The Dark of You

by Shade, S. M.

  The entertainment section of the news has become a drone of background noise until my pen name is mentioned. I sit up and turn up the volume just in time to hear the woman say, “We’ll be back with that story in our Movie Minute Report after the break.”

  They must be announcing the Midnight Terror movie. It’s no secret it was coming, but most of the details weren’t leaked. The studio wasted no time moving forward with it, and last I heard, they plan to release next year. The ads seem to take forever, but finally a man yelling about a sale on used cars is replaced by the graphic of a projector and the forced excitement of the anchor’s voice.

  “Thatcher Studios announced yesterday they’ll be bringing the bestselling thriller Midnight Terror to the screen next year. Based on a true story of a family annihilator who went on a killing spree in the late eighties, this terrifying tale is set for a Halloween release. If that doesn’t pique your interest, we have another intriguing discovery revealed only a few hours ago by SLY Media. The author of Midnight Terror, who has written many bestsellers under the pen name D.S. Shrike, is actually Darcy Sharpe, the only surviving victim of another family annihilator called The Babysitter. Ms. Sharpe was only five years old when…”

  The anchor’s voice is overtaken by the buzzing in my ears. My entire adulthood has been spent burying that person. From the moment I got my first publishing deal, that was a condition written into every contract. Every person who needed to know my real information has had to sign a non-disclosure agreement. My writing, my stories are what made my career, and that’s how I wanted it. I’ve never wanted to be known as a victim turned author. Just an author.

  That’s gone. If this has reached far enough to be mentioned on our little local news, it must be all over the internet by now. Who would’ve done this? Who told?

  As afraid as I am to see what’s being said online, I pick up my phone and Google my pen name. A headline and still frame of a video pops up first, and my heart drops to the floor. Even on the tiny, out of focus frame, I recognize my only friend sitting across from the host.

  Thea.

  My finger trembles as I click on the video. Angry tears burn my eyes while I watch the only person I trusted tear apart my life. She answers every question the host asks, feeds him every detail she’s ever been privy to about my life and career. Once she happily reveals the name of the town where I’m living, I hit stop and drop the phone.

  I can’t right now. No more. It’s all too much.

  We’ve been friends for over fifteen years. We lived together as roommates, I helped her pay for cosmetology school to become a makeup artist once I got my first publishing deal. I know I haven’t treated her well lately. I haven’t even called back since she hung up on me, but I didn’t expect this. Feeling like a sleepwalker in the middle of some endless nightmare, I shuffle back to my bed and crawl under the covers.

  I’ve never known such betrayal.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dawn comes twice before I manage to pull myself out of bed again, and then it’s only to do the basics. It’s like I’m on autopilot: eat, drink, watch the news for any report of missing people or a body found. Finally, there’s news.

  The worry and fear I started with has died. I’m not sure if I’d care if the cops broke down my door. It’s more of a curiosity now, I suppose, whether or not I’ll be caught.

  The news is good—for me at least. “Vernon Jacobs, forty-one, was found stabbed to death in the wooded area between Stringtown and the Garden Blossom Subdivision. Jacobs has a long record of charges including trafficking of methamphetamines, and police suspect the murder is the result of a drug deal gone wrong. They have no suspects. If you have any information, please call the local sheriff’s office.”

  They assume he was killed over drugs, and have no suspects. They won’t waste their time or resources trying to figure out who did it. That night was wild, and after things went wrong so quickly, it’s amazing this is the outcome. Like the senator, I’m going to get away with it.

  It’s the one thing that’s gone right. It’s only been a few days since my information went public, and already my mailbox is stuffed with mail. I’m not opening it. My publisher usually receives my fan mail since people didn’t know where to send it before, and I know what it’ll be. A mix of people who love my books and want an autograph, or have a question, people who disagree with one of my plots and want to tell me how I got it wrong, and people who are offended by the content who claim I use violent deaths as entertainment. Add to that the ones who’ll want details on what it’s like to survive a monster. I don’t want any of them to show up at my door, and it’s a matter of time now.

