Darkshine

by R. D. Vallier

  "Wow! It's almost ten o'clock," Cathy said, struggling to push herself up from the couch. "We better go to bed, Haley. We have a big, big day tomorrow!"

  "I don't wanna go to bed," Haley whined.

  "Your nana will join you shortly, sweetie," Charlene said. "My blood sugar is just ... it's just so low."

  I rolled my eyes and scratched beneath my waistband.

  Haley slapped the carpet with her hands. "Noooo. I don't wanna."

  "Aw, duckling," Cathy soothed. "You get another Christmas with Grandma Ingrid tomorrow. Won't that be fun?"

  Cathy clicked off the television and Haley shrieked like an air-raid siren. "Noooo! I hate Grandma Ingrid!"

  I clenched my teeth, wanting to scream with her. Grandma Ingrid was actually Sam's grandmother, Charlene's mother. Every year the whole family took the three hour drive into West Virginia to visit her, but because of her Alzheimer's she never remembered. Last year she smeared Charlene's brownies across the wall and kept trying to slap me, insisting I was Margery, her late husband's mistress back in the sixties. The nursing home had cut our visit short and Charlene refused to speak to me for the remainder of our trip. It was the best Christmas I ever had.

  Rich threw Haley over his shoulder and headed for the stairs. "No! No! No! No! AAAAAH!" she shrieked, pounding her fists on his back.

  "Are we taking separate cars this year?" I asked Sam.

  "Don't be ridiculous," Charlene snapped. "We will all squeeze into Rich's minivan."

  "And we will listen to your new Wiggles sing-along CD the whole way there," Cathy said as she followed her husband and daughter upstairs. "Won't that be fun, duckling?"

  "Nooooooo!"

  I smiled wanly. "Sounds greeeat."

  Haley cried herself to exhaustion forty-five minutes later, and soon after everyone else crawled off to bed. Sam clicked off the light and bellyflopped onto the guest mattress. I laid beside him, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, fidgeting with a button on my new pajamas.

  "Sam?"

  "Mmwha?" he groaned into the pillow.

  "If ... If I was ever in trouble and had to leave town fast, would you come with me?"

  He snorted. "You a fugitive and never told me?"

  I smiled in the dark. "No. But what if some bad guys try to kidnap me? Will you follow me? Fight if needed?"

  "Of course. No one takes my girl." He yawned. "Now go to sleep."

  I stared at the ceiling long after Sam started snoring, keeping my ears tuned to beyond the door, listening for creaking floorboards, latching bathroom knobs, water filling glasses. When I was positive the house was asleep I stuffed my feet into the wool socks Rich and Cathy had bought me for Christmas, and crept downstairs.

  The Christmas tree illuminated the living room in a soft, white glow, as if the branches were made of moonlight. I prepared a mug of cocoa, cracked open the curtains, and curled up on the couch, grateful for the solitude. The overhead vent purred and poured out warmth, protecting the house from the thin blanket of snow on the world. I absentmindedly rotated my new bracelet around my wrist as I gazed out the window. Outside appeared serene, a deception deeper than the garland's promise of comfort and home. I now knew the night was alive and plotting, conjuring strategies in its shadows. Hidden strangers vied to reach me, each with different wants, ideas, schemes. I chuckled at the silliness of it all. Me. A nobody girl in a nowhere town with a future promised to be as dull as my past.

  I sipped my cocoa. Well, why shouldn't a nobody like me have an adventure? I wondered. Even pawns can checkmate when played in the right hands. I set the mug on the coffee table and stretched, knowing these thoughts were pointless. I would have no adventure, unless my husband was a part of it. I had said my vows to him, not to any talking bird or guide, whoever they might be. I chuckled, bitterly. All my life I had sought attention and acceptance, and now that it was coming I wanted it to go away.

  The chickadee fluttered onto the windowsill and pecked the glass. Tink! I opened the backdoor and it flew onto my shoulder with a joyful chirrup. Did the guide come too? I wondered. I scanned the backyard, but found only patio furniture and shadows.

  "Merry Christmas," I whispered, locking the door. "Want some leftovers?"

