Such Dark Things

by Courtney Evan Tate

  Now

  Corinne

  Reflections Mental Facility

  “Let’s talk about Michel,” Dr. Phillips suggests. “Just for a moment.”

  I nod. Because that won’t be hard.

  “They’re twins,” I tell him. “Identical. Michel is three minutes older, and he always holds it over Jude’s head. When they were little, they dressed alike to trick people. Typical twin stuff.”

  “You get along well with him?”

  I nod. “Yeah. He’s easy to get along with. Plus, I’m married to his twin. So I feel like I know him very well. They’re very similar.”

  “Except that Michel is a priest.” Dr. Phillips states the obvious.

  “Yeah, except for that.”

  “So you do get along with him.”

  “Yes. He’s funny, he’s sincere. He’s not uptight or stuffy like you’d think a priest would be. He’s real.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “Yeah. Of course. He’s never lied to me.”

  “So when he told you that Jude wasn’t doing anything wrong, you believed him?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Aside from me, Michel knows Jude better than anyone. In fact, at times, I think he might know parts of Jude better than me. I’m sure Jude confides in him about me. And I don’t mind. Everyone needs a confidant.”

  “True.” The doctor nods. “Everyone does. Who would you say is yours? Besides Jude, I mean.”

  “My sister, Jackie. And my friend Lucy. I don’t open up to people easily, but my sister has always been my best friend. She knows me, you know? She was there for...well, back then. And Lucy... She’s worked side by side with me at work, day in and day out. The things we have to do, it brings people together, you know?”

  He nods. “Yes. I can imagine.”

  “But back to Michel... I trust him,” I say, because I feel that I need to emphasize that. “I trust him right now to take care of Jude while I’m gone. He’s taken care of Jude his whole life. He’s not going to stop now.”

  “Why do you say it that way?” Dr. Phillips asks curiously. “Do you feel that Jude needs to be taken care of?”

  I pause, reflecting on that.

  “No. He just forgets to do stuff, like shop for groceries. Michel will make sure he does.”

  “Michel is more responsible?”

  I shake my head. “It’s not like that. It’s just the difference in their personalities. They might be twins, but Michel has always played the role of older brother, and Jude has played the younger brother. I think that’s normal, right?”

  The doctor nods. “Yes, it’s very typical of twins. And of human beings in general. There has to be a pecking order. It makes people comfortable. Everyone has a role.”

  I agree, and I’ve seen Michel and Jude play out that relationship throughout the years, ever since I’ve known them, and far before that, I’m sure.

  “They take care of each other, though,” I add. “Jude takes care of Michel, too. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do for each other.”

  “Would you say that they’d protect each other no matter the consequence?”

  His question is odd, and I tell him that.

  “Humor me.” He smiles. “Would they lie for each other?”

  I think on that. “I’m not sure. Probably.”

  It’s something I ponder long after our session ends, and that makes me uneasy even as I try to sleep.

  It’s almost as though Dr. Phillips knows something I don’t.

  But that’s crazy.

  Isn’t it?

  34

  Two days, five hours until Halloween

  Jude

  Our bedroom is dark, and Corinne is sleeping.

  Her hand hangs over the bed, her blond hair spread across her pillow. A strand of it tickles my nose, and I brush it away. She doesn’t stir.

  My phone lights up on the nightstand again, as it has every few minutes for the past hour.

  I see the picture of Zoe from here, nude, provocative, racy.

  I reach out and grab the phone, pulling it to me, shielding it in case Corinne opens her eyes.

  Why aren’t you sleeping? I ask Zoe.

  Because I’m thinking about you, she answers.

  A knot forms in my belly.

  I don’t know what to do.

  I don’t know how to handle this.

  It’s gone so far. Too far.

  Jude? I feel like you’re slipping away from me.

  What the fuck is she talking about? I’m not hers. I never have been.

  You know I’m married, I tell her.

  Yes. But I mean, aside from her. I feel like you’re not interested anymore.

  Corinne rolls over in her sleep, turning her back to me, and I stick the phone under the covers, just in case she wakes. I wait for a few minutes, waiting for her breathing to deepen and even out again.

  When it does, I pull my phone back out.

  Zoe has texted again.

  I’m going to bed. But know this, I’m not ready to let you go yet. I’ll compete for you, Ash. And you’ll like it.

  I don’t bother answering.

  This isn’t going to end well. There is no competition. I’m married, and I have no plans to change that. Why Zoe thinks otherwise, I don’t know.

  I stare at the ceiling for a long time, before I text my brother.

  Hey, I know you’re sleeping, but I’ve got a problem. I need your advice. Can we meet for dinner tomorrow?

  I delete Zoe’s texts and am just putting my phone on the nightstand again when my brother answers.

  Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.

  His words do calm me.

  Because he’s right.

  Everything will be fine. I’m in control of this. I started it, and I can end it. It’s up to me.

  * * *

  “Grow a pair,” I mumble to myself, staring at my phone yet again on the way to work. I’m at a stoplight, and it’s broad daylight, and I’m watching a video from Zoe, when I should throw my phone out the window.