  It shouldn’t be big news, and I suppose it isn’t if it’s not your life that’s imploding, but it sure works as an interesting tidbit. The morning entertainment shows throw it in. With a plastic smile, the two perky blond hosts discuss how fascinating it is to find out that one of the top horror and crime authors got her experience firsthand.

  The last straw for me comes when I Google my name again and a picture of my house pops up. Reporters have already been out to photograph my home. Maybe they’d like a picture of the shed. Surely, a building where a murder took place would bring in the clicks and sell that ad space.

  Thea did this. It’s so hard to wrap my brain around. I have to know why. There’s no excuse or reason that could possibly be enough, but still, I pick up my phone to call her, hoping for some explanation.

  She answers on the first ring, and the satisfaction in her voice is a barb slung into my chest. “Well, now I know what it takes to get a call back from you.”

  My words are caught in my throat. Finally, I manage to choke out, “Why?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. You tell me, Darcy. Why did you ignore me, dodge my calls, and never call me back?”

  “I…things have been difficult. I’ve been struggling and—”

  She interrupts me with a scoff. “Struggling. Right. It’s hard to live under the weight of all that money.”

  It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her sound resentful about that. Is she in some kind of financial trouble? She could’ve told me. I’ve always helped her before.

  “Thea, what happened? Did you lose your job?”

  “Do you really care? I tried to tell you what was going on. You weren’t interested.”

  “Of course I care. It’s not that I wasn’t interested. I—”

  Her tone grows angrier as her words come faster, cutting me off again. “I know, it’s all about you and whether or not you can write. But since you’re finally asking, no, I didn’t lose my job. What I did was take advantage of an opportunity to make enough money for Paul to cut his first record. Now, he’ll get signed by a label and finally get the chance he deserves.”

  There’s nothing else to say.

  This place was my refuge. My spot to retreat from the world. Thea knew that. She knew how important it was to me, how much care I’ve taken over the years to build this carefully cultivated double life. She blew it apart, blew my life apart. For a guy. She did it for a guy.

  No tears come to my eyes when I hang up the phone without replying. I feel numb. What do I do now?

  For the first time since I started working on the new book, the urge to write is gone. I can’t do it today. I can’t sit down and type like everything’s okay. What’s the point? I have to get out of here, away from the walls that feel like they’re growing closer by the second.

  The bag I always carry on my walks catches my eye, and I throw a couple of bottles of water into it before slinging it over my back. Oppressive heat strikes me when I open the door. It feels like I’m breathing as much water as air in the high humidity. Right, there was supposed to be a heatwave this week, pushing the temps into the triple digits, higher than we usually see in our area. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

  It feels like the world may be watching when I start down my driveway. It’s not unlikely some photographer could be nearby, snapping
away. My legs carry me faster down the road, never slowing until I reach the field and cut across to the railroad tracks.

  Sweat pours off of me, but I barely notice. The rail is hot under my ass when I sit for a second, lowering my head into my hands.

  “Reeve,” I sob. “I need you. You said you’d be here when I need you. Everything’s wrong without you.”

  The ache inside me is hard to bear. I miss him. I miss walking with him, talking to him, feeling safe by his side. It was stupid to think it wasn’t temporary. Haven’t I been shown over and over that love doesn’t last, if you get it at all? It’s the horrible truth. Love is awful. It’s everything and it’s awful.

  Without considering where I’m headed, I get up and start down the tracks away from the direction of town. Time slips away from me while I put one foot in front of the other. It feels like running away. What if I keep going? Walk the tracks into a new life? Then what? I’d still be me. Still be alone, with not one person in the world who cares.

  The tunnel looms in front of me and there’s no hesitation this time before I walk inside. Tears run down my face when I get to the center. Right here. Reeve fucked me right against that wall, and the sensations of that day still live close to the surface in my memory. The fear of the rushing train behind our backs, the wind from it sucking at us, the smell of the damp stone as he thrusted inside of me.