  The chickadee nodded and danced on my shoulder. I let the bird choose from the Tupperware in the refrigerator, then prepared it a saucer of cranberry sauce, stuffing, and green bean casserole, and set it on the kitchen counter.

  I sat on a barstool as the chickadee pecked a cranberry. "I feel terrible I didn't get you a Christmas present," I said.

  The chickadee made a high pitched tee! tee! tee! and I realized it was chuckling. "The food makes a wonderful present. I can't get this foraging in the woods." It tore off a strip of green bean and inhaled it in three swallows. "I have some good news," it said. "I learned that your guide will arrive tomorrow or early the next day."

  I clicked my fingernails together. "Yeah, about that," I said. "I've decided not to meet them."

  The chickadee peered up at me, cranberry sauce glinting on its beak. "You have to meet them! Only they can help you."

  "I have a husband, you know," I said. "One who wouldn't appreciate a stranger sniffing about."

  "He'd appreciate them a lot more than a darkling, I'm sure," the chickadee said, sharply.

  I shook my head. "Sam is a cop; defending people is in his blood. He'll stand with me against anything. Including darklings."

  "This isn't a common criminal, Miriam. Sam has never fought anything supernatural."

  "He fought the moths and spiders," I retorted.

  The chickadee snorted. "You can't stop a darkling with a shoe. Or a gun for that matter."

  "We can try."

  The chickadee exhaled with frustration. "Will you at least hear me out?"

  "It won't matter what you or some guide says. I'm staying with my husband."

  The chickadee stood on the counter, glaring at me. Water dripped from the kitchen faucet with a dull plink. I crossed my arms defiantly over my chest. Sam's iPhone buzzed in his coat pocket on the neighboring barstool, making me jump nearly out of my skin. I rolled my eyes, embarrassed. The chickadee kept glaring up at me, unflinching. I pressed my lips tight, then tossed up my hands. "Okay, fine. Who is this mysterious guide and why is it so friggin' important I meet them?"

  The chickadee pecked and swallowed a piece of cranberry. "They're a faerie. Think of them like a consultant of sorts."

  "A faerie?" I snorted. "You mean like Tinkerbell, with gossamer wings and glittery dust and pom pom shoes?"

  The chickadee chuckled. Tee! Tee! Tee! "Not exactly. Although, to be honest, I'm unsure who is coming. Adena passed away unexpectedly and someone new from the border sentry has been elected to take her place." The chickadee shrugged its wings. "Regardless, all they want is to give you information and options. What you do with it is your choice. And Sam will never need to be the wiser."

  I lifted an eyebrow. "What kind of information?"

  "That's not my place to say."

  I glowered. "Why so—" Sam's iPhone buzzed. "Gah! Who friggin' calls at this time of night?" I fished the phone from the coat pocket. "Why so cryptic?" I asked the chickadee, unlocking the phone's screen. "Are the darklings some—?"

  My mother's voice crowed delightedly inside my head—I told you! I told you, I tooold youuu!—and my heart landed in my stomach with a nauseating thump, as a stupid text message tore my life into shreds.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Miriam? Are you okay?"

  I stared at the phone, my mouth open, unable to find my voice.

  "Miriam?" The chickadee flew onto my shoulder. "What's—? Oh!"

  On Sam's iPhone was a closeup of a man's bare erection. The accompanying text read: I already unwrapped your Xmas present. Cum & get it. ;)

  My insides were as cold and empty as an arctic canyon, echoing repressed fears, doubts, insecurities. The chickadee said something, which I ignored easily through my heart pounding in my ears. I tittered ne
rvously and shook my head. "It's a wrong number! How embarrassing!"

  Then, despite my brain and emotions screaming in unison to place the phone back in the pocket, back to where Sam and I could laugh about the silly mishap in the morning, back to where everything could be fixed, back to where my comfortable world would stay comfortably the same, my thumb scanned the conversation and revealed the text that had arrived a moment before: Is the stupid bitch asleep yet Sammy love? I miss u.

  My chest hitched, and hitched, and hitched. I couldn't breathe. The air was gone. My life was gone. I sank into the stool, nerves buzzing behind my eyes. Tears scratched for release, but logic

  [denial]

  forbade them to fall, insisting they were stupid, mistaken, missing the obvious explanation.

