Such Dark Things

by Courtney Evan Tate

  Dr. Phillips shakes his head. “It was self-defense. You were eighteen years old. You had repressed memories, something that I can attest to in court, if need be. I don’t think you’ll need to worry about it. And certainly, I don’t want you worrying about it in this moment. Let’s just process it, shall we?”

  I don’t know if I can. It’s too much. It’s so much. But I don’t want to voice that.

  “The human brain is an amazing thing,” I say instead. “All of these years, my own brain has been protecting me.”

  Dr. Phillips nods. “It is an incredible thing. But now we have to finally come to terms with it. So that you can finally be free, Dr. Cabot.”

  I swallow. It’s true. It’s affected me for yours, even if I didn’t know the cause.

  “I don’t know if I can be free,” I admit. “It’s a lot to carry.”

  His eyes are sympathetic, and it almost makes me feel worse, that my situation is so bad that a cold person like Dr. Phillips feels sympathy.

  “Would you like to stop our session early?”

  I grit my teeth. I’d like to stop it and never come back. I’d like to unsee my memories. I’d like to undo the past. But those things aren’t possible. And I need to know everything.

  “No,” I say almost defiantly. “I’m almost there. I can feel it. I’ve almost remembered everything. Let’s finish.”

  “I’m going to call your husband so that he can be here when we’re finished.”

  I nod quickly. “Yes, please.”

  I wait while he dials, and it’s quickly clear that Jude isn’t answering. The doctor leaves a message. When he’s finished, he looks up.

  “Is there anyone else you’d like for me to call? I really don’t want you to be alone this evening. You need a friendly face.”

  I think about that. I’d like for Jackie to be here, but she’s gone with Teddy to Napa.

  Since Jude didn’t answer, he was probably with Michel, so Michel won’t answer, either.

  There’s only one other person I can think of.

  “My friend Lucy.”

  48

  Now

  Jude

  Through the window, I stare as the coroner’s van loads up my brother.

  They zip him into a black bag and take him away, slamming the van doors behind him, and now he’s gone.

  I’m in shock.

  I can’t feel my feet.

  I can’t feel my heart.

  I can’t feel.

  I’m in complete and utter shock.

  “Mr. Cabot?” The detective stares at me, waiting. “Do you have any idea who might want to hurt your brother?”

  “No, I don’t. Everyone loves him. Loved him. He’s a priest, for God’s sake.”

  Was a priest.

  Oh my God, my brother is dead.

  This can’t be real.

  But then something...something...something jumps into my mind, and I can’t breathe. Zoe’s text from last night.

  You’ll always regret it if you do.

  I’ll make you regret it.

  She basically was saying she’d make me pay if I listened to my brother.

  I stare at the bloodstain on the floor, and at the stone crucifix that is splattered in his blood.

  “Could a small person have done this?” I ask hesitantly. The detective looks at me.

  “Yeah. If he was caught by surprise, anyone could’ve done it.”

  I feel sick to my stomach as I examine that possibility. It can’t be. It can’t...

  “What are you thinking?” he asks me, waiting.

  I hesitate and then tell him of my involvement with Zoe, and of how she threatened to blow everything out of the water if I didn’t stay with her, and how Michel took her from my house last night.

  His expression changes, and am I imagining that he’s looking at me differently now?

  “So he was upset with you last night?”

  I nod. “Yeah. But not as upset as I was with myself.”

  The detective’s face is expressionless.

  “Did you argue?”

  Shock slams into me. “Jesus, man. I didn’t hurt my brother. I love my brother. He’s my twin, my other half. I’m going to be lost without him. What the hell?”

  The detective is calm. “I’m just doing my job, Mr. Cabot. We’ll look into Zoe. And I hope you’ll be around for further questions if we have them.”

  “Of course I will,” I snap. “I want whoever did this to pay.”

  He leaves, and I walk to my truck, and I’m limp as I slump behind the wheel.

  What am I supposed to do now?

  My phone is in my pocket, and it buzzes with a voice mail, and I listen to Dr. Phillips’s voice.

  “Corinne is having a rough session. It would be nice if you could come be here for her when she’s finished. Give me a call.”

  I don’t bother calling. I just head for Reflections. I drive down the road, and when I’m passing my neighborhood, I’m so overcome by anger and rage and grief that I can’t even see straight. Red billows in from the corners of my eyes, and I can’t think one coherent thought. That’s why it takes a while for me to notice the car behind me is gaining on me, and flashing its lights.

  I startle, my first thought being that it’s Zoe, but it’s not a Hyundai.

  I pull over, and Chelsie bounds out of her car at me.

  “You’ve got to listen to me. Zoe has lost her damned mind.”

  Blood is staining her clothes, and she’s got scratches on her face, red angry welts that will stay with her for days.

  “What happened?” I ask her quickly.

  She limps toward me and I see that even her ankle has a welt. She stumbles into me, and I steady her arm.

  “Zoe happened,” she snaps angrily. “I’ve known that girl for a long time, but I’ve never seen her like this. I don’t know what you did, but she’s out for blood.”

