Nightfall

by Douglas, Penelope

  I squinted, seeing the black strapless costume—like a ballerina or something.

  Was she dead? I covered my mouth with my hand, my legs fighting with the urge to bolt, but fear kept me rooted.

  Walking to the grass, he leaned over and threw her to the ground, her body hitting hard right next to the already disturbed soil around McClanahan’s grave.

  I reached into my pocket, not taking my eyes off him as he trudged back to his car and pulled a shovel out of the trunk.

  But my phone wasn’t in my pocket. I blinked, feeling the key, but I didn’t have my cell. I searched the other one, coming up empty, as well.

  Shit.

  I didn’t know if I wanted to call for help or record this, but either way, I was out of luck.

  He came back to the grave and started digging up the soil again, and I clutched the sides of the tall headstone, watching him.

  Who was he? God, was he crazy or just stupid? We lived on the coast. Take a boat out, weight the body down and toss it overboard, for crying out loud.

  I blinked, remembering myself. It wasn’t like I’d thought about it or anything.

  The wind kicked up, blowing the sheet off her face, and I looked down at her, my mouth going dry. She didn’t look familiar, but I wasn’t really close enough to tell. At first glance, she looked my age, but the way the skin fit around certain parts of her body told me she wasn’t. Maybe twenties or thirties.

  I looked around, hoping the caretaker might be making the rounds or kids would be coming back to party some more, but we were completely alone out here now.

  He dug for another minute and then stopped, his shoulders slumped as he stared down at the body, almost in a daze.

  And all of a sudden, I was him. In his shoes, standing where he was. I’d just killed someone, and I was getting rid of the evidence.

  Raising his black boot, he slowly lowered it to her neck and pressed down, watching her and baring his teeth.

  Anger.

  He was angry.

  And despite everything in my head telling me this was a horror, I couldn’t run. I couldn’t stop watching.

  He could be a serial killer. A rapist keeping her quiet forever. A predator of innocents.

  She might not even be dead yet. I could run, get help, and save her life. At the very least, put him behind bars.

  But then he started sobbing, shaking and gasping, and I was him. I would be him if I let Martin push me enough.

  Someday, at some point, it was coming. I’d lose my mind and just fight. Fight until either he or I stopped breathing.

  A breeze swept through the trees, his hood blew off his head, and I blinked, seeing Damon Torrance standing there with the shovel in his hand and the body of a dead woman at his feet.

  I sucked in a breath and his eyes shot up, his whole body freezing as our eyes locked.

  Shit.

  My blood drained, and I couldn’t inhale.

  He dropped the shovel and headed toward me, charging hard and steady down the small hill as I stumbled backward, too scared to take my eyes off him.

  Something caught my eye, and I looked behind him, seeing the woman’s hand flop over and her head move.

  “She’s moving,” I choked out, hitting the back of a crypt.

  He stopped about two feet from me, holding my eyes for a moment.

  Slowly, he turned, looking over his shoulder at her. Her finger twitched, and I noticed the tears still hanging at the corner of his eyes.

  The wind continued to glide over the headstones, the scent of his cigarettes wafting around me, and at this moment, I thought I would’ve liked to be him.

  He was going to get away with this. What would we all do if we could get away with it?

  Maybe I was lucky to never have to find out. Maybe he was because he could escape his pain.

  “Who is it?” I asked softly.

  I took in their hair. Hers and his. The same jet black, so dark it almost shimmered blue in the moonlight. The same skin, pale and translucent like they were made of marble.

  I looked at her costume. “Your mother?” I whispered.

  I’d heard she was a ballerina back in the day.

  He turned back around, guarded but trembling a little.

  I tried to catch my breath. “Did Will have any part of that, Damon?”

  He shook his head.

  He stepped toward me, and I held my breath, closing my eyes and waiting for it.

  But he didn’t touch me.

  He just closed the distance and hovered, and I couldn’t move if I tried. My head swam.

  “Not going to fight me again?” he murmured.

  It took a moment, but I raised my eyes, meeting his. “It’s easier to pretend that we’re in control of everything that happens to us.” I repeated his words. “It’s almost peaceful. To just let it be.”

  He stared at me and then… nodded. He touched my face, and I jerked away, but then he brought up his hand, showing me the blood he’d wiped off.

  I touched my face, too, patting the scratch. Was that from Martin or the escape?

  “Does Will know?” he asked, rubbing my blood between his fingers.

  “No.”

  He lifted his gaze to mine. “Because he’s the one pure, beautiful thing untainted by ugliness,” he repeated his same words from the shower. “And we love him for it.”

  I remained still despite everything shattering inside and the ache in my throat from the cry I held back.

  Turned out that maybe the Horsemen weren’t what I’d thought, and while money may pay off the consequences, it still didn’t prevent some kinds of pain.

  He turned his head, looking at the body again. “She started fucking me when I was twelve,” he whispered. “After a while, you get tired of pretending that you’re in control of everything that happens to you.” He paused, turning to me again. “And you start being what happens to everyone else.”

  Spinning back around, he walked over to his mother, crouched down next to her body as he faced me, and wrapped his hand around the front of her throat.

