The Dark of You

by Shade, S. M.

  “Hey, tell me what that asshole did.” This has to be about Howie.

  “I went to visit him and see if he wanted to have lunch with us. He looked at me like I was garbage. Told me to leave him alone. When I asked him what I did wrong, he laughed. He said he just wanted to see what it was like to fuck me. He heard that foster trash are easy to get in bed and they give good blow jobs.”

  Before she finishes the sentence, I’m planning revenge on that entitled prick. “Listen to me, Thea. You aren’t an idiot. He’s a lowlife, and you can do way better.”

  During the next twenty minutes, while I do my best to console my friend, I’m also planning what I’m going to do. Once she’s calmed down, and about ten minutes before I’m due back from lunch, she excuses herself and goes to the bathroom to wash her face before returning to work. I head over to the electronics store.

  A bonus of being at my job and doing it well for these past months is that I know every blind spot where the cameras don’t reach. It’s going to work to my advantage now. Howie’s the only salesman on duty in the electronics store. He’s helping another customer when I walk in, and I pick up a cheap pack of batteries—something to justify why I’m there—before I wander over to the display of Palm Pilots. It’s crazy that this is one of the blind spots since it’s the latest gadget, in high demand, and expensive.

  Thea hasn’t introduced us and though he’s probably seen us together, he doesn’t recognize me when he approaches. He instantly begins a sales spiel about the Palm Pilots, not realizing I have one in my hand held just out of sight.

  “Actually, I’m Darcy, Thea’s friend. I wanted to talk to you.”

  The sneer on his face shows she’s at least mentioned me. “What? Did you come to defend her honor?” He scans my body, then grins at me. “Or were you hoping for a turn?”

  With a flirty smile, I move close to him, and he leans over when he sees I want to whisper in his ear. “I just wanted to come and let you know that you’re a piece of shit.” My words don’t matter, they’re only a distraction to get me close enough to him. The douchebag always wears a baha hoodie, and it’s perfect for what I’m about to do. He doesn’t feel me slip the new Palm Pilot into the big front pocket.

  He steps back and laughs. “Get the hell out of here before I have you thrown out.”

  I’m not the one about to be escorted off the premises. “Just thought you should know,” I chirp and head up to the cashier to pay for the batteries I don’t need.

  As soon as I’m back up in my office, I call the head of security. “Don, hey, I saw something when I was on my lunch break. An employee stealing.”

  “Cash from the register?” he asks.

  “No, merchandise from the electronics store. Tall guy that works there stuck something in his front hoodie pocket. I couldn’t tell what, but it was definitely from the shelf.”

  “I’ll check it out.”

  The next few minutes are the most entertaining I’ve experienced in this room. I watch as Don enters the electronics store and walks up to Howie. Howie steps back, waving his arms around, arguing. You can read the offense in his body language at the audacity of the accusation. Finally, he holds his arms out and mouths, “Fine.”

  Don reaches into the front pocket and produces the Palm Pilot. The stunned shock on Howie’s face is amazing. It’s almost as satisfying as the ensuing argument that ends with him being led away by security.

  The police show up, but there are no cameras in the little room where they question shoplifters, so I can’t see what’s going on. Eventually, the cops leave, and Howie’s escorted out soon after. He didn’t get arrested, but he’s fired. Thea won’t have to worry about seeing him every day.

  Thea rushes to meet me after work. “Oh my god, did you hear Howie got fired? He was stealing!” A realization seems to strike her that it’s my department. “Oh! Of course you saw. Are you the one who caught him?”

  “I reported him. Don caught him.” My tone is nonchalant. I’m not going to mention what I did unless she asks.

  She’s in a much better mood while we wait at the bus stop outside the mall. “He was such a dick. I’m glad I won’t have to see him again.”

  As if her words conjured him, Howie steps around the corner of the bus shelter. “You got me fired, you fucking whore,” he snaps. He’s talking to Thea, not me, and she blinks in surprise.

  “What are you talking about? You were stealing.”