  “I didn’t do anything but tell her that I can’t see her anymore,” I say tiredly, flinching as the headlights from cars passing by shine into my eyes. “She was a mistake. She’s had her claws in me for weeks, and this might sound crazy, but I think she might’ve killed my brother.”

  Chelsie looks at me, and pity hides in the depths of her eyes.

  “It doesn’t sound crazy,” she tells me. “She attacked me tonight. I went to her house and found a bunch of stuff on her table. Stuff she didn’t want me to see. A ton of articles about your wife, and you, and a bunch of her notes. Zoe has planned everything down to the tiniest detail. She wanted you, and she worked hard to get you. She’s not going to give up now.”

  I’m still and quiet. “Why?”

  “Revenge of some sort. She had lots of photos of your wife, with her face scratched out, and one with her belly cut out.”

  Her belly.

  “Did she give my wife abortion pills?”

  “I think she did. She knows your wife somehow. And I don’t know what else she’s going to do. She said she’s just getting started. I swear to you, I didn’t know about any of this.”

  Chelsie is ominous and covered in blood, and my wife is at Reflections alone, unsuspecting and helpless.

  “Fuck.”

  I try to call Dr. Phillips, but there’s no answer. So I try again. Still no answer.

  I call the reception desk and ask to be connected to him. After a minute, the receptionist comes back.

  “I’m sorry, sir, he’s not answering right now. He must be with a patient. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “Motherfuck.”

  I hang up and turn to Chelsie. “You need to call the police and tell them what she’s done and then go to the hospital.”

  She nods and I get into my car and head for my wife.

  49

  Jude />
  I tuck my wife’s feet into the car, ensuring that she is buckled up before I close the door after her.

  “You’re a good man, Mr. Cabot,” Corinne tells me tiredly.

  I flash back to everything that’s happened with Zoe, and I flinch.

  Not so good.

  But I’ll be better now.

  I drive toward home, and Corinne leans her head on my shoulder.

  “I am going to hate Reflections,” she confides. “I don’t even know what to pack.”

  “Well, take your time. We don’t have to be there until this afternoon.”

  She nods.

  “Yeah.”

  “When you come home, I’m going to hire someone to come in to help. I’m serious. I don’t want you up. If you need to go to the bathroom, tell me. I’ll carry you.”

  She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Let’s not get crazy, Jude. The bathroom is my personal space. You’re not allowed. But I’ll go straight back to bed.”

  I’m satisfied with that, and she’s quiet, her hand on my leg for the rest of the ride home. When I turn the car off, she’s snoring lightly, and I smile.

  I walk around to her side, unfasten her seat belt and slide her into my arms. She stirs only as I’m lifting her from the car.

  “I’m too heavy,” she protests, and I carry her up the steps.

  “You’re not,” I answer, pushing the door open.

  Carrying her in, we’re greeted with music.

  “What the...”

  “Put me down,” Corinne says, and her voice is stilted and sharp. I glance at her, and her face is drained of all color, and she walks straight to the stereo, turning it off.

  “Who would do this?” she asks, turning to me. Her breathing is short and heavy, her hands are shaking. She looks like she’s seen a ghost, and I’m suddenly very afraid for her.

  “Corinne, are you okay?” I ask her, keeping my voice low. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “That song...” She closes her eyes. “That song was playing the night my father killed those people. That night on All Hallows Lane. Someone played it in the pool the other day at the hospital, too. Someone was in here, Jude.”

  I look around. Artie looks up from her place by the sofa. “There’s no sign of a break-in, Co.”

  I’m concerned because my wife’s panicked. And she seems irrational. Suddenly, the stay at Reflections doesn’t seem like such a stretch.

  “Someone was here,” she insists. “Please, Jude. Please, believe me.”

  I take a shaky breath because it’s devastating to watch someone as strong as Corinne turned into an anxious mess. It’s almost unfathomable.

  “Let’s just stay calm,” I tell her. “You go pack a bag, and I’ll look around.”

  She studies me, checking to see if I really believe she’s serious. I make a point of seeming sincere.

  “Okay.” She nods and heads down the hall.

  I look at Artie, and my gut clenches as I remember what Corinne did to her. I still can’t believe it.

  I give it a few minutes before I join Corinne in the bedroom, where she’s placing items into a bag.

  “What can I do to help?” I ask her.

  “You can grab my toothbrush and stuff,” she answers, folding a nightshirt.

  “Okay.”

  I am distracted as I enter the bathroom, but when I look up, my feet freeze to the floor.

  Twenty or thirty text messages between Zoe and me are taped to the mirror. All of our sordid words. Dirty words directed to each other.

  All of it.

  Taped to the glass in front of me, and panic wells in my chest and spreads into my head. I can barely think as I stride toward the mirror. The only thing I can think is I’ve got to get rid of this before Corinne sees it.

  But her voice comes from behind me, icy and sharp, and it’s too late.

  “What the fuck, Jude?”

  50

  Corinne

  Oh my God.

  Oh my God.

  No.

  Utter shock comes over me in waves, and I can’t think.

  This can’t be.