  I watched as his fingers curled, tightening, and the whites of his knuckles flashed in the dark.

  He lifted his eyes to mine, watching me as I watched him. My toes curled, my reflex to run, but…

  I felt it. My hand, not his. My fingers hummed, slowly balling into fists, and I breathed heavy, feeling my heart pound and the bile rise up my throat, but…

  God, I wanted to be him. I wanted to do it.

  I liked this feeling.

  I wanted to kill, and I squeezed my fists until they ached, but I didn’t move until she stopped jerking and gasping and shaking, one of her legs dipping over the side of the grave.

  Damon held my eyes the whole time.

  The part of me that always gave in to tears was gone. Tears solved nothing.

  I didn’t know when I started toward him, but in a moment, I was next to the grave, holding out my foot and helping him push her into the hole. Her body hit the soil, dirt smearing her legs, feet, and arms as he grabbed the shovel. I dropped to my knees, hurriedly helping him push the earth on top of her with my hands.

  We didn’t talk. I didn’t even think we really realized what was happening or what we were really doing, but it was too late now. Even if I turned him in for murder, I’d helped him dump the body. It was too late to panic.

  And although I feared what I’d feel tomorrow in the light of day with a clearer head, I couldn’t push the dirt in fast enough tonight. I wanted her to fucking die.

  When we’d covered her as much as we could, Damon carried the sheet and the shovel back to the trunk, while I stepped on top of the grave, packing the soil.

  I gazed at the grass around us. It was a mess. They must use a blower or something to clean up the soil scattered around the grass, but we didn’t have that right now. What if they noticed?

  Just then, a drop of rain hit my face, and I looked up to the sky.

  A few more drops of cool water hit, and I c
losed my eyes, almost smiling.

  Damon rushed back over, helped me finish flattening out the dirt, and then pushed me off, dropping to his knees and running his hand over the grave, getting rid of our footprints.

  “The rain will muddy it,” I told him. “Maybe they won’t notice it was dug up.”

  He nodded. “Get in the car. Now.”

  God, he was probably going to kill me next, but I didn’t think. I ran over, opened the passenger door, and climbed into his BMW.

  BMW.

  I’d seen this car before. Somewhere.

  But I shook my head.

  Of course, I’d seen it before. Everyone at school knew the Horsemen’s vehicles.

  Damon slammed the trunk shut and climbed into his seat, rain starting to pummel the roof, and I stared out the window at McClanahan’s grave, dirt kicking up at each heavy drop.

  We shouldn’t have dumped her here. Where did he get that idea?

  That grave was important. Damon and his pals revered it. How could he put her there? Wasn’t that like desecrating McClanahan’s memory or something?

  I mean, I guess it seemed smart. Hide a body where no one would think it was odd to a find a dead body, especially since that grave was freshly dug and there was a good chance no one would notice it had been disturbed again, but anyone could’ve seen us. Maybe someone did.

  I looked around, scanning the tree line and hedges. Looking for any flash of movement among the crypts and headstones.

  I stuck my thumbnail in my mouth tasting the dirt on my finger and feeling it in my sweater.

  I looked over at Damon, who still hadn’t started the car.

  He gripped the wheel, his bottom lip trembling as he stared through watery eyes out the windshield.

  “I didn’t love her,” he said, almost to himself.

  But his face was twisted in sadness and despair as tears spilled over, falling down his dirty face.

  “I don’t know why it hurts,” he told me. “I didn’t love her.”

  “You did,” I said, but it came out as a whisper. “You learned how to love from her.” I turned my eyes back out my window, staring at the grave. “This is what it looked like.”

  My parents raised me, but so did Martin. He shaped me.

  No wonder I couldn’t give Will what he wanted.

  Tears finally hit my eyes until everything was so blurry that I couldn’t see.

  Damon took off, and I didn’t know where we were going, but when he pulled into the school parking lot, I was a little relieved.

  I didn’t want to go home.

  And I couldn’t like this. I needed to find some clean clothes. The clock on the dash read 2:02 a.m.

  Damon drove around the school, to the rear, and parked between the buses and the field house.

  He killed the engine, reached into the back and pulled out a baseball cap, and threw it at me as he pulled up his hood.

  “Put it on,” he said. “And let’s go.”

  I hesitated, my natural inclination to argue or demand answers, but…he seemed to have a plan, at least, and I couldn’t even remember my own name at the moment.

  I slipped on the hat and exited the car, following him to the door as he pulled out a set of keys.

  How he had keys to the school, I had no idea, and I didn’t give a shit.

  He unlocked the door, and I hurried inside, following him through the boys’ locker room. He grabbed two towels and led me into a huge shower with multiple heads, slinging the towels over a divider.

  I looked around as he started the water.

  The girls had separate stalls. Some privacy, at least.

  “Clothes off,” he told me. “Now.”

  He pulled off his sweatshirt and started undoing his pants, and I opened my mouth to protest, but I clamped it shut again.

  He wasn’t killing me, I guess.

  He stripped off his clothes, and slowly, I did the same, just running on autopilot now.

  I unhooked my overalls, pulled my sweater over my head, and discarded everything—my shoes, socks, and even my underthings, too scared of the slightest evidence.

