Meet Me In The Dark: (A Dark Suspense)

by J. A. Huss

  I watch him walk up the stairs. He climbs slow, and maybe I’m imagining it, but it seems a little bit somber. But beer and bad news will do that to a person. He disappears and a few minutes later I can hear the shower running.

  I finish my beer too and grab another from the fridge. It’s a local brewery out of Jackson. I stock it in the bar. God, the bar. What’s even happening to my bar?

  And that’s when I spy his cell phone on the counter. I walk over and pick it up, glance up at the stairs to see if he’s watching, and then swipe my finger to see if I can unlock it.

  It’s not even locked. I open up the keypad and punch in the number for the bar, but just as I’m about to hit send, I stop. “What the fuck will I tell them?”

  I set the phone back down and go back to the couch. It’s not Stockholm. It’s not. I just have no good reason to want to go home. There is nothing good there for me. Nothing. I know this. I love that bar, I really do. I’d give anything to be able to wipe away all the things keeping me from it and go home. Because that place—filled with drunk cowboys, shitty country karaoke, and ninety-nine-cent microbrew nights—was the only place I felt real.

  Cowgirl, Case calls me sometimes. I am a cowgirl. I like that girl. Maybe I can be that girl instead of this one?

  But I can’t go back. Not until I know what’s happening to me. Not until I figure it out. And I know my only hope of figuring out what I’m feeling right now is to let Case in on things.

  I want him. But I don’t trust him. And just as that thought consumes me until I feel like I will explode—I hear the music coming from the third floor.

  “Moments are permanent. You can’t take them back or change them. You can only make new ones.”

  – Case

  The music has always saved me. But it reminds me so much of Sydney. That song—my fingers pluck it out, just from habit. I learned to play it years ago, back when it first came out and it was on the radio in Sydney’s car every single day. I know that not because I was in the car with her, but because I have been stalking this girl for eight years.

  I was relentless the first two years. I had Garrett in my sights so many times. I could’ve killed him a thousand times over if I had acted then. But Sasha needed me. My friends needed me. I saw all that shit through with them, and Sydney was an afterthought while we pieced together the final mystery.

  Only we never solved it. We got the money we stole. But that final piece of the puzzle never materialized. And now Syd is here, a place where I’ve imagined her a million times—but this is definitely not how I imagined it going down.

  In my head it was quick. Some torture. Some questions. Some answers. Mental persuasion was always an option, but I never, ever saw things turning out like this.

  Like what? I have to ask myself that. Because I’m getting tangled up in her past. I’m letting her get to me. I’m allowing her sadness to take over all my plans. And I’m not quite sure what to do about it.

  That scream. Now that I know she was imitating the rabbit, it makes sense. But it was blood-curdling. It was evil. It was fright on a level I’ve never experienced before.

  I have killed a lot of people. Even some women. I don’t discriminate in that department. If they deserve it, if the money is right, I finish the job. But I have never heard a noise come out of a person’s mouth like that scream today. Drugs were my only option. She was hysterical. Just gone.

  The stairs creak and then she appears in the shadows. I have one lamp on. And I guess it sets my mood. Low. That’s how I feel. On the bottom of something.

  It’s not a good place to be in the middle of a job. And the feelings, I’m not used to the feelings. I care about people—not many, but I do care about them.

  I should not care about this girl.

  “Hey,” she says, flashing her bandaged hand in a wave.

  “How’s that feeling?” I ask, still strumming out the tune I can’t seem to get out of my mind.

  She looks down at her hand. “It’s better.”

  “We’ll take the bandages off tomorrow and have a look at the blisters.”

  She nods and takes a seat on the bed. Not far from me, but not close. I’m on the floor, one knee up, skin showing through a hole in my jeans, with the guitar in my lap. No shirt on. Not to make her look, even though she looks. But just because it gets so damn hot up here with the wood stoves burning downstairs.