  "There must be an explanation," I whispered. My mouth tasted like cotton and my chest felt hollow, as if an undertaker had dug a grave beneath my heart to bury my marriage. The iPhone buzzed and flashed. I nearly vomited from panic. Don't look! This is still fixable. It is all a misunderstanding. Perhaps an obsessed stalker Sam rejected, unwilling to tell you in fear of your overreaction. Don't look at the screen you stupid girl. Don't you dare look!

  I looked at the screen. A naked man had photographed himself in a mirror, leaning against a headboard to expose his athletic body. Is he even old enough to drink? I wondered, numbly. His right hand held the camera; his left hand stroked his genitals. Through the screen his smooth face leered with come-fuck-me eyes, and in that instant I realized looks could kill. They killed relationships, lives, futures, dreams.

  "This is a mistake. Has to be a—" My face scrunched up. Water dripped from the kitchen faucet with a dull plink. I clenched the iPhone to my chest and ran upstairs on my tiptoes, wanting to sprint and cry and shout, but too mortified I might wake the family. My mother-in-law was right. I was unworthy of Sam's heart. I wasn't even what he desired. I didn't belong with him or this family. I didn't belong anywhere.

  "Wait!" the chickadee pleaded from my shoulder. It flew onto the outside doorjamb as I stormed into the guest-room. I flicked on the lights and locked the door. Sam was asleep, one arm hanging off the bed. My dread and confusion flared into rage. How dare he lay there, peaceful and content. Ha! I'm sure he was content. Did he dream of his young lover? Dream of—My insides tightened as I imagined their naked bodies pressed together, the young man's thighs squeezing Sam's head as he—

  "Sam!" I hissed, marching to him. He lay motionless. I shoved his shoulder. "Sam!"

  Sam blinked in the light. "Huh? Wha? Jesus Christ, Miriam. What time is it?"

  Time for you to come clean and pack your bags you two-timing asshole! Time for you to watch my ass leave you forever! Time for you to go to hell!

  All these comments raced through my head, but my tongue betrayed me. I shoved the naked photo in his face and asked only: "Why?"

  He stared at the photo, stone-faced. I started to tremble. My organs felt as if they would shake apart from the anxiety buzzing inside me. I expected him to deny it, or to flip out that I had gone through his personal belongings, or to act confused about why I showed him porn, or to laugh at my stupidity as he always did. But he just stared at the phone, emotionless, as if he knew this was inevitable. As if he had pulled a paper tab at the beginning of the affair and had been merely dallying until his number was called. He showed no denial. No emotion. No anything. And that was the worst. Destroying our relationship, destroying me, meant nothing to him.

  "Why?" I repeated. My voice was hoarse. Outside, a train whistle howled.

  "Must we discuss this now?" he groaned, as if I had woke him up to discuss paint swatches for the kitchen.

  Tears welled in my eyes. "Do you think I'm unattractive? Do you not want me anymore?"

  He flopped back onto the pillow. "I don't know."

  "How can you not know?"

  "Dammit, woman! Keep your voice down! People are sleeping."

  "How could you do this?"

  "We'll discuss this after we leave."

  I gasped. He wanted me to pretend everything was okay for the next two days? He might as well have told me to wait for him in an iron maiden. "But—"

  "Not now, Miriam," he said, then rolled his back to me.

  "Sam?" I said. "Sam!"

  He lay there motionless and refused to answer.

  Saltwater trickled down the back of my throat. I thought my skull would crack from the pressure building inside my head. I wanted to rant and scream, to tear the blankets off his body and smash the clock beside the bed. I wanted him to face me, to tell me the truth no matter how ugly it was, to fight and scratch for the last piece of self respect I had, and demand the respect I knew I deserved. I didn't want to make waves; I wanted to make tsunamis. I wanted to roll over his world with all the pain and destruction he rolled over mine. I wanted him to drown in the wreckage he had caused.

