Darlington Woods

by Mike Dellosso

  From the window, she could see most of the houses on the opposite side of the street. She'd be the first to admit she'd been a nosy old lady, but sometimes being nosy had its benefits.

  At the end of the street, just four houses up from hers and on the opposite side, was the house where the man now slept. It was a quaint little house, just a bungalow really. She'd spent many an evening in that house.

  A sense of dread and worry overcame her then. The man wasn't ready, wasn't prepared. She feared he would fail and fall prey to the pale one. After all, the pale one was here for him.

  "Prepare him, Abba. Please prepare him. He isn't ready."

  My grace is sufficient.

  It was His voice, speaking soft and gentle, speaking to her heart more than her ears. She inhaled deeply, wrapped herself in her arms, and hummed a familiar tune. She found the song comforting, an old Scottish hymn with a haunting melody. Something about the tune put her at ease, reminded her of God's goodness and provisions.

  She leaned forward to get a better look at the house across and up the street. Wilda's house.

  Her humming stopped.

  What she saw put an eel in her stomach, writhing and turning.

  "Abba, protect him. Watch over him." Her voice shook. Her words sounded hurried and panicked.

  There, standing on the front lawn of the house, under the old hickory, silhouetted by the watery light of the moon, unmoving, was the pale one.

  Stalking his prey.

  And as if he felt her stare from a hundred feet away, he turned his head and looked directly at her.

  "Abba!"

  The voice came again. My grace is sufficient.

  Shields was in there, in the house, alone and sleeping. The boy had returned. Sooner or later it was destined to happen. Twenty-two years had passed, twenty-two hard years of waiting for revenge, of planning for this moment. He had taken the opportunity time had given him to strengthen his resolve, fester his hatred, and dive deeper into the darkness that had become his religion, his life, his purpose.

  He stood outside the house, feet spread, arms relaxed at his sides, but his eyes were inside, watching the sleeping man, working into his mind, dipping into his subconscious, stirring up fear and unrest and pouring in darkness. More and more darkness.

  He loved the darkness. Fed on it. Lived in it.

  As long as Shields was here, there was hope.

  Seeing Shields in the diner had awakened his appetite, aroused his hunger. His jaw ached, his tongue lolled with anticipation. A cool sweat covered his body, and he began to tremble like a man in need of a fix. He wanted him so bad, right here, right now. He could take him, and it would all be over. Every cell in his body screamed for it.

  But his curiosity wouldn't let him. He enjoyed watching fear have its place, watching it consume and devour. It thrilled him to witness the fall of man deeper and deeper into the pit of despair, to behold the destruction of a soul as it surrendered to the darkness. He wanted to drag this out as long as he could, toy with it like a cat with the almost-dead bloodied body of a mouse. The very thought of it excited him on so many levels, more than his desire to quench his hunger now. It was the same longing that drove a murderer to torture his victim first, the same pleasure that arose from watching the helpless suffer.

  It was sick and demented and twisted... and he survived on it.

  Soon enough Shields would be his, and then it could end.

  Rob battled restless sleep. Dreams came and went like strangers soliciting miracle elixirs, selling empty promises. Here he was in the house, hitting light switches, frantically trying to find light but failing to succeed. Darkness crept into the room like a black specter slowly eating up the light, inch by inch, and creeping closer to him. Fear would paralyze him, and he would try to flee, but his feet felt like they were made of cement. Then he was in the diner, seated across from Kelly, but she wasn't paying attention to him. No matter how much he talked to her or begged her to look at him, her focus was elsewhere, somewhere behind him. He turned to find the stranger with the waxy skin and dark eyes smiling a wicked grin. His eyes were pools of death, like double gun barrels pointed at him.

  Rob would awaken after each dream, cold and sweaty at the same time, still afraid of the dark. The dream would linger in his mind, sending signals to his nerves for a few seconds, then fade like an empty echo. Over and over he would remind himself it was just a nightmare. It was just a dream. Over and over. It was OK to sleep again. He'd lie there listening to the house breathe until eventually he would find sleep, only to slip back into the discombobulated circuit of broken imaginings again.