  We both dipped under our respective showerheads and rinsed, blood dripping off his body and down the drain. I spied a black rosary hanging around his neck and down his chest. Did he wear that all the time?

  I closed my eyes, shivering under the water.

  “You know who my father is, right?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “And you know what will happen to you if you breathe a word of this.”

  I opened my eyes and looked over at him, meeting his eyes through the locks of hair in my face.

  “I know better,” I mumbled. “I don’t have your money to get out of this.”

  He regarded me for a moment and then dipped down, rubbing at his legs and then arms.

  I couldn’t stop shaking, my stomach churning as the water ran over the cut on my eyebrow, stinging.

  “Maybe I’ll return the favor someday.” He stood back up. “When you’re ready to deal with him.”

  His eyes fell down my body, taking in all the bruises he’d already seen.

  “I’m a loose end,” I pointed out. “Why didn’t you kill me when you saw me see you there tonight?”

  He looked like he was thinking about it.

  But instead, he asked, “Why didn’t you run when you saw me?”

  He was right. I’d willingly inserted myself.

  And why? To help him? I didn’t even like him, and how did I know what he was telling me was the truth? Maybe his mom was the nicest person in the world.

  I’d gambled everything on his word. And for what?

  I shook my head, trying to clear it. “There’s a…” I swallowed, raising my hand to my head. “There’s a tear in the membrane today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  He stared back at me, silent.

  I dropped my eyes, remembering how it felt. How I watched him and imagined what it would be like to kill someone you hated.

  “I wanted to see you throw her away,” I whispered.

  He stood there, quiet, as if studying me or trying to figure something out, and then he sighed, rubbing the water all over his face.

  He cleared his throat. “I have a sister,” he told me. “Her name is Nik, but everyone calls her Banks.” He met my eyes again. “If something happens, and I can’t be there for her—if they arrest me for this—you need to go to my house and help her. She doesn’t have anyone else. You understand?”

  Huh?

  “You’re asking me?” I looked at him, confused. “Why?”

  He had tons of people he could count on.

  But he just turned around, shut off the water, and raised his arms, smoothing his hands over his hair. “I’m not sure anyone else would’ve helped me bury a body,” he murmured.

  Water poured over me as he stood there, and I looked up, noticing small scars on the underside of his arms.

  Not even his friends?

  “She’s your age,” he told me. “No one knows about her, and don’t ask why. She’s doesn’t have anyone but me. Promise me.”

  It took a moment, but I finally nodded. “A sister. Nik. My age. Got it.”

  He smiled, small but genuine, and he grabbed the towels, walking over and shutting off my shower, handing me one.

  “A tear in the membrane…” he mused to himself, putting his arm around me and pulling me out of the shower. “Come on. Let’s go find Will.”

  Will

  Present

  Of course.

  Of course, she wanted to run, because that’s all she ever wanted to do.

  But rather than be hurt about it, I was pissed now. I made excuses years ago—I wasn’t good enough for her or she had too many hang-ups to let herself want me, but now, there was no doubt. She was the selfish, heartless, waste of time Damon always said she was for rejecting me, and she could fuck right off.

  I didn’t need anyone to save me, and I didn’t need her for anything.
<
br />   Reaching down, I pulled her off Alex, hearing her shirt tear as I threw her back and out of the way. If she was actually going to leave without me, then she could stay here without me, too. Goddammit.

  She lunged again, diving down for her bag of food, but I grabbed her by the collar, scowling down at her.

  “You must be high if you think you’re going anywhere,” I said.

  She shoved me, her glasses somewhere on the floor as Alex climbed to her feet.

  “Didn’t you ever wonder what Damon and I were doing together that night you found us at the school?”

  My eyes twitched, and she chuckled to herself.

  “You don’t even want to know what really happened the day you got arrested, either, do you?”

  “I know what happened,” I growled.

  She laughed again, but her eyes fell, and I saw tears pooling. “Yes. Everything except my side of the story, and maybe you would’ve done things differently and you would still hate me for what I did even if you knew the whole story, but maybe you’d let me say words that need to be said, but you won’t. You know why?”

  I heard movement upstairs, and I knew we needed to hide. Right now.

  “Because you don’t want to deal with things,” she whispered. “Damon knew it. I knew it. Everyone knew it. You didn’t have problems, because you didn’t want problems. You let the current carry you and c’est la vie.”

  My fists tightened around her shirt.

  “You were the child everyone protected,” she went on. “Damon said you were untainted by anything bad, and that’s what made you special to us. That quality needed to be preserved.”

  They talked about me? Together? Behind my back?

  “You never thought it was odd?” she pressed. “Damon and I had hated each other. What were we doing that night? How come I was the only person to know about his sister?”

  I assumed she was talking about Banks and not Rika. None of us found out about Banks until more than a year after we’d gotten out of prison.

  Emmy knew about her in high school?

  She held my eyes, the tears in them shaking. “Why did you never ask these questions?”

  “Because I—”

  “Because you didn’t want to know the answers,” she told me, cutting me off. “If you didn’t know what was going on, then you didn’t have to deal with it.”