  As beautiful as the murals are, they’re barely given a second look before I plod on toward the light. The cool air of the tunnel was a relief I didn’t even realize until I walk back out into the sun. Before long, I’m at the bridge where we jumped last time.

  The river’s higher, driven by the recent rain, but still calm. A new scattering of beer bottles and a torn lawn chair shows people have been here since us, but there’s no one in sight today. The wooden slats take me out to the center where I sit, dangling my legs over the edge. This walk probably wasn’t the best idea, but I know why I’m doing it. Revisiting the places that I went with Reeve makes it almost feel like he’s here. In the back of my head where hope stubbornly perseveres, there’s a sliver of me that thinks he might show up.

  It’s so hot. The water below calls to me. It felt exhilarating last time, that quick drop. It’d be stupid to jump now. If I get hurt, there’s no one around. I could drown, wash downstream, maybe never be found. A disturbing thought for most people, but right now it seems…enticing. A fitting end. The true way to disappear.

  Unlike last time, I’m not going to take my clothes off. The memory of Reeve naked flashes in my mind. The way his muscles moved under his tanned skin. Fuck, he was gorgeous. With my bag still on my back, I step to the edge and close my eyes. The sun shows red through my eyelids. Fitting. Red always comes at those pivotal moments.

  Without opening my eyes, I jump. The wind rushes past me, taking my stomach into my throat a second before I’m plunged into the depths. Instinct takes over, and I kick until my head surfaces. It feels amazing. Cool water bathes every hot inch of skin. Dragonflies buzz and dive above my head as I swim. The water may be deeper, but there’s little current, and it’s an easy paddle to the muddy shore.

  The flat rock that I climb onto is the same one where Reeve almost fucked me, before a storm sent us into the tunnel. He’s everywhere right now. In every corner of my mind, in every direction I look, my heart yearns to see him.

  All around me the silence is only broken by the sounds of nature, the splash of a fish, a sudden birdsong. All of it seems to echo alone. You’re alone.

  My wet clothes stick to my skin on my climb up the trail to the bridge again. One last glance back is all I allow myself to say goodbye. I won’t be returning.

  The sultry afternoon yawns into evening on my walk back, but I can’t make myself go home. There’s nothing for me there. I don’t care about the story I was writing. I don’t care about anything. All I’m capable of right now is putting one foot in front of the other. With no destination in mind, I walk the day away.

  As the sun fades, I look up and realize I’m in a familiar spot. It’s where I once saw Reeve on the other side of a moving train. Back when he still wanted me. When hope is gone, fear leaves with it, but despair rolls in. That’s all I can feel. Heavy and oppressive, it squeezes until I can’t bear it anymore. I’ve lost Reeve. I’ve lost Thea. I’ve lost my anonymity and my peaceful life here. Something inside of me that’s held on for so long, through too much, lets go. The image of the generator blinks into mind, but the thought of having to get gas, fill it, start it, wait to die, seems like too much. Too long.

  Compared to the train I hear coming.

  It’s dark, but my surroundings come into sharp focus once the decision’s been made. The rocks beneath my feet, the growing fog that paints hazy halos around the streetlights, the tree branches swaying in the wind, waving to tell me goodbye. Everything feels bright. Real. Vital. It’s a strange sensation, but not disturbing. It’s like I’m getting a peek at the world as I should see it, maybe as others do.

  In the distance, a car crosses the tracks on a tiny side street. I wonder who’s in it. Where are they going? It’s just a normal night for everyone else. Despite the grief, terror, or suffering of an individual, the world carries on.

  It’ll do fine without me.

  With Reeve’s face in the forefront of my mind, and lacking an ounce of fear, I step between the rails. As the train closes in, a resigned sadness like I’ve never known throws itself over me. It’s not like the movies say. My whole life doesn’t flash before my eyes in some macabre filmstrip.