  At some point during the early morning hours he found himself in another dream. This one fixated on Jimmy. His boy. His little man. They were in a crowd-he, Kelly, and Jimmy. People pressed in on every side, bumping shoulders, brushing arms, moving past, pushing through, talking, laughing, yelling. He looked down and made sure Kelly had Jimmy's hand.

  Then they were at a booth, some kind of vendor. Kelly was saying how cute something was, and he was stretching to see over a heavyset woman with big hair.

  Kelly was spinning around, searching the ground, the crowd, yelling Jimmy's name over and over. The panic in her eyes when she looked at Rob sent shivers through his muscles and immobilized his lungs.

  Jimmy was gone.

  Then the voices started. In his dream, Rob was standing in the middle of a frozen crowd. Jimmy was nowhere in sight. Kelly had disappeared too. It was just him in a sea of naked mannequins. Fear attacked him from all sides, binding him, freezing him. From somewhere outside the crowd, outside his dream even, a disjointed chorus of whispers like the drone of a thousand locusts increased in volume to an almost deafening level. They all seemed to be saying the same thing, but they were so out of harmony Rob could not make out what it was.

  Slowly, like the piecing together of a jigsaw puzzle, the voices unified. He could almost make out what they were saying. Almost. Then, as if someone hit a mute button, the noise stopped. Seconds passed. Rob stood amidst the mannequins, anxiety and expectation chewing at his chest from the inside. Tension built in his muscles. More seconds.

  Finally, every mannequin turned its head and faced Rob. At once, in a great whisper that sounded more like a rush of wind, they spoke.

  Rob awoke in a sweat with one whispered word on his lips: "Darlington."

  Three

  HE RINGING PHONE WOKE JULI ADAMS OUT OF A deep sleep, a peaceful sleep in which she was busy dreaming of wild stallions and wide expanses of rolling plains and pristine, mirrorlike mountain lakes.

  She rolled to her right side and pried open her eyes. The room was still dark, which meant it was still night, or early morning, depending on how you looked at it. The sun wasn't yet up; that was the point.

  The phone on the bedside table rang again.

  The digital clock numbers glowed green: two forty-four. Whoever was calling at this hour better have a good reason. She was just about to mount one of those wild stallions and ride like the wind across that plain.

  The phone sounded again, and this time she caught it mid-ring.

  "Hello?" Her voice sounded raspy even to her. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Hello?"

  "He needs your help."

  Juli recognized the voice right away, but the message was confusing. He needs your help. Who needs her help? And why at this hour?

  "Lots of people need help," she said. "Who's he?"

  "Robert Shields. You met him at the restaurant. He needs your help." The message was delivered in a slightly panicked voice. Not do-this-now-or-the-world-will-end panic but a strong sense-of-urgency panic. She quickly deduced who Robert Shields was-the stranger who'd ordered the fish and chips-but she hadn't a clue why he needed her help.

  "Fish and chips. Sure. He needs my help."

  "Your help, yes. You must go with him."

  Juli reached over, clicked on the table lamp, and then sat in bed. She switched the phone from her left ear to her ri
ght. "Do I need to pack my suitcase?"

  There was a pause of a few seconds during which Juli waited for the punch line. The caller wasn't the practical joke type, but hey, there was a first time for everything. "He's the one, Julianne. Remember, I told you?"

  Of course she remembered. "Yes. Tough to forget something like that. So he's our guy. Wilda's nephew."

  "Our guy, yes. He'll be leaving for Darlington in the morning. You have to go with him."

  OK, first, it was morning. Second, just the mention of that town sent a chill through Juli's nerves that made her skin quiver. She didn't say anything.

  The caller's voice was small on the other end. "I know how you feel about the place. But he needs you. He's not ready to do it alone. This is who you are. This is your calling."

  Still, Juli said nothing.

  "He's here too."

