The Other Side of Dark

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  I didn’t mean to say it aloud. Jarrod tilts his head to look into my eyes. “You didn’t come with Jeff,” he says.

  “No. I just wondered. I—”

  He moves a little closer, and his breath blows warm against my right ear. “It’s a pretty night. Want to go outside for a little while?”

  The swing creaks, and the girl on the swing giggles. I’d like to get out of this room, so I quickly answer, “Okay. By the pool?” The underwater lights add a glow to the yard that is almost as bright as the lights in this room.

  “Better yet,” Jarrod says. “Out in front. I’ve got a new car. I’d like to show it to you.”

  “Well—”

  “Don’t you want to see it?” He sounds hurt. “I’m real proud of it. Wire wheels and all sorts of gadgets—even a makeup mirror on the passenger side that lights up. You’ll like it. Come on, Stacy.” He puts on a little-boy grin. “If you knew me better, you’d know I always get my own way.”

  I suppose if I had a new car, I’d want to show it off too. “Okay,” I say. “I’d really like to see your car.”

  I look for a place to put down my cup, but Jarrod says, “Drink up first.”

  I take another long swallow. “That’s enough.”

  “Hey, I got that ’specially for you. Chugalug it.”

  It’s a small cup, and there’s not much left. Obediently I take another drink, emptying the cup.

  Jarrod takes it from me, grins, and puts it on a nearby table. Holding my hand, he leads me past the couple on the swing, who don’t seem to notice us. We go back through the den and the entry hall to the front door. No one seems to notice us. Jarrod quickly opens the door, and as soon as we step through he shuts it behind us.

  The night air is still warm, and the light from a large, low-hung moon blurs the dark sky. The sharp, pungent fragrance of early ligustrum blooms is making me dizzy. I find that I have trouble focusing my eyes.

  “I feel kind of funny,” I tell Jarrod. “I’d better sit down.” And I plop onto the top porch step. The bricks are rough and hard.

  Jarrod sits next to me. “Get up, Stacy. It’s just a few more steps to the street.”

  “I don’t know what’s the matter. I’m kind of dizzy. Maybe I’m coming down with a virus. I’d better find Jan.”

  “Don’t bother Jan. You’ll be all right. Come on. I’ll help you walk.”

  I try to stand up, but I can’t make it. “Let go, Jarrod.”

  But he doesn’t. “Shhh,” he says. “Just relax. Just lean against me. Close your eyes, and some of the dizziness will go away.”

  Maybe he’s right. I close my eyes and do feel a little better. As I relax, my head rests against the warm hollow of Jarrod’s neck. We sit there quietly for a few minutes. Then he begins stroking my arm with the tips of his fingers, and my skin tingles.

  “Feel a little better now?” he murmurs.

  “I guess so. I don’t know what happened to me.”

  “You just had a little too much to drink. I didn’t know it would hit you this hard, but it won’t hurt you.”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t have anything to drink.” It’s hard to think. It’s hard to figure out what he means.

  “Just a little vodka, Stacy. I knew you couldn’t taste the vodka.”

  “Jarrod, you weren’t supposed to—” I say, but he interrupts.

  “Let’s go to the car now,” he says.

  “No. I think I should go home.”

  His voice is smooth. “Okay, Stacy. I’ll drive you home.”

  He helps me up. My legs wobble as though the bones weren’t connected while we make our way down the three or four brick steps.

  As we reach the walkway Tony’s front door slams open. Someone leaps down the steps, grabs Jarrod by his collar, and flings him aside. I stagger backward onto the grass and see Jarrod jump up to the top porch step.

  “Leave her alone!” Jeff yells.

  I stare up at the porch and into Jarrod’s eyes.

  The screen door bangs against the wall, and I can clearly see the guy who has run from our house. He’s scared. I can feel his fear as he stares back at me. His eyes are glittering with terror. They’re so light and pale they’re almost yellow. I can see his face. He has a gun in his hand. He raises it and points it at me.

  “Jarrod!” I scream. “It was you! You killed my mother!”