  What I see is the tragedy of me, of us. From the beginning, I had no chance at anything but ending up on these tracks. A life without love could end no other way. A waste. So much suffering. So many years.

  The blast of the train whistle is deafening, and the light from the front of the engine washes everything in bright white. Not long now.

  A cry wrenches from my chest that I can’t control or describe. Some primal sound from an animal in its last seconds. Time relaxes and looks back over its shoulder to ask, “Are you sure? Are you sure, Darcy?”

  Suddenly, a hand slides into mine, and I look into deep green eyes.

  Reeve.

  His gaze rips into me, but he doesn’t speak. He shakes his head slowly and gives the slightest tug on my hand. It’s not a demand. He’s not pulling me off the tracks and saving me like some damsel in distress from a fairy tale.

  He’s giving me a choice.

  Live, or he dies with me. My mind grasps for answers. Why did he leave? Where did he go? He must’ve been following me tonight. Was he following me all along?

  There’s no time. The decision’s an easy one because I have the ability and right to end my own life, but not his. My foot scarcely leaves the ground to step over the rail when I’m struck in my side hard enough to send me airborne. The wind is knocked out of me, ceasing my ability to scream. There’s only the sound of metal squealing on metal to punctuate what I see as my body slams to the ground just outside the reach of the train cars.

  All I catch is a glimpse, but the sight will torture me until I die. Without me beside him—where I belong, where I’ve always belonged—Reeve takes the impact. Before my horrified eyes, he explodes into a world of red. What’s left are scraps pulled beneath the metal monster.

  Air forces its way into my lungs, and my shrieks fill my ears, my head, everything. I claw at the gravel and dirt, trying to get back to him, but something’s holding me down. Someone.

  “What the fuck, lady? Are you trying to die?”

  Everything starts to feel scrambled. My thoughts leap over one another, and nothing makes sense.

  Reeve is dead.

  Someone’s yelling. Are they talking to me?

  “Yes, I need help! Send the cops, ambulance, all that shit!” My mind only manages to sift out bits and pieces. “The railroad tracks behind the Gellen Company warehouse, just south of Addison Street. Please hurry! Fuck, I can’t believe this!”

  Reeve came bac
k for me. He still wants to be with me.

  It’s so loud. Why is it so loud?

  “I don’t know if she’s hurt. I had to tackle her off the track so maybe. Yes, she’s breathing and aware.”

  Reeve’s dead. I’m supposed to be with him.

  “No, she’s not bleeding. Yeah the train was trying to stop but it’s passed us now.”

  Explains the sudden quiet. A train was passing, but now it’s gone.

  “Christ, lady, I didn’t need this shit tonight.”

  The weight lifts off of my back, and I’m rolled over. A pair of dark, panicked eyes stare at me, but I’m not interested in them. Behind the young man’s head, the sky lights up in a streak of blue.

  “Wait for it,” I mumble.

  “What? Are you okay? Can you hear me?” I’m not deaf, just not interested in anything but the pause before the sudden clap.

  My favorite moment is that second of stillness between a lightning strike and thunder, when a storm holds its breath. As a kid, I wanted to live there, suspended in that breathless expectation. It’s one wish that sort of came true. We live so much life in that space between the spark and the crash. Toying between anticipation and anxiety, looking forward, desperate to control our fate while we wait for the inevitable.

  The knockdown. The roar.

  Always followed by another flash, and here we are again, hanging on the edge, hoping this time it’ll be different. This time the peace won’t be broken. He broke my peace, and I embraced the noise. He tore apart all I believed about myself, and I reveled in the chaos.

  He can’t follow me this time. At first chance, I’ll follow him.

  “Wherever you are, I am.”

  My mumbled words bring a perplexed expression to the face above me. “What? Don’t worry, help’s coming, okay? I can see the lights. Just don’t try to get up.”