  “No, you know I didn’t take shit. You sent your friend in there to set me up. She put it in my pocket.” He gets in her face. “I could’ve gone to jail. I lost my fucking job. You’re going to take your ass in there and tell them what you did.”

  “She didn’t do anything!” I yell, trying to get between them.

  He grabs Thea’s hair, and she screeches when he pulls it, trying to force her to go back to the mall.

  She manages to get away from him for a second and before he can grab her again, I deliver a hard, well aimed kick that lands directly on his nuts. He squeaks and drops like a bag of sand, cupping his genitals.

  It’s my turn to grab his hair and jerk his head back. “Leave her alone, or I’ll fucking kill you. You hear me?” When he doesn’t answer, I kick him again, this time in the face. It probably wasn’t hard enough to break his nose, but it sure makes it bleed.

  The bus pulls up at that second, and the driver—who knows both Thea and I well—stares down at the three of us. “Are you ladies okay?”

  “We’re fine. He was hurting her.”

  Thea steps onto the bus when I urge her, and the driver asks, “Do you want the cops?”

  “Nah.” I glance back at the guy still crouched on the sidewalk, one hand on his crotch and one trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose. “I don’t think he’ll try that again.”

  The driver laughs, and we take a seat up front. Once we’re moving, Thea turns to look at me. “You kicked his ass.”

  “Always go for the junk. Drops them quick.”

  She starts to laugh, and it’s contagious. Still giggling, she asks, “Did you set him up?”

  With a shrug, I bite back a smile. “Foster trash has to stick together.”

  Thea throws her arms around me. “I’ll always have your back.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Without my writing, I don’t know how I would’ve made it through the last two weeks. There’s a hollow space inside of me that grows every day with Reeve’s absence. I don’t know how I can be so empty, yet feel too much all at once. Regret is thick. Why did I push him when he made his boundaries clear?

  I’ve barely eaten or showered. There’s no desire to take care of myself. As soon as I’m awake and the realization hits me again that I’ve lost him, I bury myself in writing to hide from the horrible ache. It’s kept me going until today. This is the first time I’ve sat in front of the laptop and nothing has come out.

  It’s a familiar feeling. Not writer’s block, but burnout. I’ve hit a wall and need a little break before I can come back to it. Fear fills me at the prospect. How will I make it through the day?

  There’s not much of the day left, I notice, when I wander into the sunroom. My sleeping schedule has been nonexistent. I write, I sleep, I write again, with no concern for the clock or the cycle of night and day.

  Staying awake all night with nothing but my thoughts will be even worse. For the first time since I fled their house in the early hours of the morning, I wonder about the two little girls. How are they doing? They’re still stuck in the same horrible situation. Anger at Reeve wars with the pain of missing him because I’m not the only one left miserable at his failure to follow through. We were supposed to save them.

  Why should they continue to suffer?

  Reeve did one thing for me, despite the state I’m left in. He showed me who I am. He freed me.

  I’m going to free them.

  The supplies are still in my trunk, but that plan isn’t something I can do alone. I’m not strong enough to
kidnap him, or to hide the body, even if I had a place in mind. No, I’ll have to kill him where he lies, while he’s asleep. There’s nothing linking me to this man, and I can’t imagine I’ll be a suspect as long as I don’t leave any evidence behind.

  Just a few months ago, these thoughts would have terrified me, but not anymore. I’m going to be the person I would’ve loved to have on my side when I was in their position.

  As soon as midnight arrives, I park my car where it isn’t likely to be seen, then make my way through the woods with a taser attached to my waistband, and a hunting knife tucked into my pocket. The fear I felt last time I peeked through their windows isn’t present this time. Only determination and hate.

  Hate for the man who’s about to die. Hate for the people who hurt me and failed me over the years. Hate for the one I love so much it twists my insides just to think of him. He should be here. How dare he do this to me? Change everything and then run away.

  Never mind him. He isn’t here, I am, and I have a job to do. Like last time, the girls are sleeping in their room. Once I see the man is asleep in the living room, I creep around to the back. I don’t have a plan to get in, but the other two times I was here, there was at least one window open. It shouldn’t be hard.

