Dark Room

by Tom Becker

  “Does nobody else from school come here?” she asked Sasha.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” laughed Sasha. “This scene is way too raw for the hills. It’s way too raw for South Carolina, full stop. People come hundreds of miles just to see these bands play.”

  She drained her drink and went back to the bar to get two more, even though Darla had barely started hers. And when Sasha returned, she had company: the guitarist and bassist from the band they had just been watching, their sleeveless T-shirts stained with sweat and beer.

  “This is Evan and Jaime,” Sasha told Darla. “I was just telling them how awesome they were sounding tonight.”

  “You were really good,” Darla said politely.

  Evan, the singer and guitarist, barely glanced at her. But tousle-haired Jaime smiled.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “The next band’s about to come on,” Evan told Sasha. “You want to get a good spot by the stage?” Sasha looked at Darla, who meaningfully widened her eyes to say, Don’t you dare!

  “I would be… delighted!” Sasha said brightly. She linked arms with Evan and headed over to the stage, looking back at Darla and saying as she went, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

  Darla felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. For the second time that night, she contemplated killing her friend. This was just so typical of Sasha, so typically selfish. Darla took an awkward sip of her drink, waiting for Jaime to take pity on her and leave her alone. But, to her surprise, he showed no sign of moving.

  “So you liked our set?” he said.

  “I guess!” Darla replied. “I only caught the last couple of songs – we only just got here.”

  “That’s cool,” Jaime said. “We’re called ‘Where’s Walter?’ You know, after the guy who killed that beauty queen years ago.”

  “Walter West?” said Darla.

  “He’s supposed to be dead but there’s this urban legend that he’s still out there somewhere.” Jaime shifted uncomfortably. “Personally I think the name sucks, but it was Evan’s idea and it’s kinda his band. So please don’t tell him that.”

  Darla laughed. “I won’t.”

  “I’m from Arizona,” Jaime told her. “All this Saffron Hills local mystery crap doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “I’m not from here either,” Darla told him.

  “Really? Where you from?”

  Darla laughed. “Everywhere.”

  “Cool.”

  She caught sight of a flash of red hair amongst the crowd by the stage – Sasha, leaping up and down with Evan. Darla giggled. She seemed to have finished her first drink and had started on her second. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was Jaime, but a strange thing was happening: Darla was starting to enjoy herself. Jaime seemed to like the fact that she wasn’t from Saffron Hills, and didn’t seem to care that she didn’t know any of the bands he talked about. They sat in one of the alcoves at the back of the basement and chatted, shouting to make themselves heard above the music. Every time Darla finished her drink, a fresh one seemed to appear in front of her as if by magic. She stopped worrying about alcoholic parents and dead teenagers and serial killers. She laughed and made jokes. Occasionally Sasha would appear, drenched in sweat, whooping and kissing Darla on the cheek and taking selfies of them together before Evan dragged her back into the crowd. Even the music seemed to improve.

  As the last band of the evening took to the stage, Darla was suddenly aware of Jaime’s arm around her shoulder. She nestled against his chest, her heart thudding. She had never dreamed the night could have ended this way. It felt as though her head was spinning, that she was faint. And not totally in a good way.

  “Hey, are you OK?” Jaime asked.

  “I’m fine,” Darla replied woozily. “I just need to go the bathroom. Wait a minute, I’ll be back.”

  She left the booth and pushed her way through the flailing audience gathered around the stage. All of a sudden the basement was too hot and too crowded – Darla felt like she couldn’t breathe. As she struggled towards the bathroom she accidentally elbowed a girl, who turned around and shoved her back. Darla mumbled an apology and reeled away, gasping with relief when she stumbled through the door into the ladies’ room.

  The bathroom was small and dirty. Paper towels were strewn over the floor, the walls a black scrawl of graffiti. This close to the stage, the entire room shook to the sound of the band – Darla could barely hear herself think. She went over to the basin and splashed handfuls of cold water in her face, trying to ignore her churning stomach. She had drunk too much. If she threw up, she would just die of embarrassment. Her heart sinking, Darla realized she was going to have to call Hopper for a ride home. She would never see Jaime again – of course. Nothing like that ever worked out for her.

