Falling Dark

by Christine Pope

  “Because you haven’t left the house,” Candace pointed out.

  “Well, true, but I’ve tried to keep an eye out on my surroundings, and I haven’t seen him anywhere near the condo. So if he is a stalker, he’s not a very consistent one.”

  After taking a sip of her iced tea, my friend said, “Or he’s a really good one. Maybe he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of security.”

  Great. And here I’d hoped I would feel better after unburdening myself to Candace, rather than the exact opposite. “I suppose that’s possible. Jesus, at this point I can only say that anything is possible. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what I saw, trying to come up with some sort of rational explanation, but there just wasn’t anything rational about what happened.”

  “What about the goo? Some kind of acid?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” I’d played the scene over and over in my head, and I still couldn’t quite figure out what had happened. “I can’t think of any other explanation that fits.”

  She nodded, as if agreeing that there really couldn’t be any other reason for a body to melt away to noting like that. “And you’re sure it wasn’t connected to Jackson.”

  “I’m not sure of anything,” I replied. “But no, I don’t think so. He’s probably going to make his announcement in the next few weeks or so, at which point I’m sure the crazies will start to come out of the woodwork, but right now, things have been pretty quiet.”

  “So he’s really going to do it.”

  I drank some of my own iced tea before answering. “It’s pretty much a foregone conclusion at this point. He’s just working out the timing with his team.”

  Candace’s coral-glossed lips pursed. As usual, she looked impeccable, from her sandy blonde shoulder-length bob down to her three-inch heels. How she could stand in those things for hours in court, I had no idea. “And he really doesn’t care about what all this might do to you?”

  The same thought had crossed my mind a number of times. Right then, though, I found myself defending my brother’s decision. The last thing I wanted to do was sound selfish, as if my privacy was more important than someone who might be the next person to occupy the White House. “It’s not going to do anything to me,” I said. “I’m a big girl. If someone tries to go up my ass with a microscope, I’ll tell them to shove it.”

  Candace let out a reluctant laugh. “Yeah, I suppose you probably would.”

  “Anyway,” I continued, “I can’t let my own problems get in the way of this. We’re talking about being the President of the United States. That’s far more important than my own neuroses.”

  Candace’s nose wrinkled slightly at the “neuroses” comment, but clearly she intended to let it slide, since she asked, “You think he’ll do a good job?”

  “I know he will,” I said. “Don’t you?”

  “Yes. Probably. I mean, I voted for him for Senate, and I’ve been watching what he’s done for the last three years. His record is pretty impressive. But….”

  All I could do was shrug. I knew why she was concerned. She was my friend, had stuck with me through a serious amount of crap. Her job was defending people, and she had always defended me, too. It was just part of her makeup. But I’d already told myself that being made uncomfortable by reporters and paparazzi wasn’t quite enough of a reason to tell someone he shouldn’t run for President. At least, not when the person in question was so eminently suited for the office.

  Jackson and I had never been that close, mostly because he was eleven years older than I, and so our lives had followed completely different orbits. He and my older sister Vanessa were much more intimate, since only two years separated them. I was the caboose baby, the one I was pretty sure my parents hadn’t really planned on, although of course neither one of them had ever come out and admitted such a thing. Even so, it wasn’t too hard to read between the lines.

  But even though Jackson had never been the big brother who played catch with me, or helped me with my homework, or done any of the sorts of things my idealized version of a big brother might, I’d always been proud of him. Yes, one could argue that, coming from our family, he’d been given a massive head start in life. However, he’d always been an overachiever — class president and valedictorian in high school, fast-tracked through law school, mayor of the town where he’d settled after college before he even hit thirty. His Senate term came after he was mayor of Claremont, and almost as soon as he’d landed in Washington, the murmurs about a possible presidential run had started. People wanted to rally around someone young and energetic and handsome, someone with a unique combination of hard-headedness and idealism. And really, who could blame them?

  Maybe the would-be candidate’s slightly odd little sister, but no one had asked me for my opinion.

  “But nothing,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I actually felt. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

  Candace didn’t reply, only gave me a speculative glance. If she’d intended to say something, it was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter with our food. And I was glad of that, glad of having a reasonable excuse to dig into my plate of fish and chips, and remain quiet for a few minutes.

  I should have known she wouldn’t let it go.

  Yes, she ate as well, and washed down her own fish and chips with some iced tea, but then she said, “So what are you going to do about your stalker?”

  “I don’t know for sure that he’s a stalker.”

  “And you don’t know that he isn’t, either.” She tapped her French-manicured fingertips on the tabletop. “Would any of your neighbors help, if it came right down to it?”

  I really didn’t like the question, although I could see why she had asked it. “The people on my left moved in a couple of months ago. I don’t know them very well, although we’ve waved and said hi a few times. But you know Brian and Lewis keep an eye out for me.”