  It turns out I don’t need to worry. The doorknob to the back door turns easily in my gloved hand. The foul smell of old food and dirty dishwater strikes me when I step inside. It’s a strange feeling, standing in someone’s home in the middle of the night when they aren’t aware. Scary, but somehow powerful. Is this how Reeve felt when he showed up in my sunroom the first time?

  Fuck, everything leads back to him. I’m never going to get him out of my head.

  My footsteps sound too loud on the crumbling tile no matter how softly I tread. The only other noise in the house comes from the TV, where some action movie plays. From the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, I can see the light it casts flashing onto the living room wall. For a long minute, I’m stuck there, listening, making sure I haven’t been heard.

  Ten careful steps bring me to the living room doorway, and my heart begins to race at the sight of him. Sprawled out on the sofa, he’s asleep with one leg hanging over the side and his foot on the ground. He doesn’t stir when I draw closer.

  The weight of the knife in my hand feels right. It’s supposed to be there. Like I’m supposed to be here. A fast food wrapper lies balled up beside him. I wonder if the girls got to eat too? Chances are he only bought for himself. Well, it’s the last time he’ll neglect them. The thought of the girls just down the hall sets an alarm off in my head. This man, he deserves to die, but what about them? The plan Reeve and I devised would have had them wake up alone, but not in a murder scene.

  Standing over him, my hand twitches with the urge to drive the knife down into his heart. Or drag it across his throat. It’s a difficult compulsion to resist. Isn’t that why I came here? Why resist?

  Because they’ll find him.

  Those two little girls who have been through so much will wake to find their father slaughtered in their home. They’ll see the pale, dead body, the glazed empty eyes that I saw at their age. They’ll see the blood.

  It’ll turn their world red.

  This was stupid. A stupid, impulsive act. I can’t do this. My hand shakes as I put the knife away.

  One step backward is all I get before bloodshot eyes pop open and stare into mine. If I expect anything, it’s a shout. What else would you do coming out of a dead sleep to see a stranger in your house? I’m not sure what’s more terrifying, the speed with which he gets to his feet, or the way that he does it in silence without the least sign of shock or surprise. Maybe he wasn’t asleep, heard me come in, and waited. I don’t know.

  Instinct alone drives me backward right before he can grab me. There’s no time to get the knife back out. All I want is to put some space between us. He’s right on my heels as I dart through the house and out of the back door.

  “Get back here, you fucking bitch. Think you’re going to rob me.”

  He has no idea of my real intention. It doesn’t matter now. Thankfully, I got just enough of a head start to stay ahead of him, though the woods slow us both down when I run to them for cover. He never gets far enough behind for comfort, and I don’t know what to do. Running to my car isn’t an option. Even if he doesn’t catch me, he’ll have seen too much. I’ll go to jail.

  This got out of hand so quickly. About halfway through the woods, I feel his hand grab the back of my jacket, and the sound of the material tearing echoes through the trees. My back slams into the ground hard enough to jar my bones and knock the wind out of me.

  He straddles me, and putrid breath is laughed into my face. “Ha, look at you now. Came to take my shit, didn’t you? That’s what you bitches do. Let a man work hard, then come and take it all.” He starts unfastening his pants. “Only one thing you’re getting from me, whore, and I’m going to make sure you don’t like it.”

  Anger overcomes my panic. No. He’s not fucking me. I won’t let that happen. He laughs when I wriggle under him. In his drunken attempt to get his jeans and underwear down, he doesn’t notice my hand delve into my pocket. It isn’t until he tries to unfasten my pants that I make the move. With him sitting on me, he’s an easy target and never sees the knife coming.

  For the second time in my life, I drive a blade into a man. This time, I’m careful not to let my hand slip down. Even in the middle of all this, I realize I can’t leave any of my blood behind. The blade slides into his soft belly, just under his ribs, and he lets out a sound like the bleat of a sheep. His eyes widen, and he stares down in disbelief.