  Darla took a clean paper towel from the dispenser and dried her face. She looked up into the mirror, and screamed.

  The bathroom wasn’t empty any more. A man was standing right behind her.

  It was Leeroy Mills.

  Chapter Twenty

  Up to now, Darla had only caught glimpses of Leeroy through car and trailer windows. Close up, he was bigger than she had realized, wiry rather than skinny. He was wearing jeans and a black cowboy shirt with roses sewn into the collar and cuffs, a bolo tie around his neck. The harsh bathroom light didn’t do Leeroy any favours, showing up his bad skin and thinning hair. His eyes were vague and unfocused. Darla knew that look well – Hopper used to get it too, when he had been drinking.

  Leeroy didn’t move or speak. He just stared at her. Darla looked over his shoulder, praying that someone would walk in and save her. But the door remained resolutely closed.

  “I think you’re in the wrong room,” she said, shouting above the music.

  He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

  “What do you want?”

  Leeroy scratched his stubbled cheek. “I seen you,” he said. “Around the way. In the car with your daddy. Outside those big ol’ mansions up in the hills.” He smiled. “Leeroy don’t forget a face, li’l girl.”

  “So?”

  “I also seen you creeping around my trailer with those friends of yours. Got out there pretty damned quick, didn’t you? Like itty bitty mice, scuttling away when they see a pussy cat.”

  “You should be in jail,” Darla told him. “I know the cops arrested you.”

  “The cops had to let Leeroy go. Because he didn’t do nothin’.”

  He took a step towards her, enveloping Darla in a sour cloud of whiskey and cigarettes. She edged backwards, feeling herself bump up against the basin.

  “P-please don’t hurt me,” she stammered.

  Leeory feigned an innocent look. “Whaddya mean by that? Leeroy don’t hurt anyone – not least, no one who don’t deserve it,” he said. “Do you deserve to get hurt, li’l girl?”

  Darla shook her head quickly.

  “Well now, there you go,” he said. “No need to be scared. We can have ourselves a li’l talk. Tell Leeroy what you were doing going through his things, looking at his photographs.”

  “They weren’t your photographs!” Darla shot back. “They were Natalie’s – you stole them!”

  Leeroy shrugged. “She didn’t need them no more. I weren’t doing no harm.”

  “So you were in her house the night she died.”

  “Now maybe I was, and maybe I wasn’t. But Leeroy didn’t touch a hair on her pretty little head. I was trying to protect her.”

  Darla laughed incredulously. “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s the thing, you see – no one listens to Leeroy. I told them years ago that Walter West weren’t dead, that he was still out there, but they were too busy trying to hush everything up. But I knew he’d come back eventually. And now the pretty ones are dying again.” Darla shuddered as Leeroy took a strand of her hair in his fingers and toyed with it. “This ain’t no time to be pretty, l’il girl.”

  “Help!” screamed Darla,
but her cry didn’t stand a chance against the music in the next room. Leeroy pressed a nicotine-stained finger against his lips.

  “Hush now,” he said. “Ain’t no need to holler.”

  The door banged open, and Sasha marched inside the bathroom. At the sight of Leeroy, she fumbled in the pocket of her denim jacket. He pushed Darla out of the way and lunged towards her, only for Sasha to produce a slim canister and spray it in his face. Leeroy howled with pain, clutching his eyes as he staggered into the hand dryer.

  “You little bitch!” he spat. “I’m gonna git you!”

  “Screw you, asshole!” Sasha screamed back. “Stay away from her or I’ll kill you!”

  Leeroy made a blind swipe at her but Sasha easily ducked out of the way. Grabbing hold of Darla, she pulled her away from the basin and dragged her out of the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off Leeroy’s cries. In shock, Darla stared numbly at a sea of strange faces as Sasha elbowed her way through the crowd and out of the basement. Upstairs they stumbled through the bar and out into the night air, where Darla dropped to her hands and knees in the dirty earth. She was retching violently, her whole body shaking.

