Into the Darkness

by Andrews, V. C.

  “Is your mother doing any better?” I called to him anyway.

  He turned back to me, his face glowing in the starlight almost the way I had imagined it in his bedroom window last night. “She’s the same,” he said.

  “She doesn’t like it here? What about you?”

  “You already know I do. I’d better go.” He started and stopped, turning back to me again. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’ll be fine,” he added, his voice drifting as he stepped away.

  Instead of going to the front of the house and down the street, he was heading toward the back and around again.

  I rose and went to the railing. “Wait.”

  He didn’t reply as he moved through the light spilling from our windows, speeding up as if he thought the illumination might burn him.

  I hurried down the steps of the front porch and around the house to catch up with him, but I didn’t see him in the darkness once he had passed through the last bit of light leaking out of our house. I didn’t see him behind the house or at the hedges, either, when I got there. I listened for the sound of his feet over the grass, the opening of his front or back door, anything, but I heard nothing.

  “Brayden, where are you?” I whispered loudly. I waited but still heard nothing. “Why are you going home this way? Do you have to sneak back into your house? Brayden?”

  I walked slowly toward the hedges, listening as hard as I could, but I didn’t hear anything other than the distant hum of traffic in town and on the main highway that ran northwest to Portland. The rear of our house had a patio, a built-in barbecue grill, chairs, and tables. Dad was always talking about building a pool, but Mom, the accountant in our family, pointed out how little use we could make of it, especially given that only in the summer could we use it at all, and therefore what an inefficient use of our money it would be. Consequently, we had a rather big undeveloped backyard.

  Our land was almost an acre shaped in a rectangle, the rear border of which was deep, thick woods. There was a stream about a mile in, which was fed by the lake runoff. Freshwater streams flowing from the mountains and winter snow runoff kept the lake and the stream healthy. There hadn’t been a real drought in our area for more than fifty years.

  I wasn’t one to go exploring in the forest. I only ventured in deeply when I went with Dad, who toyed with the idea of finding a great place to fish for kokanee salmon, the version of sockeye salmon that thrived in lakes. Mom teased him about it because he wasn’t that great a fisherman, often getting more involved in a history book he was reading. Once he had lost a pole because a rather big fish bit and dragged it off while he was absorbed in a detailed description of the battles on the Gallipoli front during World War I and had rested his pole on a large rock, thinking he would have time to seize it if he got a bite.

  I smiled at the memory.

  Then I looked up at the now lit attic in Brayden’s house. For a minute or so, I saw nothing, and then I was sure I saw him come to the window and look down in my direction. How did he get up there so quickly? He must have run the whole way. I waited to see if he saw me looking up at him, but he was gone, and soon after, the light went out, throwing the entire house into darkness. What was that about? Had his mother fallen asleep up there? How could they navigate through their house in such utter darkness? I waited, but the house remained dark. Why didn’t the light go on in his room?

  I stared at the attic window for a few moments and then lowered my head and walked back to the porch. I no longer felt like sitting outside and listening to my own thoughts. The truth was, I did so just so I would see or talk to him. Now that he was gone, I decided to go in and go to sleep. My conversation with him had done little more to enlighten me about him. He was still a first-class walking mystery.

  “Everything all right?” Dad called when I entered the house.

  “Yes.”

  “Your mother decided to go up and read.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Me, too. Night, Dad.”

  “Night, Amber Light.”

  I smiled and hurried up the stairs to look in on Mom. She was comfortably in bed, reading.

  “Enjoy your time outside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you meet anyone?” she asked with a wry smile.

  I thought a moment. “Felt like it, but I can’t be sure,” I said, and she widened her smile.

  “Maybe you need more time to be sure. Do you want more time to be sure?”

  We both knew what she meant. Did I?

  I nodded. “I guess I will take tomorrow off,” I said.

  “You have the weekend off, Amber, not just tomorrow, so feel free to make plans. If it should come up,” she added with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “Okay, Mom. Thanks.”

  “Great.”

  I started away, then paused as if I had something more to add. I did, but not in words. I entered the bedroom and kissed her good night.

  “Love you,” she said.

  Do we ever stop kissing our mothers good night? I wondered. Maybe, when we were finally out of the house and in a home of our own, but if she were there for a visit, I was sure that even with children of my own, I would still think of my mother as Mom or Mommy and give her that good-night kiss.

  I wondered if Brayden gave his mother a good-night kiss. Somehow, even without meeting her, I thought it might not happen. Someday I would know I had been right, but not for the reasons I thought or could even imagine.

  Before I got into bed, my phone rang. It was Ellie, who said she had just gotten home herself. Apparently, meeting me and hearing me talk about a new boy in town had energized her own romantic interests.

  “Charlotte and I went to the mall and hung out at the pizza place. Bobby Harris and Tommy Fletcher spent the whole time with us. I know Bobby has a thing for me. I’m just not sure about him. What do you think of him? Should I let him pursue me?”

  “He seems safe enough,” I said.

  “Safe? What’s that supposed to mean? I never wondered if a boy was safe or not.”