  She’s fingering herself, moaning my name, and I shouldn’t watch it because I don’t even like her, but yet I am. And I’m hard.

  There’s something seriously wrong with me.

  She texts me an hour later.

  Well, did you like that?

  I don’t know what to say.

  So I don’t say anything.

  I focus on work, and when Zoe texts at the end of the afternoon, I finally reply.

  I’m sorry—busy with patients all day!

  She answers immediately. When am I going to see you again?

  I don’t know, I reply, and that’s the truth.

  She responds with a frowny face.

  I call my brother, and it goes straight to voice mail.

  He texts a little bit later.

  Sorry, bro. Someone died. I’m with their family. I can’t make dinner tonight. We’ll catch up soon. You ok?

  I sigh. No, I’m not. Of course I’m not. But I don’t say that to him. I lie.

  Yeah, I’m fine.

  35

  Now

  Jude

  I’m resting on the couch when the doorbell rings.

  My eyes pop open in the dark, because who is coming at this hour?

  Michel, I decide as I head to the door. Artie isn’t even growling.

  But it’s not my brother standing on the porch with a take-out bag.

  It’s Zoe.

  She’s dressed in a tiny miniskirt and a low-cut peasant blouse, and her eye makeup is painted on thick. She smiles.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she says almost shyly. “But I wanted to make sure you ate dinner.”

  I hesitate,
and she notices.

  “Jude,” she says softly. “Your wife isn’t home yet, right? You shouldn’t be sitting around in the dark alone.” She glances over my shoulder into the dark house. “You don’t even have a light turned on.”

  She pushes past me, and I allow it, for whatever reason, I don’t even know.

  “Come on,” she calls over her shoulder, inviting me into my own home. “I hope you like Chinese.”

  “I do,” I tell her, watching her arrange it on the table. She opens the kitchen cabinets, hunting for dishes, as though she belongs here. “You didn’t need to do this.”

  “I know,” she tells me, sitting down at the table. Incidentally, she’s sitting in Corinne’s chair. I swallow hard and take a seat. I’ve got to get out of this. I’ve got to get out of this. I’ve got to get out of this.

  Her perfume is cloying and cheap, and it fills the kitchen with the scent. It emphasizes the fact that this is wrong. Corinne’s scent is soft and refined, understated. She and Zoe are as different as night and day.

  “Jude?”

  Zoe lifts an eyebrow, and her hand is frozen in the air, a spoonful of beef broccoli dripping into the white container.

  “I’m sorry. Yes?”

  “How much do you want, love?”

  Love. I’m not her love. A heaviness settles in my gut, and I blink, then shake my head. “Not much. I’m not hungry.”

  She ignores that and heaps a plate with rice and beef and slides it to me. “Trust me, you’re going to need your strength.” She winks, and my heart pumps hard harder harder.

  I’ve got to get out of this.

  I take a bite, and it’s good, and I find myself eating the entire plate because I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

  “You didn’t come to the diner today,” Zoe comments as she chews. “Why?”

  “I was running late,” I lie. I picked up breakfast at McDonald’s instead.

  She nods. “Your schedule must be all turned around, you poor thing.”

  She’s sympathetic and I’m a liar. I don’t say anything. Instead, I clear away the dishes, and she comes up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She feels foreign to me, not like Corinne. Her arms are too tight, her body too short.

  “I’m here for you, you know,” she murmurs into my back, and I stand tightly wound at the sink.

  “I know.”

  I’m just trying to figure out what to say to her when she speaks.

  “I’ll be right back. I’ve gotta use the powder room.”

  I nod and she’s gone, and I let Artie out while I wait. I watch the dog disappear into the darkness, and I take a seat in an armchair in the living room. I purposely don’t sit on the couch so that there’s no room to sit next to me.

  It’s quite a few more minutes until Zoe shows up in the living room door, and when she does, I startle.

  She’s wearing one of my shirts. A button-up that Corinne likes to wear from time to time.

  “Hey,” Zoe says softly, and the bottom of the shirt reaches her knees. It reached only midthigh on Corinne. “I hope you don’t mind. This was lying in your bedroom. I thought I’d get more comfortable.”

  “Uh...” I don’t even know what to say.

  “I like making you speechless,” she practically purrs, crossing the living room toward me. I start to get up, but she pushes me back in my seat and straddles my lap.

  Her hands are on my shoulders, her breath on my neck.

  “I want you so much,” she breathes against my skin. “I’ve always wanted you, Jude.”

  My own breath hitches, and my heart races because this isn’t good.

  “Zoe,” I begin, and my hands are on her arms, and her crotch is grazing my own. She’s not wearing panties, and she leaves a damp spot on my pants.

  Jesus.

  “Yes?” her voice is sweet and sinful at once, and she slides her hand on my chest.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Yes, you can.” Her answer is immediate. “We’re the only two people who will ever know, Jude. You can.”

  It’s true. We are the only ones who would ever know.

  The house is quiet but for Zoe’s whispers, and the night is dark outside. We’re alone.