  Which they did. Brian and Lewis were already there in the condo complex when I moved in, and they’d become sort of my surrogate big brothers, inviting me over for dinner, occasionally trying to set me up with their straight friends. I’d always declined those offers, because the last thing I’d felt like doing after my breakup with Travis was to try to explain to a new guy why I might suddenly bug out in the middle of a conversation, going all glassy-eyed and completely unconnected to the world around me. Or at least, that was how Candace said I looked when I was having one of my visions. I’d had one several years earlier, during another time when we’d met for lunch. Since we’d been seated in a booth in a corner, no one else had noticed, but I’d been mortified by the incident, even though such things were completely out of my control.

  She’d offered to record one of my episodes on her phone, just so I could see for myself, but the idea hadn’t appealed at all. It felt odd enough as it was happening; I didn’t want to actually witness one of those spells as an outsider.

  Luckily, neither Brian nor Lewis had ever seen me suffer a vision. I’d told them I did have “spells” every once in a while, although medication kept things mostly under control. A harmless lie, I supposed, although I hated telling it. But making them think I suffered from a mild form of epilepsy was better than trying to explain the truth to them. In fact, I even wore a MedicAlert bracelet when I went out, just to be safe. That way, if I did have a vision, any strangers who came to my aid would think I was having a seizure…rather than just going crazy.

  “Thank God for Brian and Lewis,” Candace said. She twirled the straw around in her half-drunk glass of tea. “If it weren’t for them, I’d probably worry about you a lot more than I do.”

  “You don’t need to worry.”

  That comment got me a raised eyebrow, followed by a shake of the head. “It’s what I do. And this latest incident? What the hell am I supposed to think about that?”

  “Nothing,” I said, unable to keep the weariness out of my voice. “That is, I know you’re going to think about it…and worry. It’s what you do.
And believe me, I thought about going to the police. But there just isn’t anything to go on. Not a single shred of evidence. Even Detective Ortiz might have a tough time believing this one.”

  Candace was silent for a moment. I could almost see her ticking over possible responses in her head, attempting to decide if anything she might say would make a difference. Problem was, I didn’t see any real answers to my situation. I was about as safe as could be — Brian was a graphic artist who worked from home, and so he was around most of the day. My condo had an alarm system. Really, short of hiring a bodyguard to follow me everywhere I went…not that I went a whole lot of places…I didn’t see what else I could do, except be vigilant and make sure I didn’t walk anywhere alone.

  I knew my friend was worried about my “stalker,” but for some reason, I wasn’t. Not really. He could have dragged me off to his car if he’d wanted to. Hell, he could have forced open the door to my condo and dragged me inside. But he didn’t. He’d seen me safely home and then left.

  Yes, he’d rattled my nerves with that “sort of” vampires comment, but I knew better than to mention that to Candace. She’d start asking delicate but pointed questions as to whether maybe it was a good idea for me to go back on my meds.

  Never again. None of those prescriptions had done a damn thing except make me foggy and not myself. The visions…they weren’t a sign of mental illness, whatever else they might be.

  “You’re probably right,” she said at last. “Just…be careful, okay?”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  She couldn’t argue with that. Problem was, I didn’t know if being careful would be enough.

  Chapter Three

  Candace had to leave a little after one, since she was due in court at one-thirty. After reassuring her for the umpteenth time that an Uber was on its way and I would be going straight home, she finally headed off to the parking garage where she’d left her car…but not before giving me one last backward glance over her shoulder, as if she thought someone was going to pop out and grab me the second her back was turned.

  That sort of maneuver would be a lot tougher to do here. At the tail end of the lunch hour, Raymond Avenue was jammed with cars trying to turn onto Colorado Boulevard or people looking for nonexistent parking spaces on Raymond itself. The sidewalks were equally crowded. I waited at the red zone just in front of the entrance to the garage, simply because there wasn’t any place else an Uber would be able to pull up.

  I glanced down at the app. Still three minutes to go. From what I saw on the map, it looked like the guy was stuck at the light at Fair Oaks and Colorado. Good luck with that.

  When I looked up from my phone, I caught a glimpse of a shaggy dark head across the street. Deep-set eyes locked on mine for a second before he turned away and began walking south, toward Green Street.

  Goddamn it. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him for the past three days, but clearly my stalker hadn’t given up.

  For the longest moment, I stood there, unsure as to what I should do in response. Just that one glimpse of him had been enough to send a tremor through me, as if seeing his face again was enough to awaken my memories of the assault, memories I’d tried damn hard to keep locked down the past few days.

  The logical — and intelligent — thing to do would be to stay right where I was. Just sit tight and wait for the Uber driver to show up. Since the stranger was walking away from me, it seemed obvious enough that he didn’t have any plans to engage. No, he’d only been watching, and as soon as I’d noticed him, began to beat a retreat.

  But….

  I wanted to know just what the hell he thought he was doing. What possible harm could he think might come to me here, in the heart of Pasadena, surrounded by people?

  Unless the Uber driver isn’t really an Uber driver? my mind suggested, and I went cold all over, even though the day was mild, a nearly perfect seventy-four degrees.

  That settled it. I pushed the “cancel” button on the app, then took advantage of the stopped traffic to weave in between cars as I crossed Raymond Avenue before turning down the sidewalk in pursuit of my stalker. Since he was tall, I didn’t have too difficult a time keeping an eye on him as I threaded my way through the people who were window shopping or heading out for a late lunch.