  “It could mean a lot of things, Ellie. Sometimes it’s not safe getting too involved with someone. He or she could be a bad influence, bring a lot of his own personal baggage that could depress you,” I added, thinking of Brayden.

  “God, you’re getting to talk like Mrs. Fishman, the health teacher. Next thing I know, you’ll start talking about peer pressure and all that other garbage we hear from her until it comes pouring out of our ears.”

  “You asked my opinion, so I’m giving it to you.” I paused. Was I was being too curt and lofty? Wasn’t this what they were always accusing me of being? Who was I to give anyone romantic advice, anyway? “I haven’t heard anything terribly negative about Bobby Harris. But I haven’t heard all that much about him, anyway,” I added in a softer tone.

  “Oh, so now you think he’s boring, not unsafe enough. Is that it?”

  “What? No,” I said, laughing. “A boy doesn’t have to be unsafe to be interesting.” I thought about my father’s joking. “That would make Jack the Ripper an ideal date.”

  “I asked around about your new neighbors. Nobody knows anything about them. Most were even surprised to hear someone had moved into the house. Tami Spaulding’s aunt lives on your street. She was there yesterday, and she said the house looks just as deserted as ever.”

  “They haven’t gotten around to doing much yet,” I said. “Mr. Matthews travels on business and is away on an important trip he had to make. They’ll probably dress up the place when he returns.”

  “Oh, so you really are getting to know this someone who is very good-looking,” she quickly concluded.

  “I’ve spoken to him a few times, but I’d never claim I’ve gotten to know him yet.”

  “What’s that mean? You know, you speak more and more in riddles these days, Amber. Everyone says so. Most don’t even want to make the effort.”

  “Sometimes things aren’t as clear as we would like,” I said. “So they seem like riddles. I don’t
mean it to sound like that. Look, I’ve learned he’s just very cautious when it comes to meeting new people.”

  “Cautious? Safe? Can you speak English? Never mind. What’s his name? You know that, at least, don’t you?”

  “Brayden.”

  “Brayden. I like that. It sounds safe.”

  “Okay, Ellie.”

  She laughed. “So? Did you get a chance to ask him to go to Charlotte’s party?”

  I hesitated, not wanting to give her Brayden’s real answer. All that would do would lead to more questions.

  “He has a conflict with some family things he has to do,” I said.

  “Oh, too bad. Well, we’ll try to arrange something else soon.”

  “Yes, good idea.”

  “Are you coming to the party anyway?”

  “I think so.”

  “Why can’t you just say yes? I can pick you up if you want. Well?”

  “Okay.”

  “Or if you’d like, I can arrange for Shayne Allan to pick you up. I’d be glad to do it.”

  “No, that’s fine. I don’t need anyone to arrange for me to meet Shayne Allan.”

  “You’re not afraid of him or something, are you? You don’t see him as being unsafe? I’m not kidding this time.”

  “No, I’m not afraid of him. I’m just a fan of letting things happen naturally.”

  “Huh? Naturally? I swear, I have to work on my foreign-language skills so I can understand you. Anyway, I’ll pick you up around seven-fifteen. Don’t forget, wear something red, white, or blue or all three.”

  “Why didn’t she just make a party? Why the July Fourth excuse?”

  “It will work when her parents find out,” Ellie explained. “She’ll claim she was just being patriotic.”

  “Give me a break. They’ll believe that?”

  “She’s just being cautious. That’s a new thing for Charlotte to try, caution.”

  She laughed again, and then we ended the conversation with my reassuring her that I would go to the party.

  Ellie did make me think about Shayne Allan. Why was I really avoiding him? I asked myself. Was I afraid of having what everyone thought was the most ideal relationship, the prom king and his queen? Or did I think that because he was so perfect, I would look inferior? Was I really that arrogant? Was I simply just a prude? I overheard the things Ellie and the other girls said about me. I knew they believed that I was afraid of sex. Maybe they were right. Maybe every clever thing I said was simply a way to avoid facing the truth, a rationalization, a smoke screen so no one would be able to see just how frightened I really was to be involved with anyone.

  And then it occurred to me that maybe that was Brayden’s problem, too. Perhaps what was happening between his own parents caused him to be timid about having any relationship of his own. How could anyone living in a family like his not be suffering from some emotional and psychological issues himself? His bravado and clever talk were his smoke screen. We were more alike than I first thought.

  That’s why he sensed what I was thinking. He thought about the same things. No matter how cavalier he was about making friends and having relationships, the truth was, he was very lonely. And I had to admit to myself that I was, too.

  Perhaps if I helped him break out of his self-inflicted imprisonment, I would help myself do the same. There. If I needed a reason to keep trying, I found one, I thought.

  I went to my window again, hesitated, and then deliberately opened the curtain wider.

  He’s watching me, I thought confidently. Somewhere in the darkness, he’s fixed on my lighted windows, drawn to them like a moth to a candle.