  “What’s going on, Sasha?” a voice rasped – McGee, the bouncer.

  “Some slimeball just attacked my friend in the bathroom,” Sasha told him angrily. “I pepper-sprayed him but he’s still down there.”

  McGee’s face darkened. “You know the guy?”

  “His name’s Leeroy Mills,” Sasha told him. “Look for a guy with a black cowboy shirt and burning eyes.”

  “You girls need to get out of here,” McGee said. “We never spoke, OK?”

  He jerked his head at a couple of bikers and the three men disappeared inside the bar, the front door banging ominously shut behind them. Sasha took out her phone and dialled a number, stroking Darla’s hair with her other hand.

  “Frank?” she said. “Yes, I know what time it is! Can you come to Shooters and pick us up? It’s an emergency. Yes, I’m fine, but Darla… Look, just come quickly, OK?”

  Darla had stopped retching, her mouth swimming with the stinging aftertaste of bile. She pulled herself into a sitting position and put her head in her hands, letting out heaving sobs of shock.

  “I did it again, didn’t I?” she said miserably. “I ruined another night!”

  “Hey, hey!” Sasha told her, putting Darla’s face between her hands. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I’m sorry!”

  “Shh!” Sasha wrapped her up in a tight embrace. “It’s OK now. Frank’s going to come and take you home, and McGee will take care of Leeroy Mills. He won’t ever bother you again, don’t you worry about that.”

  Darla wasn’t sure how long they waited outside the bar – it only felt like a couple of minutes before a pair of headlights appeared in the night and the pick-up pulled up beside them. Frank peered out of the driver’s window, concern in his eyes.

  “What the hell happened?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

  “No time to explain,” snapped Sasha. “Just get us out of here.”

  She helped Darla up into the backseat and followed her inside the vehicle, hugging her and whispering shushing noises into her ear. As Frank hurriedly drove the pick-up away from Shooters, Darla thought she saw a group of men carry a prone figure out of the door. She turned away, not wanting to see any more.

  Darla had thought that she couldn’t have felt any worse than she had when she had been scrabbling around in the dirt outside Shooters. But that was before the hangover hit. She woke up with a groan, her mouth parched and a searing pain inside her skull. Her memories of the night were shattered fragments, like broken bottles: talking with Jaime, his arm around her; Leeroy Mills’ sudden appearance; McGee striding back into the bar. She barely remembered anything of the journey back – just a pensive silence, Frank’s anxious glance into the rearview mirror. But the worst thing was the sight of the men bundling Leeroy out of Shooters. Leeroy might be weird and threatening but Darla didn’t want anyone getting beaten up in her name. At the time she had been too shocked to stop Sasha and McGee, but now she felt a horrible, lurching responsibility. What if they had really hurt him? Darla had the feeling that there wasn’t much McGee wouldn’t do for the Haas family, especially their beautiful teenage daughter.

  She wanted to go back to sleep and try to forget everything that had happened, but she was thirsty and her head was hurting too much. Reluctantly Darla climbed out of bed and went into the kitchen – where she found Hopper waiting for her. He was sitting at the table, angrily drumming his fingers.

  “Nice of you to join us,” he said. “I was wondering if you were going to spend the whole day in bed.”

  Darla said nothing. Opening the fridge, she drank orange juice straight from the carton.

  “Guessing you’ve a real thirst on you this morning,” said Hopper. “Headache too, no doubt.”

  “You’re a real detective, aren’t you?” Darla muttered.

  “I heard you come crashing in last night – not that you would have realized, you were so outta it.”

  “You’re going to tell me off for having a hangover, Daddy?”

  “You’re damn right I am, Darla!” Hopper shouted. “You’re sixteen years old! What the hell were you thinking?”