  Chapter Ten

  Yelling, screaming with rage, I stagger through a red haze toward Jarrod and directly into Jeff’s path as he leaps toward the porch. Jeff and I fall, legs and arms flailing wildly. Jarrod jumps over us and runs to a car that is parked on the drive, facing the street. Jeff stumbles to his feet and races after Jarrod. He slams against the trunk of the car as Jarrod takes off with a screech of tires.

  People explode from the house, shouting questions, and I can’t stand it. I collapse on the grass, my hands over my head.

  “What happened?”

  “What’s the matter with Stacy?”

  “Jarrod? Really? It was Jarrod? I can’t believe it!”

  “Somebody ought to call the police!”

  “Tell them—tell them Jarrod keeps a gun in his car.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We were on a date. He opened the glove compartment, and I saw—oh, what difference does it make. Someone should tell the police. I don’t want anyone to get hurt!”

  “Is Stacy all right?”

  “Did Jarrod hurt her?”

  “Why does Jarrod keep a gun in his car?”

  “C’mon. A lot of people do. Tony does.”

  “Hey, keep me out of this! Anyhow, that’s my dad’s gun.”

  “Look, everybody, what should we do about Stacy?”

  The questions become a roar, and the words don’t make sense. Where is Jeff? Where is Jan?

  A hand firmly clasps mine and pulls me to a sitting position. “Open your eyes,” Jeff says. “Jan is getting you some coffee.”

  Jan arrives with a mug of coffee and helps me drink it.

  “I hate coffee,” I mumble into the cup.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jeff says. “It will help you wake up.”

  I can open my eyes now. He’s watching me carefully.

  “Okay, everybody,” Jeff says to the row of white faces with huge, lemurlike eyes. “You can go inside now. I’m going to take Stacy home.”

  “I’ll go too,” Jan says.

  “You don’t need to,” Jeff tells her. “She’ll be all right.”

  “But what if Jarrod—”

  “The last place he’ll come tonight is to Stacy’s house.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  “It’s taken care of,” he tells them. He turns to me. “Stacy, is there a particular detective you should talk to?”

  “Yes. Detective Markowitz.”

  “Let’s take you home. You can talk to him there. It will give you a chance to calm down.”

  Jan gives me a questioning look, so I tell her, “I think Jeff is right.”

  As I watch them leave I mumble to Jeff, “I didn’t know what Jarrod was going to do. He wanted me to see his new car.” I feel as though I have to explain. “I didn’t know about the vodka.”

  “It’s okay, Stacy. You don’t have to tell me about it.”

  “I’m glad you came when you did. Thanks.”

  “Drink some more coffee.”

  The coffee has cooled down a little, so I take a big drink. “You came right away.”

  “I was looking for you. Feeling a little better?”

  “Why were you looking for me?”

  As I wait for his answer I sip at the coffee. I can think more clearly now, which is unfortunate because I’m getting more and more embarrassed. To make everything worse, I look up at Jeff and hiccup. His face twitches as he tries unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh.

  “Home is a good place for you right now,” he says. He puts the empty coffee mug on the edge of Tony’s front porch. “Come wi
th me, Stacy. My car is across the street.”

  My legs are working now, but I hold his hand tightly while we walk to the car. In a few minutes, as we pull away from the curb, the nearby streetlight flashes across his face, and again I get the strange feeling that I’ve met Jeff before.

  “You’re different,” I tell him.

  “You said that before.”

  “I can’t explain it. It’s like you’re not exactly what you seem to be.”

  He turns to look at me. “You’ll find out that many people aren’t exactly what they seem to be, Stacy.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Questions, questions,” he says. There’s a long pause until he surprises me by asking, “How well did you know Jarrod Tucker?”

  “I just saw him around the neighborhood. I knew who he was.”

  “Did you see him with other people?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t pay any attention. Why?”

  “Just asking,” he says, but for an instant he gives a strange smile.

  “My turn.” I sit up straighter. “Do you know Jarrod Tucker?”