  “You must really like that song.”

  I flash her a small smile. “I got it from you.”

  “I realize. So…” She crosses her legs and I glance at her bare feet. She has a tattoo on the top of her left one. A rabbit. I’ve seen it before, but figured it was some girly thing. It’s running, its long hind legs crossing its front legs, and looking over its shoulder. Like it’s in the middle of a mad dash for its life.

  “So, yeah,” I finish for her. “I’ve been watching you for a very long time.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” She wrings her hands a little and then looks me in the eye. “If you want to kill Garrett so bad, why not do it a long time ago?”

  “So you believe that he’s alive now?” I stop playing, letting her know that this is not a casual question. It’s an important conversation, if she allows me to continue it. Maybe the most important in her whole life.

  She shrugs. “I really don’t know what’s real and what’s not.”

  I look away and start playing again. Because that was my answer. She’s not ready. Even though I know she knows Garrett is alive, and she admitted to talking to him the night before her wedding—the very night she ran like a rabbit—she’s not gonna talk about it tonight.

  “You know why I like that song?” She nods to my guitar.

  I look down, letting my still-wet hair fall over my face, and hide a small smile. It’s not about Garrett, but it’s the next best thing. Her. “Why?”

  “Because it’s got a good message. Nothing At All. The title says everything I feel. And the words, they just… it’s like they’re talking about me.”

  “I guess that’s the secret of all good songs, right? Words that are personal to the writer can speak to millions.”

  “I want everything and nothing.”

  “Me too.” I strum it a little harder and pick the strings a little more carefully.

  “Because you never know what you really want. It changes every day. And you get things, and then they’re not what you want.”

  I nod as I play the ending, letting the music get louder and louder, mimicking the building crescendo. In the real song, it sounds chaotic, like life is taking over and nothing makes sense. But if you listen carefully, it all fits together perfectly until the final bit of guitar that evens it all out and makes it OK.

  “That’s life, right?” I say in the ensuing silence. “You bust your ass to get to the place you want to be, and then you realize it’s not what you expected.”

  “It’s a letdown.”

  “Makes you want to stop wanting things.” I look up and smile. She laughs a little and bows her head. I’ve seen her in so many situations, but I’ve never seen her confident. I’ve only ever seen her afraid. Or shy. Or helpless. I bet she’s never seen herself as confident, either.

  I reach for her leg and give her a squeeze through her jeans. “When I’m not thinking of you, this is the song I usually play.” I take a breath and then say, “One, two, three…” and then I start strumming. She lets off a little laugh. “So you know it?” I ask.

  “I love Shinedown.”

  “Shit,” I say. “Bitch, this is Skynyrd. Fuck that cover shit.” I look up to see how she reacts to my joke. But she’s got a nice grin on her, so I continue to strum. I’ve never seen her happy either. I’d like to see that just once. So maybe I can make that happen tonight?

  “Are you a Simple Man, Case?”

  “I try.” I bow my head a little as I play the bridge. “But I’m not so sure I’ve been successful.”

  “Did you have a mother to give you simple a
dvice on how to get on in life?”

  I shake my head and keep my eyes closed, seeing the music in my head. “No. She died from a fire when I was eight.” I look up at her. “So we never got to the good parts.”

  “What are the good parts?” Sydney scoots down, dropping her ass to the floor like mine and stretching out her legs. She’s close to me, almost shoulder to shoulder, and I wish I could ask her to sit across from me so I could get a better look at her.

  “You know, the part where I make her proud.” I stop strumming and take a deep breath. “My old man was an asshole, but compared to the torture that Company kids endure, he was perfect. I mean, he drank and shit. Was an alcoholic, actually. But after thinking about him for the past fifteen years… I’ve come to the conclusion that he was just heartbroken. He loved her, Syd. And how can I be mad at a guy who can’t pull himself out of the fact that he was the one who started the fire that killed the love of his life?”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  I start playing again. Mostly to change the subject without having to say anything.