  “It wasn’t my idea, remember? You wanted me to go out with Sasha.”

  “You said you were going to a friend’s house to watch movies! Not get wasted on booze!”

  “You don’t know Sasha,” Darla said stubbornly. “She always wants to drink.”

  “Where were you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, young lady.”

  They glared at each other across the table. Finally Hopper sighed, and wearily rubbed his face.

  “I was worried, darlin’,” he said finally. “Can’t you see that? There’s someone dangerous out there. I don’t want to lock you up in the house, you gotta spend time with your friends. But going out and getting drunk like that, you can’t take care of yourself at all. You’re my daughter, Darla, you’re everything to me. If I lost you too, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  Darla could cope with her daddy getting mad at her and shouting, but this she hadn’t been expecting. She went over to where Hopper was sitting and put her arms around him, resting her head upon his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too,” he whispered back. “For everything.”

  There were tears in both their eyes now. Hopper coughed and got up to close the fridge door. When he turned back to her, his stern expression had returned.

  “So how are you feeling there, missy?”

  “Put it this way,” Darla groaned, “I don’t think you have to worry about me drinking again.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Hopper pointed a finger at her. “But that don’t make it all right, you hear me? Consider yourself grounded for the rest of the week. And you can tell Sasha from me that Happy Hour is over.”

  Darla rubbed her aching temples. “Are we done now? I really need to go back to bed.”

  “Yeah, we’re done,” said Hopper. “Go on, scat.”

  He opened a newspaper and began to read. In one way it seemed grossly unfair to Darla that he could punish her for going out drinking. All those years of lies and broken promises, angry men hammering at their door, the moonlight flights to safety … and yet because of that, part of Darla almost liked the fact that Hopper was angry. He was behaving like a normal daddy should. Even as she trudged back to her bedroom and pulled the blankets over her head, Darla could feel a tiny seed of happiness taking root in the depths of her soul.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Carmen Russo sat in the front seat of her Cadillac in the family driveway, examining her resigned reflection in the rearview mirror. Ryan’s parents had finally returned from Africa, and his funeral was taking place that morning. She didn’t want to go to. Funerals were just so … depressing.
Wasn’t it bad enough that three of her friends had been murdered? Wasn’t she going through enough, without having to sit there and watch a bunch oflosers wail and cry like they were Perfect too? Thank God TJ’s family had had a private service, sparing her that one at least. It had taken Carmen hours to work out her outfit, and apply her make-up so it was just so. It was the first thing she did every morning, putting on her face so the world could see her. Her daddy had taught her the importance of that; he had made millions teaching women across the country the same thing. Carmen could almost hear his voicetelling her to sit up straight and smile.

  She wondered whether the boys’ murders meant they would call off Miss Saffron. Secretly Carmen was hoping that the pageant would still go ahead. Before everyone had just assumed that Natalie was going to win it because her mom was a big deal up at the country club. Now she was gone, maybe it might be a fair contest. And who would be a more fitting winner than one of Natalie’s best friends?

  Sunlight was shining in through the passenger window, framing Carmen’s face perfectly. Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she held her phone above her head and tilted her chin up. She carefully arranged her face into a sorrowful expression – people had to see how sad she was feeling.

  Click.

  Carmen lowered her phone and inspected the photograph. Her mouth curved into a small, satisfied smile.

  Perfect.

  Hidden away behind high stone walls and forbidding iron gates, Saffron Hills’ Azalea Cemetery was a solemn, beautiful secret. Rows of stark white crosses marked the approach to elaborate tombs adorned with carved angels; stone tears running down stone faces. A series of pathways ran between the graves, offering mourners glimpses of the epitaphs etched into the headstones. At the height of summer the flowerbeds would have exploded with colour but now everything was tinged with solemn hues, from the oak trees covered in wispy fringes of Spanish moss to the fading camellias and the azaleas that had given the cemetery its name. The graveyard’s still heart was a small ornamental lake – a large spoonbill perched on a low-hanging branch over the water, peering into the depths.