  I began to undress, doing my best to pretend to be oblivious, acting as if I had forgotten that someone had moved in next door. Nevertheless, my heart was pounding. I paraded around in my bra and panties and then paused and undid my bra with my back to the window. I slipped it off and down my arms and then tossed it onto a chair as casually as a nightclub stripper. I straightened up with my arms at my sides. I could feel my nipples harden. A tingling began to swirl in my stomach and the insides of my thighs. I felt my breath quicken, my lips moisten. All I had to do was turn around. I started to, but I didn’t. It was as if there were invisible hands on my shoulders pressing down firmly to prevent me from doing so. My body calmed. I walked away, put on my nightgown, and turned off the lights.

  It was a mean thing to do, I decided. I knew there were all sorts of nasty names for girls who would do something like that. They certainly didn’t earn themselves any respect. I could feel my body filling up with guilt and shame. I couldn’t imagine my mother ever having done something like that when she was my age, and I knew how disappointed my father would be if he knew about it.

  What would Brayden think of me now? Would he pretend that he hadn’t seen me? Maybe he hadn’t. Perhaps he really had gone to sleep. That was certainly possible. I hoped so. It helped me to feel better, and I was able to fall asleep quickly. But sometime during the night, I woke up, and for a moment, I thought Brayden was standing there, looking down at me and shaking his head disdainfully. I sat up quickly, nearly crying out.

  But he wasn’t there.

  The star glow on the walls made the threads in my pink and white wallpaper sparkle. I could hear the wind weave itself around our house, rush over the roof, and pluck at the rain gutters. I sat for a moment, my hands clasped between my breasts, and then I lowered myself to my soft, oversized pillows. For a while, I was afraid to close my eyes, afraid to fall head over heels down the well of my dreams, but sleep finally seized me again, and I didn’t wake until I heard my father coming up the stairs with Mom’s cup of coffee.

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes, and then I stopped suddenly, actually freezing in place.

  The curtains on my windows were closed tightly.

  I didn’t remember doing that.

  4

  Child of Circumstance

  “Now, don’t spend your entire day off sitting in the house reading or doing any of the housework,” my mother warned me at breakfast. “That’s not why we want you not to come to the store, Amber.”

  “I won’t,” I promised, and then told her that I had decided to go to Charlotte’s party for sure and that Ellie was picking me up.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” she said. “Did you ask the new boy to go?”

  “I did, but he can’t go.”

  “Why not?”

  “He doesn’t want to leave his mother alone so soon after moving into a new house,” I told her. It was probably one of the real reasons for his declining my invitation, I thought, if not the only one.

  “Oh, well, I suppose that’s very thoughtful and considerate of him.” She smiled. “I’m sure you’ll have a good time.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but I was also not so sure that everyone else’s parents were going to be as overjoyed about them attending a party at Charlotte Watts’s house. Previously, there had been some incidents with binge drinking and drugs. If Charlotte’s father wasn’t so influential, she would surely have been in more trouble. Her driver’s license had already been revoked once, but it was quickly restored. Wealthy, prominent people did seem immune from the consequences everyone else had to face, even in a town as small as ours.

  My parents weren’t worried about my getting into any trouble, anyway. They had confidence in me. I had never been in any trouble at school, never late for a class or bawled out for talking while the teacher was lecturing. Maybe I was the ideal goody-goody, but if it made my parents happy, it didn’t bother me the way I knew it would bother some of my friends.

  Think of the words kids my age hate to hear in reference to themselves, I thought. Decent, well-behaved, obedient, and respectful were a few that some grimaced at hearing next to their names.

  My mother was obviously just happy I was getting out, doing any sort of socializing with kids my age. I had no idea how often my parents discussed me and my practically nonexistent social life, but I was confident that it was quite often thes
e days. Daughters of their friends were much more active and even more involved with after-school activities. In their minds, I was surely living the life of a wallflower, always sitting on the sidelines, enviously watching the other girls having the best times of their lives. Here I was, by everyone’s standard attractive and polite, responsible and bright. What kept me from at least enjoying as much as someone who was considered plain and average?

  Surely they wondered if they were responsible in some way. Were they too restrictive? Had they been demanding too much from me? Was my working in the store discouraging? Was there something they had done that discouraged me from reveling in my youth? It had to puzzle them. They were far from dour people. Yes, they worked hard at our family business, but they weren’t severe and dreary and didn’t insist that I work as hard as they did. Rarely was either of them stuck in a state of depression. Everyone has down moments, disappointments, and some unhappiness, but my parents were not the kind of people who would dwell on anything unpleasant. In fact, Dad always found something funny in the end, something that made him laugh at himself, and Mom believed in the sunny day ahead.

  She had faith that no matter what, morning would bring a change. Whatever the challenge, whether it was something economic, an illness, or an accident, things would get better as soon as the sun came up. They always did get better if you believed they would. No, our house was papered in optimism. We smiled and laughed far more than we scowled and cried. All of the kids my age admired my parents, talked about how young they looked and acted, how easy they were to talk to, and how comfortable my parents made them feel.

  Surely my peers believed there was no other reason I could possibly have for being so negative and skeptical except arrogance. Or maybe I was simply too afraid of life, of disappointing my parents or even myself. Few of my friends worried about such things. In fact, being around me was probably a downer for them, because I, with just my mere presence, would remind them of the consequences that their misbehaving might bring.