  Juli's breath hitched. Her hand tightened around the phone, and with the other hand she gathered a fistful of sheets. "Who's he?" She knew full well who he was but felt she needed to ask the question anyway.

  "You know."

  "I can't do it. I can't face him again. It's been too long... and no way long enough."

  "Child. Julianne. So much time has passed, and you've grown so much. The counseling, you went so far in it. We both did. We've healed so much, haven't we?"

  "I don't know if I'll ever really heal. I still have scars."

  "We both do. But you're ready. You are. You're the only one who can face him. You have to. This is your calling."

  She'd said it again. This is your calling. If it was her calling, why was she feeling so much hesitancy, so much apprehension? Shouldn't she be jumping up and down like a cheerleader at a pep rally, rejoicing that her time had finally come? But she knew it was true. She felt it. This was her calling. She'd been prepared for it, and now it was upon her.

  Juli swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat like that. "I know. But why does this have to be my calling? Why can't I be called to find good homes for mistreated kittens? Or knit prayer shawls for the homebound? Why can't I forget about him and rid my life of him?"

  There was a sigh, then, "Child, each of us is given a job to do, and we're given gifts to enable us to do that job. It's not for us to pick our job or our gifts. It's for us to do what we're called to do. You know how important this is. He won't stop until it's over, and that means we can't either."

  "Life and death stuff."

  "Yes. It certainly is. And there's been enough of the death stuff. It's time to end it."

  "Can't we just call the cops?"

  "And tell them what?"

  "Tell them he's here."

  "He'd be gone by the time they got here. You know that."

  "Then shouldn't we warn this Robert Shields? Tell him what he's up against?"

  "You can try, but it will do no good. He'll keep looking until it's over. That's why you have to go with him. It has to be you."

  Juli slid off the bed and walked across the darkened bedroom. The hardwood floor felt cool under her feet. She reached the window, pulled back the curtain, and looked down the street at the adobe-style house. "OK. But how do I know he'll listen to me?"

  "He will. He can't do it without you. He's not ready. Convince him of that."

  "Sounds easy."

  "It won't be."

  "I know."

  "Pray, child. Pray, and don't stop."

  "It's the only thing I have."

  "It's your gift."

  "OK."

  The caller disconnected, and Juli was left with a deadening silence that seemed to breathe. She suddenly felt all alone and very helpless.

  This is your calling.

  Her calling. Yes, it was. And if it was her calling, then she would succeed. Else why would it be her calling? Whether she truly believed that or had just convinced herself to say she believed it she wasn't sure, but what she was sure of was that she would not be alone.

  She realized she was still holding the soundless phone to her ear and looking out the window. Clicking off the phone, she let the curtain drop back into place. It did so as quietly as rain falls. Just as silently, like a ghost gliding above the floor, she crossed the room and returned to her bed.

  The clock read 3:02. She had a few hours of darkness left before the sun made its daily appearance, but she wouldn't be using it to sleep.

  Bowing her head, she prayed. It was her gift. And it was the strength she garnered from that simple act, the faith it imbued, that would enable her to fulfill her calling.

  Rob had no idea how long he lay awake on that sofa in the middle of that living room, but eventually the birds started up, and minutes later the sun made its entrance and the darkness succumbed to light.

  It was over.

  And, Rob knew, it had just begun. He didn't know how he knew; he just did. Jimmy was alive, out there, somewhere, in a town called Darlington. It all made sense to him now. The visions, the dreams, even the nightmares. Maybe God was telling him not to give up, to keep pressing on, to keep looking. God only knew why, but maybe He was. Kelly would want that too. And Jimmy needed him.

  With renewed purpose, Rob sat on the edge of the sofa and ran his fingers through his hair. His mind was running full speed downhill, barely in control, on the verge of wiping out. He needed to corral his thoughts or he would lose them.

