright and noisy food court on the other side of the wall.

  “I’m not sure what to get,” said Annette, forehead furrowed in concentration as she studied the menu.

  “They have good hamburgers,” said Jenny.

  “The sandwiches are pretty good too,” I said.

  A server stopped by our table with glasses of water and took our orders.

  I held my icy glass to the side of my throat, then laughed as I noticed I wasn’t the only one doing that.

  “It felt nice and cool in here for a little while, but now I feel like I’m burning up again,” I said.

  “Doesn’t seem fair, does it,” said Miles.

  “No, but this helps,” said Xander. He looked as though his glass of ice water was his new best friend.

  The server returned with our drinks, and another with our appetizers. Considering that minutes ago I thought I’d never want food again as I lay baking in the hayfield—okay, slight exaggeration—I was surprisingly hungry now.

  “I love fried mozzarella sticks,” I said, reaching for one. “They are so good.”

  Jenny glanced behind me, then glanced again, then punched Xander’s arm.

  “Ow, what?” he said a little indignantly. She whispered something to him, and he looked concerned. I watched the message as it quickly passed from John to Annette, then it was my turn. My eyes widened when I realized what all the fuss was about, and pulled Miles closer so I could tell him.

  “Pretend-Mead’s coming this way. Don’t look!”

  “I wasn’t going to,” he whispered back, putting his arm around me.

  We all waited. Jenny, and to some extent Xander, were the only ones who could really see what was going on. The rest of us watched them for any change in expression.

  I sensed darkness, and squeezed Miles’ hand. I didn’t feel dizzy though.

  “Will this do?” I heard the hostess ask.

  “Yes, this will do,” said Pretend-Mead.

  I squeezed Miles’ hand again, and he squeezed back. With Mead right behind us… there was a chance I might learn something.
/>
  I concentrated on listening. Miles and all of our friends were silent, keeping occupied with the appetizers.

  Mead wasn’t alone, he had a girl with him, I could hear her talking. I’d bet my fried mozzarella sticks she was a student.

  I heard the buzz of a cell phone. Miles’, because he took it out of his pocket, then showed me the message. It was from Xander.

  That’s my cousin, had no idea she would do something so stupid!

  I looked up to see Xander texting furiously, but no additional message came through on Miles’ phone. Xander continued to text back and forth with someone, probably his cousin. He looked irritable, then sighed and shook his head in frustration. He reached across the table and handed me his phone with a look of, “I wash my hands of this!” on his face.

  I looked at the screen. It was a text from Xander’s cousin.

  What do you want to know?

  I looked at Miles, and we both thought. Miles took the phone from me, and typed,

  Where are you from?

  I took a notebook and pen out of my messenger bag, then focused. I scooted even closer to Miles so I’d stay grounded. Whatever Trixie meant by becoming “lost,” I didn’t want to find out.

  “Where are you from?” I heard behind me.

  “The Seattle area,” Pretend-Mead replied.

  On my notepad I wrote, True. He and Ryan were from the same place. Miles read my note, then texted another question.

  Tell me about your family.

  “Tell me about your family,” Cheryl said.

  “I no longer have a family,” said Pretend-Mead.

  True, I wrote in my notebook.

  “I’m so sorry. What happened?” asked Cheryl, her voice dripping with sympathy.

  “My parents were killed when their airplane crashed,” he said, and he sounded appropriately sad.

  Dysfunction, drugs, alcohol, father disappeared, Pretend-Mead left after high school and never looked back, no contact, I wrote.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Cheryl. “What a terrible loss. How hard that must have been! When did this happen?”

  “I was in high school,” said Pretend-Mead.

  True, Pretend-Mead was in high school when Ryan’s parents died, I wrote. Miles watched as I wrote, then sent another text.

  What did you do after the accident?

  “What did you do after the accident?” asked Cheryl.

  There was silence for a few moments. I wondered what was happening, but finally Pretend-Mead spoke.

  “I went to live with my grandmother.”

  Living with his parents, I wrote. Miles texted again.

  Were your friends supportive when you lost your parents?

  “Were your friends supportive when you lost your parents?” Cheryl asked, then added, “You must have had lots of friends, you’re so likeable and easy to get along with.”

  False, but I didn’t write that down.

  “I did have a lot of friends,” said Pretend-Mead, sounding up-beat again. “You’re right, I was very popular.”

  One real friend, Ryan Mead, I wrote. Miles quickly texted.

  What happened to your old friends? Are you still in touch with them?

  “What happened to your old friends? Are you still in touch with them?”

  “I’m very close to one of them, you might say,” said Pretend-Mead, in a cheerful voice.

  I wrote furiously, he murdered Ryan Mead, his best friend!

  “How is everything?” I heard a woman say.

  I looked up and saw a concerned looking manager eyeing us. She was probably wondering why this table full of college students was entirely silent. We all tried to look a little more lively for her sake.

  “Everything is excellent, thank you,” said Miles.

  “Yes, it is. Especially the ice,” said Annette, and we all laughed appropriately. “Have you been outside this afternoon? It’s sweltering!”

  “No, I haven’t,” said the manager, looking a little less concerned.

  “It’s certainly a relief to be inside,” said Xander. “I’m not looking forward to going back out again.”

  “There’s not a cloud in the sky,” said Jenny. “It’s miserable.”

  “It sounds like it,” said the manager. “Well, if there’s anything you need, be sure and let me know.”