  He turns and looks at me. “I’ve seen him around.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Sure I did. Pay attention.”

  “How come you get to ask all the questions? When I ask you questions, you don’t answer or you change the subject.”

  “Changing the subject right now is a good idea. What do you want to talk about? The party?”

  “I don’t even want to think about the party.” A large hiccup shudders through me, and I clap my hands over my mouth.

  The muscles at the corners of his mouth twitch again. He’s laughing at me! I open my mouth to tell him that he’s rude, but all that comes out is another hiccup. I feel so stupid that I hunch back against the seat and don’t try to talk. He doesn’t talk to me either. There’s such a muddle of feelings stirring inside me. I don’t understand them. I sneak a couple of glances at Jeff from the corners of my eyes. I like him. I like to be near him. But there is something about him I don’t understand. It’s like a secret he doesn’t want me to discover.

  In a short time we park in the driveway to my house. Jeff leads me up to the front steps, takes the key from my purse, and opens the door. I look at him and gulp. Now what do I do? Will he just say good night? What if he kisses me? I’m terrified that he might, but at the same time I desperately hope that he will.

  A rectangle of light suddenly spills from the open front door of the Cooper house, and Mrs. Cooper steps out.

  “Is that you, Stacy?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Cooper,” I call back.

  “Your father said you’d be at a party. When I heard a car, I thought I’d check.”

  “I came home early,” I tell her.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Just tired.” I remember my manners. “This is a friend of mine—Jeff Clinton. Jeff, our neighbor, Mrs. Cooper.”

  They nod at each other, but Mrs. Cooper doesn’t go inside. She stands there, watching, as Jeff hands me the key and a scrap of paper.

  “My phone number’s written on that,” he says. “You might want it sometime.”

  “Thanks,” I answer. I wish Mrs. Cooper wouldn’t stare at us. “Would you like to come inside?”

  From the corners of his eyes he glances at Mrs. Cooper and smiles. “What would your watchdog say about that?”

  “I don’t care. I—I wish you’d look through the house to make sure no one’s there. I’d feel a lot safer.”

  “No one’s there, but if you’ll feel better about it, I’ll check it out.”

  I start toward the door with him, but he says, “Stay here. Your watchdog will protect you.”

  I lean against the rough brick and smile at Mrs. Cooper. “He’s checking the house for me,” I tell her.

  She nods. “Good idea.” She still doesn’t go inside.

  I feel as though I should be making conversation, so I stammer something about what a warm night it is, and she quickly agrees. I’m relieved when Jeff appears in the doorway.

  “Everything’s okay,” he says. “Call Detective Markowitz as soon as you’re in the house.”

  “How did you know his name?”

  “You told me.”

  “I did? Oh. I did. You have a good memory.”

  “Yes,” Jeff says. “I do.” Even with Mrs. Cooper watching he leans down and kisses my forehead. “You’ll be okay now,” he tells me.

  As he starts down the walk toward his car I shut the door and lock it, then lean against it, thinking about what a nice guy Jeff is. But why is he such a mysterious person in some ways? He doesn’t want to talk about himself. Why? And what did he mean about people not always being what they seem to be?

  A thought breaks through the fuzzy fog that has settled on my brain. I realize that Jeff didn’t ask me my address. He didn’t ask where I lived. But he came here as though he had been here before.

  I hear the whispery voice on the phone, the voice that mumbled, “Yes, I have a friend.”

  What if Jeff is Jarrod’s friend?

  Detective Markowitz calls me before I can call him. “I got the word on your identification,” he says. “They told me that someone at your party phoned it in.”

  “Yes. I think it was Jeff. A lot of what happened is kind of mixed up in my mind.”

  There’s a pause, and his voice is deeper, quieter. “How about the identification, Stacy? Could that be mixed up too?”

  “No. I’m sure. I’m very sure.” Then I tell him everything that happened.

  “I’ve got his record in front of me,” he says. “Minor stuff. A couple of charges on possession of drugs, but because of his age he was given probation.”