  Her arm snakes behind my head, pulling my face toward hers, and for a scant second, I almost let it happen. I almost do the easy thing and kiss her.

  But...

  I can’t.

  I pull away.

  “I can’t, Zoe.”

  Her head snaps back, and a flush stains her cheeks. “Why not?” she demands. “I know you want me. Here’s proof.”

  Her hand cups my dick, and it is hard, but it’s a physical reaction. My penis doesn’t have rational thought.

  “Zoe,” I begin again, but the doorbell rings, and it interrupts any thought I might’ve had because it means one terrible thing.

  We’re not alone anymore, and there is a clear view of my living room from the porch.

  I push Zoe back, and her feathers are ruffled, but she steps to the side, and the door opens before I can think of what to do.

  Michel stands before me, looking from Zoe to me. He examines her lack of clothing, and the fact that she’s wearing one of my shirts, and the look on his face is one of utter and complete disappointment. I see it in his eyes, I see it in the grim way his mouth is set... I know that expression. It’s exactly like my own.

  “I’d ask what’s going on, but it’s obvious,” he says gruffly. “Jesus, Jude.” He turns to Zoe. “Go get your clothes on, Zoe. I’ll take you home.”

  “My car is here,” she says, and the flush is deeper on her cheeks and has spread to her chest. She’s embarrassed and looks to me. I nod. She scurries away down the hall, into what I assume is my bedroom.

  Michel looks at me. “We talked about this last week,” he says pointedly. “You said you were going to take care of it. What the hell, man?”

  “It’s not what it looks like,” I tell him limply. “She went to the bathroom and came back with her clothes off. I haven’t done anything.”

  “She shouldn’t even be here,” he snaps. “Your wife is in the hospital, or have you forgotten?”

  “Of course I haven’t,” I snap back. “You don’t understand the situation. I wasn’t doing anything. I just hadn’t figured out how to end it.”

  “It’s not that hard,” he tells me. “You say, This is over. It’s pretty simple.”

  “It’s not that simple,” I answer.

  The sound of a throat clearing snaps our heads up, and Zoe is back on the periphery of the room.

  “I’m ready,” she says quietly.

  Michel looks at her grimly. “Would you mind following me back to the church? I’d like to talk to you for a while, if you don’t mind.”

  “I really should go home,” she says hesitantly. “I have work early in the morning.”

  “I won’t keep you long,” Michel says firmly. She nods reluctantly and steps past me, pausing.

  “Call me later?”

  I’m silent because Michel is staring me down.

  Zoe sighs and walks to the door.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” she calls over her shoulder.

  The door closes behind them, and I watch their taillights disappear down the road.

  Within seconds, I receive a text from Zoe.

  You aren’t going to listen to him, are you?

  I stare at the words, and the letters bleed into each other.

  Jude? Are you?

  You’ll always regret it if you do.

  I’ll make you regret it.

  Her words are sobering because I know she means them.

  Artie scratches at the back door, and I lay my phone down and go let her in. She’s dirty, her muzzle covered in mud, and I sigh. This is the last thi
ng I need.

  “What the hell, girl?” I shake my head and she walks in, after dropping something onto the patio. Bending, I examine what she’s dragged up here, and I stiffen up, my feet frozen on the floor.

  An address stares up at me from a plaque, 131 All Hallows Lane, in muddy bronze letters.

  36

  One day, sixteen hours before Halloween

  Jude

  Hey. You didn’t come for breakfast.

  Hello?

  Jude?

  Are you ignoring me?

  Jude??

  You aren’t talking to me now??

  I lean against the granite counter and try to decide what to do. My wife is sleeping in the other room, and this girl...whatever she is to me...is blowing up my phone. My palms feel sweaty, my heart is racing.

  I do the only thing I think I can to de-escalate what seems to be a ridiculous situation.

  I answer.

  My wife is still sick.

  Three bubbles.

  So you’re playing nurse to the doctor?

  Is she being snotty or not? I’m trying to decide when another text comes in.

  Lol

  I guess not.

  You said you were going to call and then didn’t, so I got worried.

  I somehow know that’s bullshit, but I play along.

  Thanks for your concern! But there’s no need. Just holed up at home.

  Three bubbles.

  With your wife?

  Didn’t I just say that? I’m annoyed as I answer.

  Yes. Gotta go. I need to figure out what to make for dinner. I don’t cook.

  I wait for just a second, but there are no bubbles, and then I get annoyed. I don’t have to wait for her answer.

  I return to the living room and sit on the couch with my wife. Corinne doesn’t wake up, and I channel surf, finally coming to a rest on the History channel. My hand rests on her calf, and I listen to her even breathing as I watch a documentary on a tribe in Africa.

  It’s warm and cozy here with my wife, and little by little, I find my eyelids closing.

  I’ve just dozed off when the doorbell rings.

  I startle awake, and it takes me a minute to realize what woke me. Then Artie barks, heaving herself to a standing position and limping to the door.

  I hurriedly extricate myself from Corinne’s legs and rush to answer the door. I don’t want them to wake her. She hasn’t rested like this in months.