  “Thank you, we’ll do that,” said Miles.

  The server arrived with our food, as the manager moved on. I was chafing to get back to listening in on the conversation in the booth behind us, but the server was very friendly and it felt like an eternity before he finally took himself off to attend to another table.

  “Don’t forget to eat,” said Miles softly, as I ignored the food and sat poised to write again. “You’ll be starving before the afternoon is over, otherwise.”

  I put my pen down and picked up half of the sandwich I ordered and tried to chew and listen at the same time, which isn’t easy. Cheryl and Pretend-Mead had moved on to other subjects. He had a lot of positive things to say about himself, most of which were false or heavily embellished. He had a lot of things to say about Cheryl that weren’t true, either. She didn’t, for instance, actually have the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. That distinction belonged to some girl named Elisha Reynolds. When she laughed it didn’t make him feel happy himself, it actually annoyed him. He wasn’t having a great time talking to her, he was bored, and only there because he was putting in time with her, knowing her access to the Sociology department and its files could come in handy. She wasn’t different than other girls, she was just like all of the others who had taken no effort. What he wanted was a challenge.

  I really hoped she wasn’t falling for his act. I looked over at Miles as he texted again.

  “How do you spell your name?” asked Cheryl.

  Pretend-Mead laughed as my heart beat faster. Answer, answer, answer…

  “I’d think that you could tell me as well as I could tell you, working in the department,” he said. He was amused.

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you!” she laughed too. “I haven’t seen your personnel file, though. I’ve seen a variety of different ways to spell your first and last name, and I’m curious which it is that you use.”

  “Very well,” he said, his voice indulgent. “R-y-a-n M-e-a-d.”

  False. R-o-b W-e-s-t-i-n, I wrote, my hand shaking with excitement.

  I looked at Miles and grinned. I have the smartest husband in the world! He smiled back, and I kissed his cheek. I looked around at our friends. Annette knew, she could hear what was said behind Miles and I, but the rest had no idea that Pretend-Mead had given away his true identity. They could tell we were excited about something, though.

  Rob Westin was talking again, so I quit celebrating silently and listened.

  “Much as I would love to stay and enjoy your company, I have a meeting I must attend.”

  False. He was bored.

  “I understand,” said Cheryl. “I’ve got somewhere I need to be, too.”

  That’s true.

  “It was a pleasure, Cheryl,” Mead said as he stood.

  False. He’d been bored, but she might be useful so he’d endured it. The guy was such a jerk!

  “Yeah, it was fun,” Cheryl replied. “See you later, Professor.”

  She really thought it was fun? Oh my goodness.

  “He’s gone,” said Jenny in a normal tone of voice, and we all relaxed.

  A blond-haired, blued-eyed girl who I assumed must be Cheryl, bounced over and plopped down next to Jenny, bringing her plate with her. She saw Miles and I, and her eyes got a little larger.

  “Thanks, Xander,” said Miles, handing back his phone.

  “Sure,” said Xander. “Everyone, this is my cousin Cheryl, by the way. Jenny, I had no idea insanity ran in the family. It’s got to be all on her side, though, so don’t hold it against me. I’m sure our future children will be unaffected.”

  I managed not to laugh, although smiling was impossible to avoid. Everyon
e else smiled too, but Cheryl did laugh.

  “I’m not insane, I’m undercover!” she said, then looked at Miles and me. “Did that help?”

  “Yes...” I said slowly. “It helped a lot. We have what we were looking for. So now, please, stay away from him. The guy is dangerous, all anyone is worth to him is what he can get out of them.”

  “Okay,” she said seriously. Then her bounciness returned, and her eyes shone again. “I’m glad I was able to help, though!”

  “You did, but like Anika said, please stay away from this guy from now on,” cautioned Miles. “I’m Miles, by the way.”

  “I’m Anika,” I said, and waved.

  Her eyes shone even more. What’s the deal?

  “I’m Annette.”

  “Hi, I’m John.”

  “Hi, I’m your cousin Xander, and I am so upset with you I’m ready to call your mother!”

  Cheryl laughed him off, and waved back at everyone.

  “It’s great to meet all of you,” she said. She turned part of her attention to the food in front of her, which reminded me, I should too.

  Everyone got back to eating. Afternoon classes would start soon, and most of us had one we needed to get to. Like every other student and professor on campus, we preferred Tuesday/Thursday and Monday/Wednesday classes over Monday/Wednesday/Friday. Who wouldn’t love a three day weekend every week! It meant on Tuesdays and Thursdays we had one class right after another for most of the day, though.

  “I’ve heard all about you,” said Cheryl, looking my way. “I saw the History Detectives episode you were on. It’s so cool how you solved that mystery!”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “I can’t imagine how exciting it would be to solve something like that,” she said, and stopped for a bite of her pasta dish.

  I looked up at Miles. It was exciting about a month and a half after we solved it, but more like utter and complete agony until then. She didn’t exactly ask a question though, so I didn’t comment. I took a big bite of my sandwich instead.

  “And then last year!” she continued. “I can’t even imagine how exciting that must have been!”

  I looked at her funny. If she was talking about being held at gunpoint by a guy who wanted to kill me and Miles and make it look like he’d murdered me and then committed suicide, uh… exciting isn’t the word I’d use. Maybe Xander was right, and she wasn’t quite in touch with reality.