  “But he’s a murderer!”

  “That’s what we’ll have to prove.”

  “He is! I told you! He is!”

  “Take it easy, Stacy. I believe you.”

  “What are you going to do now? Are you going to try to find Jarrod?”

  “There are a number of things to do,” he answers. “I’m working on them. I’ll get back to you tomorrow. You okay?”

  “Yes. I’m okay.”

  “Don’t worry about anything. It’s up to us for now.”

  I remember that Jeff said my house would be the last place Jarrod would come to, but I can’t help asking Markowitz, “What if Jarrod comes here?”

  “He won’t,” he answers. “Go to bed. Get some sleep.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Stacy,” he says, and I can tell he’s trying to be patient and is probably tired and wishes he could be home in bed. “As I told you, I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

  When I put down the receiver, the house seems awfully quiet, as if it’s listening along with me. I shake my head. No. I can’t frighten myself like this. I’ll read a book. I’ll watch something on television. I know what I’ll do. I’ll take a shower.

  A shower is a perfect idea. The water is hot and strong. I take a deep breath, then tilt my face up under the shower head, so that the steamy water beats against my forehead. When I can’t hold my breath any longer, I twist and duck, letting the force of the water massage my neck and shoulders. It’s warm in here and comfortable, and I wish I could stay here for an hour. But finally I turn off the water and stretch for a towel that’s on the nearest rack.

  The silence in the steam-filled room makes me nervous. I’d forgotten that with the noise of the shower and the bathroom door closed, I wouldn’t be able to hear anything else in the house.

  But what would there be to hear?

  In the distance the telephone rings.

  I fumble with my pajamas and robe, scrambling into them, accidentally turning a sleeve of my robe wrong side out in my haste. I jab at the inside-out sleeve, nearly ripping it as I manage to get it in place so I can pull on the robe.

  My hand is on the knob of the bathroom door when I realize that the phone rang only once. That’s funny.
r />   Open the door. Don’t move. Wait. Listen.

  Someone must have known it was a wrong number. Right? Or decided not to call after all. Sure. That’s it.

  But just to be positive, I cautiously walk through the bedroom hallway. The lights are on in the den, just as I left them. I take another step, and a floorboard makes a snapping sound.

  There’s a creaking sound in the den, a shadow against the wall, and a voice asks, “Stacy?”

  “Daddy?” My voice wobbles. “Is that you?”

  He appears at the other end of the hallway. “I thought you heard me come in.”

  “I didn’t. I was in the shower.”

  “Did I startle you, honey? I didn’t mean to.”

  I run to him and hug him. “It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to get home so early.”

  “The reports they sent us were incomplete, so there was no chance to do the work tonight.” He turns back to the den, where I see part of an apple on a plate next to his chair. “I was having a snack. There are more apples in the refrigerator. Want to join me?”

  “No, thanks.” I perch on the end of the sofa. “I thought I heard the telephone.”

  “You probably did. One of those calls where it dawns on someone that he has the wrong number, but he doesn’t say anything and doesn’t hang up until he finally figures it out.”

  “I saw him tonight, Daddy.”

  “Saw who?”

  “The guy who killed Mom. He was at the party. I recognized him.”

  Dad gives a choking gasp, stumbles toward me, and grabs my shoulders. “What happened? What did you do? Does Detective Markowitz know?”

  I hug my father tightly. It makes it easier to tell him about Jarrod and Jeff.

  When I finish, Dad drops onto the sofa, next to me. “This Jeff shouldn’t have left you alone. He should have stayed with you until I came home.”

  I’d thought the same thing but found myself defending Jeff. “He said I’d be all right. He did check out the house. Besides, Detective Markowitz told me the same thing.”

  “Who is Jeff?” Dad asks. “Have I ever met him?”

  “Daddy! He just took me home. That’s all. He said good night while Mrs. Cooper watched us, and he left.”

  “Mrs. Cooper?” Dad suddenly looks guilty.

  “Did you ask Mrs. Cooper to keep an eye on me?”