  Instead I slammed his iPhone onto the nightstand and stormed out of the guest room, fighting back a swell of tears.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I raced down the stairs two at a time. The chickadee flew after me and landed on the railing's garland as I grabbed my overcoat from the hall closet.

  "Miriam—"

  "Leave me alone," I said, my voice thick and wet.

  "I swore to watch after you," the chickadee said.

  "I don't care!" I threw the overcoat over my pajamas and stuffed my feet into my hiking boots, the wool socks thick inside. "I don't care about darklings or faeries or any of it. I just want this night to not exist." I tugged my olive knitted cap over my ears. The chickadee latched onto my shoulder as I stormed out the front door.

  Entering the night felt like entering a cavern—empty and open, dark and lonely. I snuffled back a sob, gritting my teeth to prevent my grief from breaking the silence. I headed toward the train tracks at the end of the street, beelining to nowhere. Most of the houses were equipped with motion sensors. The lights sprung alive as I passed, as if the whole neighborhood was pointing and laughing, exposing me for the undesirable loser I was.

  Road salt crunched beneath my boots as I veered right to parallel the tracks. Three spotlights broke the darkness in the distance, the triangular eye of a freight train watching the world.

  "I don't know what to say," the chickadee said, breaking our silence.

  I snorted. "Neither does Sam. But why should he say anything to me, right? I'm just a stupid bitch."

  "Stop justifying him," the chickadee snapped. "You deserve better."

  I rolled my eyes and wiped my nose on my sleeve, the wool rough against my chapped skin. "I've never felt as if I belonged anywhere, but I believed Sam was the exception. That he liked me, you know?" A tear rolled down my cheek. I rubbed my eyes and shook my head. "Maybe he still does. Maybe he is experimenting. Maybe I can fix this and—"

  The chickadee pecked my earlobe. "Ow!" I batted it off my shoulder. It flew back and pecked my temple. "Ow! Stop!" I waved my arms, retreating. "Why are you pecking me?"

  The bird buzzed my face, nipping my cheek. "Why are you flinching?"

  "Because you're hurting me!"

  The chickadee landed on my hat and glared down at me, its beady eye glinting in the lights of the train. "Yet you refuse to back away from the man hurting your heart."

  "That's different. I can't just leave Sam."

  "Why not?"

  "Because! I have no money, no car, no one to go to, no—"

  "Everything you need is inside yourself," the chickadee said.

  I snorted. "Obviously you don't know me."

  "Maybe I know you better than you know yourself."

  "Doubt it," I grumbled. The chickadee flitted onto my shoulder. We walked in silence for two blocks, yet I had never heard so much racket. My brain screamed Sam is having an affair with a man! Oh my God! Sam is having an affair with a man! and refused to shut up. Ahead, the train whistle howled. The engine groaned a hoarse ka-chunk … ka-chunk … ka-chunk. How people slept in the surrounding houses was beyond my
understanding. Train whistles always screamed outside their windows, and wheels always clacked. The triple headlamp crept toward us, then passed. I curled my shoulders, heading in the opposite direction. A minute passed, and still the freight train trudged beside me. I numbly considered throwing myself onto the tracks.

  The chickadee started lecturing about personal worth and self-respect but I ignored it. (Amazing how fast the novelty of a talking songbird wore off when it spoke truths I was afraid to hear.) Instead I focused on the train to silence the Sam is having an affair with a man! screams inside my head. I wondered where the train was bound for, what lifestyle the engineer left behind, what scenery awaited him, what mysteries the headlamps would reveal.

  You do not belong here.

  I froze mid-step. The chickadee lurched against my neck.

  "What's wrong?" the chickadee asked.

  I watched the graffitied cars trail past us, a shadowy parade of possibility and escape. The inner voice which always insisted I didn't belong screamed louder than my despair, and I finally interpreted the message it had been struggling to deliver all my life.

  You do not belong here, Miriam. Run away. Run away and never look back.

  I was wrong. Had always been wrong. The inner voice insisted I was an outsider, but it had never been an insult. It was an admission, a warning. The opening lines of my own personal fairytale. I didn't belong here. But that didn't mean I didn't belong anywhere. I needed to find the right place. My place. And maybe the train headed in the right direction.