  “Well, I had a mother for a little longer than that. But I don’t think she’d have had anything to say even if we did get to the good parts.”

  “What would be the good parts for you?”

  Sydney stays silent. Thinking maybe. “My wedding day, I guess. A real one. Not the one I agreed to just to make my life have meaning.”

  “So you don’t love Brett?”

  She shakes her head and her hair covers her face.

  I stop playing and reach over, dragging her hair behind her ear. She looks up at me, startled, and I give her a nice smile to ease her down. “I like looking at you.”

  “Why? I’m covered in bruises.”

  “Ouch,” I say. “That stings me a little.”

  “Did you really want to kill me?” Her eyes fill with tears and I know I’m pushing her tonight. It’s not a good plan, but I can’t seem to help myself. I’ve never had a real conversation with the girl. And she’s pretty. And I fucked her all wrong the other night. All wrong.

  “I would not have had sex with you that night if I’d known you were a virgin.” It’s not the answer she wants, but it’s one that makes her think. Maybe see me in a different light. Not many people get that opportunity, and I wonder if she’ll bite.

  “Why?”

  She does. And it’s not a challenge—not the way she says it, anyway—but I feel challenged for some reason. I have a good answer though, so I let that feeling drop. “Because every major moment in your life was stolen from you. And you had that one moment left. By luck, or planning, or whatever, you still had it. And then I was the one who stole it from you.”

  She drops her head back on the edge of the bed and looks up at the ceiling. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Who cares? It’s just a moment, ya know?”

  “But that’s all life is. Just one moment after another. Stacked on top of each other. A good friend explained it to me that way once. Stackable moments lead to things. Sometimes things you planned. But sometimes they lead to new things. Things you didn’t plan.” I stand up and put the guitar on the stand. And then I reach for her hand. And wait.

  Her face is puzzled. She looks at my hand and then her eyes find the cut muscles of my waist and travel up my chest until they meet my eyes.

  “Take it,” I say.

  She does. But she swallows hard when her skin touches mine.

  I pull her to her feet and wrap my hands around her waist, pulling her close. Inhaling her scent. Feeling her warmth. I lean down and kiss her neck. I can feel the prickles of hair rise up on her nape and the chill that runs through her body when I whisper in her ear. “Have you ever had the soft fuck, Sydney?”

  Another hard swallow as she tilts her head up. Her throat is exposed, like an offering. “I don’t know,” she breathes. “I don’t think so.”

  “Cowgirl, if you did, you’d know it.” And then I slip my hand under her shirt and caress my way up her ribs and kiss her mouth at the same time. She’s stiff at first, her lips tight against mine. “Want me to give you a sample?” I ask, pulling back.

  “Why?” she asks softly. She’s not looking to say no. She’s looking for a reason to say yes. “Because you feel sorry for me?”

  “Nah,” I say, still trying to get her to respond to my kiss. I bite her lip, not hard, just enough to make her pay attention to what I’m doing. “Because the way I took you, Syd, that was not my best performance. And I think I can do better.”

  “Why do you want to?” She pulls away from me a little, unsure of my intentions. Hell, I’m not even sure of my intentions.

  “I just want you.” I let her pull back a little more, but only so I can see her face. She’s scared. Out-of-her-mind scared. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is open now, even though I couldn’t get it to open with the soft touch of my tongue not two seconds ago. “It’s not always rough, Sydney. Sometimes people fuck and they actually like each other.”

  “Do you like me?” It’s such a soft whisper, I barely hear it.

  “I’m not gonna kill you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I need to know why, though.” Her face scrunches up a little, like she’s having a hard time pulling herself together. I know I have her. I know if I just push a little more—squeeze her nipple in just the right way, press my hard cock against her stomach—she will give in. But if I’m gonna make up for the way I took her the other night, that’s not how this is gonna go.