  There he was, paused in front of Stat’s Floral Supply. I had to wait for the light so I could cross Green Street safely, but the delay didn’t allow him to get away. In fact, it seemed that he waited for me, an incongruous figure in his dark T-shirt and jeans and boots, standing there in front of a display window filled with obnoxiously pastel Easter-themed floral arrangements.

  “You were following me,” I said as I approached him.

  To my surprise — and irritation — he merely smiled. I noticed that his teeth were white and even, and for some reason that silly detail made me that much more annoyed. “Some might say you were following me.”

  I huffed out a breath. “Actually, I was following you because I noticed you following me.”

  “Semantics. But,” he added, as I opened my mouth to argue, “I will go ahead and concede you that point. Yes, I was following you. I needed to make sure you were safe.”

  “Because otherwise I would be attacked by ‘sort of’ vampires while eating fish and chips at Lucky Baldwin’s?”

  His smile faded. I couldn’t miss the way his gaze slid up the street, in the direction I’d just come from, and then past us, to the much less crowded sidewalks in front of Stat’s and the historic Castle Green apartment building across the street. “Not in the restaurant,” he said quietly. “But coming to and from it. Possibly. How much can you trust the people who drive these hired cars you ride in?”

  “Ubers,” I corrected him automatically, while at the same time a trickle of cold moved its way down my spine. How could he have known I’d just experienced those same misgivings? “They have very detailed background checks — ”

  “Which would not turn up anything useful,” he cut in. “Or at least, useful in the sense of keeping out those who might wish you harm.”

  “And you don’t?” I asked, my tone sharp with disbelief. “Wish me harm, that is.”

  “Of course not,” he replied. A spark of anger came and went in his dark eyes, to be replaced with something that might have been weariness. I didn’t know him, so I couldn’t be sure. “Very much the opposite. It’s my duty to keep you safe.”

  “So you’re Secret Service after all?” Even as the words left my mouth, I realized how ridiculous they sounded. Whatever else he might be, this guy was definitely not Secret Service.

  But he looked serious enough as he said, “No, I am not. But I suppose you could say that our duties aren’t that dissimilar.” He paused, then sent another one of those searching glances up and down the street. Without any change in expression, he continued, “Let me take you home.”

  This had to be part of an extended ploy to get me alone in a car with him. But he’d planted a seed of doubt in my mind about using an Uber, and I realized a taxi wouldn’t be any safer. Walking wouldn’t be all that wise, either, even though I was only about a half mile from home. Yes, the streets in between here and my condo were busier than the stretch of Marengo where I’d been attacked, but….

  “It will be safe,” he said quietly. “I promise this to you.”

  Maybe I was going crazy after all. Because I stood there and looked up at him, and didn’t see anything except gentle concern in his eyes. But there was no reason for me to trust him. No reason at all. And yet….

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Silas,” he replied.

  An odd, old-fashioned name. But it suited him somehow. “Silas what?”

  “Just Silas.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you a musician or something?” Only a musician could try getting away with the “single name” thing these days.

  “Hardly.” He shifted away from me, and pointed toward a dusty black pickup truck parked at one of the mete
rs on Green Street. “That’s mine. Shall we?”

  I hesitated. Now was the time to back out. I could tell him thanks but no thanks, then head up to Colorado Boulevard and call a taxi from there. Surely not every single one of the taxi and Uber drivers in the city could have been compromised….

  No. The voice sounded clearly inside my mind, although it hadn’t come from a vision. I could still see Silas clearly enough. The world hadn’t taken on that strange glow which always accompanied my visions. But I’d still heard that single syllable, wherever it had come from.

  Oh, well. Most of the world already thought I was crazy. Even so, I knew I’d take a quick snap of his license plate and mail it to myself as I walked to the passenger-side door, just to be safe.

  “Sure,” I said.

  * * *

  We didn’t talk on the way back to the condo. It wasn’t as if I had to give him directions; he knew where I lived. By some miracle, one of the guest parking spaces near the entrance was available, and he pulled the truck into the spot, then turned off the ignition.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said quickly, my fingers already pushing down on the door handle.

  “I will walk you to your door.”

  “That’s not necessary — ”

  “But it could be.” His dark eyes met mine, and I swallowed. Yes, I’d felt safe enough on the grounds of the condo complex, but was I?

  “All right,” I conceded, and pushed open the door.

  He got out of the truck’s cab as well, then locked the vehicle with the remote. Despite the dust, it was a nice truck, a newer Dodge half-ton model. Expensive, actually.

  For some reason, that reassured me, which I knew was just silly. Owning an expensive truck didn’t make a person any more trustworthy. But I’d been raised with money, and grown up around people with money, and as much as I’d tried to erase that part of me, hidden somewhere inside would always be the snobby little girl who didn’t understand what it was like to live paycheck to paycheck, who couldn’t figure out why people would drive cars with dents instead of just fixing them. I knew better now, of course, but that didn’t change where I’d come from.