  This can’t be happening.

  It’s not real.

  But I stare at the text messages taped to my mirror, and through my numb haze, I see that it’s real.

  I want to suck you.

  Your cum tastes delicious.

  Please let me touch you.

  Do you like my hard cock?

  I’m going to tie you up and cum in your mouth.

  My husband is having an affair.

  I sink to the floor, and I want to melt into the tile. My ears roar and I can’t hear and I can’t feel. The room spins and spins and spins, and I’m stunned, shocked, appalled, devastated, shredded, annihilated and more. A thousand feelings swirl around me, sucking me down, and I can’t breathe.

  I can’t breathe.

  Jude.

  My husband. I never in a thousand years would have thought he would do this.

  We’re Corinne and Jude. Jude and Corinne. I’ve always been enough for him. Until...apparently, I wasn’t.

  My heart.

  It’s constricting...crushing me. I thought I was in pain earlier. That was just the tip of the enormous, ugly iceberg. It’s nothing compared to how I feel now.

  Absolutely nothing.

  “Corinne.” His voice comes from nowhere, yet everywhere, like I’m in a cloud. “Corinne, open your eyes.”

  I do. I open them and stare into his, and I want to punch him in the face.

  “Who is she?” I manage to ask. “Who?”

  He hesitates, which infuriates me further, and I find myself screeching.

  “Who is it? Ginny?”

  He shakes his head immediately. “God, no. I didn’t... We didn’t... I haven’t had sex with anyone, Corinne.”

  He sinks to his knees next to me, and I flinch away from his touch.

  “She’s tasted your cum,” I point out, reading the words. “You’re talking with her in an intimate way—a way that should only be used with me. Get the fuck out, Jude. Leave me the fuck alone.”

  “Corinne, please,” Jude pleads. “It isn’t what you think. I felt all alone, and Zoe tried very hard to be something to me. It got out of hand, but I don’t love her, I love you. I ended things with her before they went even further. I swear.”

  But all I can focus on is the name.

  “Zoe? The girl from the diner? I asked you once about her, and you made me feel stupid—like I was crazy for thinking anything was amiss.”

  I stare at him, and he drops his gaze, ashamed.

  “Fuck you, Jude. Get out.”

  “Can you at least lie down before I go?” he asks simply. “I’ll stay in the kitchen until Michel gets here. I’ll have him take you to the clinic. Please.”

  “Call Michel and then Get. Out.”

  My words are like ice pellets, and they are shaved from my heart.

  Without a word, Jude stands up and walks away.

  I wait until I hear the bedroom door close, and then I sob.

  51

  Jude

  I don’t even remember driving to the park after I leave the house. I know Michel is probably already on his way to Reflections with Corinne, and I am so furious that I can’t even see.

  My thoughts come in red waves, like ink or blood or pain.

  When I arrive, Zoe is already in the gazebo, wearing a short skirt and a white lace bustier. If the look she’s going for is virginal, she failed. She’s anything but. She knows it, and I know it.

  “Hey,” she greets me with a smile, but it dies on her lips as she looks at my face. “What’s wrong?”

  “You are,” I growl, standing over her. “And you know why.”

 
Her eyes widen, and she tries to feign surprise, but then she gives up.

  “You mean...my gift for Corinne? Knowledge is power, Jude. She deserved to know.”

  “The joke is on you, then,” I tell her, and I can’t help but get a little satisfaction from this. “She doesn’t remember. She’s blocked it out.”

  “Jesus, your wife is a head case,” Zoe says, shaking her head. “God damn. What a freak.”

  “You’re a fucking bitch,” I tell her. “Don’t speak about my wife. Don’t even say her name.” My hands clench and unclench. She eyes my hands, and she smiles.

  “Do you want to hurt me, Jude?” she asks, her voice velvety smooth. She takes a step toward me. “Do you want to wrap those hands around my neck and squeeze?”

  God help me, I do.

  “You’d like that too much,” I answer.

  She smiles again. “Oh, how you know me.”

  “I wish I didn’t,” I tell her, and I grab her arm, and my fingers sink into her flesh, and she flinches, and I like it. I like knowing it hurts her. If I could kill her and get away with it, I think I would. In this moment, I would.

  I’ve never hated someone so much.

  “I like that,” she tells me, and I think she probably does.

  “You’re such a twisted bitch, you probably do.”

  “Such language.” She clucks, and I want to throw her on the ground.

  The fury is all I can see.

  The next few minutes pass in snippets, because my anger takes over, and my rational thought disappears. It’s gone, like it never existed, and in its place is rage like I’ve never felt before.

  Zoe takes a step and laughs.

  I grab her arm again and shove her backward onto the picnic table.

  Her eyes widen, and then she smiles that strange smile.

  “Have you ever fury-fucked someone?” she whispers, and then she spreads her legs, and she’s not wearing underwear.

  “I hate you,” I say through my teeth.

  She throws her head back and laughs.

  She stands up and slaps me across the face, as hard as she can. I don’t even feel the pain. I just feel white-hot light pass across my eyes, clouding my vision.