  First there was Jimmy. The detective had been wrong. The forensics team was wrong. The coroner was wrong. They were all wrong. His boy was alive. He thought about calling the police and starting the search again. Somewhere, maybe in his wallet, he still had the detective's card. What was his name? Sandusky. But he quickly discarded that option. They were sure about their findings. Sandusky even said himself, the science doesn't lie. If Rob went to them and tried to convince them Jimmy was still alive based on some dream he'd had, they would certainly have no choice but to institutionalize him. And where would that leave Jimmy? He'd have to find his boy by himself.

  Then there was Darlington. The name had a strange familiarity to it. He didn't think he'd ever been there, and yet he knew it was a town in Maryland, like the knowledge had somehow been poured into his head while he slept. Again, had God told him? Or maybe it was just a common town name, like Springfield, and he'd seen it on some map somewhere.

  Not wanting to waste even one second, Rob jumped up, ran to the car, and retrieved the atlas. Standing in the driveway in nothing but his boxers he flipped to the back index, found Maryland, and scanned the names of the towns. No Darlington. He ran his finger along the names again, thinking maybe he missed it in his haste, but got the same result. Something wasn't right. He knew beyond doubt that Darlington was a town in Maryland, knew it like it was common knowledge he'd known his whole life. He wasn't wrong about that. In frustration he threw the atlas to the ground and leaned against the car, arms crossed.

  "Darlington." He said the word out loud, hoping the sound of it to his ears would trigger something in his brain. It had to be such a small village it wasn't included in the atlas. He'd have to ask around. Maybe someone at Mary Jane's would know.

  Mary Jane's was not a popular place on Sunday morning. When Rob pushed through the glass doors he quickly counted a total of seven patrons. Taking a booth in the corner, he couldn't help the bouncing of his right leg as he waited for the server. One minute ticked by, then two. He was about to get up and find someone when Juli stepped through the swinging kitchen doors, two trays of food supported at each shoulder. Their eyes met briefly; she smiled then served a table of four old men.

  Rob watched as Juli placed the plates in front of each man, endured their cheap humor, then turned and walked toward him.

  "Mornin'," she said, reaching for her order pad. "I see you came back for more. School cafeteria thing got you hooked already?"

  Rob pasted on a smile. His heart was fluttering. "Everything was great." His voice quavered slightly. "Do you know of a town called Darlington? Have you ever heard of it?"

  As if he'd just told her that her
mother died, the smile disappeared from Juli's face. She broke eye contact with him for the briefest of moments.

  "Darlington." She said it the way a child says a cuss word for the first time.

  "Darlington. Is it around here?"

  The corner of Juli's mouth dipped into a subtle frown that quickly disappeared.

  Rob tapped his finger on the table. "Juli? Where is Darlington? Do you-"

  "Have you ordered yet?" It was the older woman with the straight back and long nose from last night.

  "He was just about to decide," Juli said, not taking her eyes off Rob.

  "Are you Mary Jane?" Rob asked the woman.

  The woman tilted her head back so she could sight him down that beak of hers. "I am. What can we get you for breakfast?"

  Rob looked from Mary Jane to Juli and back. "Directions to Darlington?"

  Mary Jane snorted. "Darlington. What does anyone want with Darlington? It's barely a collection of dilapidated homes."

  "Can you tell me where it is?"

  The bell over the door chimed, and Rob noticed how Mary Jane's countenance darkened when she looked that way. Juli made a little grunting noise and shuffled her feet. Her hands twisted her apron. He turned to see Wax Man from last night standing just inside the doors, scanning the diner with those bored-out black eyes. His eyes met Rob's, held him for the briefest of moments, then he walked over and seated himself in a booth one aisle over from where Rob sat.

  "What would you like, sir?" It was Mary Jane again. And again, she looked flustered by the sight of Wax Man.

  Frustration quickly replaced whatever excitement Rob had felt. "Directions to Darlington." He noticed his voice had increased in volume. Looking around the diner, he had captured the attention of the other customers. Wax Man, however, pretended to be deep in thought, studying the menu.

  "Sir, you don't want anything to do with Darlington. You have no business going there. Now, would you like breakfast here or not?"

  Rob noticed Mary Jane's hands were trembling. She quickly moved them behind her.