  It isn’t good enough. It’ll take too long for him to bleed out. Before he can react, I withdraw it and shove it into his chest as hard as I can. Blood seeps out of the first wound, dotting my shirt, and I shove him over while rolling in the opposite direction. I’m free of him just in time for his body to collapse in the dirt.

  My feet scramble against the ground, pushing me back away from him. Oh god. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I never should’ve come here. My body shakes too much to stand up, but I scoot back a good distance until my back touches a tree. My eyes never leave the body lying on its side in the dirt, a knife still jutting out of the chest.

  Is he dead? He must be. That was right in the heart, it had to be. He’s not breathing. A snap of a branch in the distance makes my head whip around, but there’s no one there. “Reeve,” I sob. “Please be watching. Please help me. I need you.”

  Desperation makes me call for him when I know he isn’t there, but part of me still hopes to see him step out of the woods. The silence which answers back breaks my heart all over again. After only a minute or two, I do my best to pull myself together. There are things that have to be done if I have a prayer of getting away with this.

  Some things still work in my favor. There’s no connection between me and this man. I’m not hurt or bleeding. There’s always the possibility that I left a hair or something behind, but not a fingerprint. The gloves made sure of that. My worry was that the girls would find him, but that’s not as likely now that we’re a quarter mile away from his house. He’ll be found, no doubt, these aren’t thick woods and they back up to a few different neighborhoods.

  The knife. A shudder runs through me when I realize I can’t leave it. Fingerprints or not, I can’t risk leaving the murder weapon. You can do this, I whisper to myself. Just do it fast, then you can go. Just do it fast.

  Terror injects ice into my bones when I approach him. My mind fills with images of him suddenly leaping to life, the way he did when I thought he was asleep. Every step toward him is harder than the last. With a deep breath, I count in my head. One, two, three. The knife is harder to pull out than I expect, but two hard jerks later, it’s finally in my hand.

  I take a moment to look around and make sure there’s no evidence of me present. My jacket ripped when he grabbed me, but only on a seam. No scraps are
missing. It’s still scary to turn my back on him, and multiple times on my hike through the dark woods, I look back to make sure I’m alone.

  Luck is with me tonight. Not a soul is in sight on my walk to my car, and I don’t pass another vehicle on the drive home. I’m exhausted, but my night isn’t over yet. Once I’m home, I wash the blood off the knife, then put it in a bucket of bleach and soap to soak away any microscopic bits caught in the handle. My clothes are set aside to burn. It’s the second outfit I’ve lost to blood. What has happened to my life?

  After a hot shower, I stand naked in front of the mirror, examining my body. There’s not a scratch on me. As much as I want to drag myself to bed, I head out to the firepit to burn the clothes I was wearing. When I return, I dump out the bucket of bleach, rinse the knife, and tuck it in the space behind the bathroom cabinet until I can dispose of it.

  What I’m counting on more than anything is that there’s no reason for me to be suspected. As far as anyone knows, I don’t know that man, never had a run-in with him. He’s a poor alcoholic who lives on the rough side of town. I’m a wealthy author who lives in a beautiful house miles away in the forest. No connection whatsoever.

  If we can get away with the senator, I can get away with this. For the first time since Reeve left me, I crawl into bed and sleep eight straight hours.

  My body aches when I wake in the mid-afternoon. I guess a run through the woods and fight to the death will do that. My legs are sore, and my shoulder screams at me when I move it. My mind feels blissfully blank while I crawl out of bed to hunt down a couple of painkillers. After washing them down with a drink of coffee, I wrap a throw blanket around me and settle down in front of the TV with my mug.

  Rain pours outside the windows while I flip channels until I find the local afternoon news program. There’s no mention of a body found, or a man missing. He’s probably still lying out there in the woods, rotting in the rain. My thoughts have turned to the story I’ve been writing and how I can incorporate the sensations and feelings from last night. It’s not like I’m going to write a word for word confession—I’m not stupid—but regardless of how any writer might try, a bit of our own lives always seeps into the work.