  I take my hand from under her shirt and pull her hair back away from her eyes again. She’s struggling right now. In all the ways I’ve seen her over the years, struggling with kindness has never been one of them. But that’s because she never had the opportunity. I tip her chin up and press my thumb into her bottom lip.

  She whimpers and that little noise makes me even harder.

  “You’re pretty. Garrett never told you that?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Well, he’s a dick. Your face is like an angel’s. And your hair, fuck.” I laugh a little and she takes a deep breath. “I’ve pictured you on top of me and that long, dark hair of yours dragging across my chest as you fuck me from the top so many times.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I swear to God, I did. You’ve got a hot fucking body too.” I place my palm on her ribs again, only this time I let it slide down, tracing the line of her waist and then the curve of her hip.

  My hands go to her jeans and they are unbuttoned before she has a chance to protest. And then I lift her shirt up by the edges of the hem. Slowly. Looking down at her breasts as I do it. When the fabric releases her nipples I feel a little anticipation.

  “I’d like to show you my best work, Sydney Channing. And make you forget your first time. Replace that night with this one. Nothing can be taken back. But you can replace the bad stuff with something else.” I shrug. “That’s all I got, sorry.”

  She says nothing. So I lift her shirt over her head and drop it on the floor. “Take off your pants.” She bites her lip and I’m about to yank them down her legs at the sight of it. I control myself though and let her do it her way. She wiggles a few times, her hips moving back and forth, and we are so close this makes her rub against me in all the right ways. They finally drop to the floor and I take her hand as she steps out of them.

  “You’re more than pretty, Syd. Your body is so much more than hot.” And it is. In this low golden light, with the backdrop of the windows on all sides, she is perfection. “I’ve always known it. I’ve always seen you in a sexual way. I’ve always wanted you.”

  She looks like she might cry, so I put my finger to her lips and murmur, “Shhh. Just close your eyes and let yourself feel happy for a little bit. Forget the past. Forget tomorrow. Forget everything except right now.”

  And then I push her, just a little bit, until she takes a step back and her knees hit the bed. She bends without me even asking and sits down. I straddle her knees, still standing, and guide
her body back until she finally accepts what I’m offering and settles into the blankets and pillows.

  “What are you gonna do?” she asks, her eyes closed.

  “Make you come. Make you come so you’ll never want to run away from me again.”

  I part her legs, exposing her pussy. It’s wet with anticipation. And even though we haven’t even started, her thighs tremble. I lean in, my breath as hot as my desire for this girl, and circle her opening with my tongue. She stiffens again, but when I flick it across her clit, she forgets everything and moans. Her hand reaches for me, finds my hair, and she pulls.

  She pulls me closer. She pulls me inside her.

  I add a finger, then two. She’s so tight, she bucks her back from the stretching. But I go slow. Like she deserves. I doubt this girl has ever had a slow fuck in her life and it thrills me to be her first. I already ruined her the other night. I can’t take that back. Nothing can be taken back. But things can be made up for.

  I make it up to her.

  I lick and suck, and she begins to relax. Her mind, which must race with confusion every second of every day, slows down as my tongue takes its time giving her pleasure.

  I can feel her muscles clenching, almost ready, and that’s when I stand up and unbutton my jeans. She’s breathing heavy as she looks at me, her eyes half-mast, her breasts taut and firm, ready for the moment I’ve promised.

  “Please,” she says. “Don’t stop.”

  “I have no intention of stopping.” I let my jeans fall to the floor, my cock hard and long, ready for her in an entirely different way than last time.

  I lean over her and scoot her up to the top of the half-moon bed. My knees press down into the soft white comforter on either side of her hips and my mouth finds the soft skin of her stomach. I nip her with my teeth. Just a small nip. She gasps in some air as I drag my tongue up her body, stop to take another nip at her bunched up nipple, and then find her mouth. Her breath is warm and her lips are tender as I kiss her.