Darkness My Old Friend

by Lisa Unger

  As of today she hadn’t worked out of the home in five years. Kevin had refused to staff her with a client while she was pregnant, relegating her to office work for the company. You need your rest. She still drew a salary from the company, which was direct-deposited into an account for which she didn’t have a checkbook or an ATM card. He gave her an allowance for the house and the kids.

  It was only after Janie died last year that she forced herself to look at what she’d allowed to happen. How she’d gone from an educated, accomplished woman, making six figures before she went to work for Kevin, to a housewife who didn’t even have access to the family bank account, whose phone calls to her mother were being tracked by her husband. She was a woman whose whole body flooded with dread when she heard the garage door open at night. She lived in fear of his words, his punishments. And the funny thing was that he rarely raised his voice, almost never put his hands on her. Almost never.

  She’d stood up to him once. She had. It was when he told her that he didn’t want her to talk to her mother more than once a week. She’d paid him lip service, to avoid a fight in front of the children. But then she’d just ignored his directive. In fact, she’d talked to her mother more often. The night he’d got the bill, he’d come home after the children were sleeping. He’d come in quietly and put the bill on the kitchen counter. He’d reminded her how in college she’d had problems with depression. She’d been in therapy, taken medication. She’d confided in him early in their relationship that she’d felt so much pressure she’d been briefly suicidal.

  “That type of mental illness doesn’t just go away, Paula. It can come back. You could be a danger to yourself. Even to the children.”

  What was he saying? That he’d use her history to try to take her children away from her? Or was it even worse than that? Was he threatening to hurt her? To hurt Claire and Cameron? It was such a mind-bending moment that she was speechless with fear and confusion. He slept in his home office that night and left the next morning for work without a word. Why didn’t she leave that day? She couldn’t answer that question-fear, denial, inertia. It was some insidious combination of all those things.

  She asked her mother to call her every day instead. Her mother complied and didn’t ask why.

  Wasn’t there some belief about how if you drop a frog into boiling water, it will jump right out? But if you put it in cold water and turn up the heat gradually, it will allow itself to slowly cook to death? But she wasn’t dead yet. She was going to get them all out of the pot somehow.

  Before Cole showed up, she’d had it all figured out. Once a year Kevin went away to meet with the other partners at a golf resort in Florida. He’d be gone for four days and come back either elated or in a deep funk depending on how things had gone, what the projections for the year were, whether or not they were going to get bonuses. Her plan was to take the kids and go to her parents’ as soon as Kevin left. She was going to tell them everything, the whole truth about the man she’d married. Then she was going to take the children and go far away. She was going to start over and pray he never found them. She couldn’t just go to her mom and dad and stay with them. It wouldn’t work; he’d come after her. There’d be an ugly battle for the children in the very best case. But more than that, she wasn’t sure what he was capable of, what he might do to her, the kids, even her parents. She just didn’t know anymore.

  That trip was three weeks away. Unless she could find Cole’s mother and get him out of the house, she didn’t know what she was going to do. She couldn’t leave Cole alone with Kevin to bear the fallout of their leaving. But she couldn’t take him, either. He wasn’t her son, first of all. And he worshipped Kevin like a god.

  That was why she’d contacted Jones Cooper. Maybe he could find Cole’s mother and Paula could call her, implore her to come back for Cole. If anyone else knew what Kevin was, it must be her.

  It was all Paula could do not to throw herself onto Jones Cooper’s lap and confess everything to him and ask for his help. He seemed so strong and safe, so good. But she couldn’t do that. People talk; she couldn’t have word getting out, possibly getting back to Kevin. In a small town like The Hollows, there are no secrets once you’ve opened your mouth. Gossip was viral, infectious. It couldn’t help but spread.

  The clock was ticking, she knew that. She knew that the company was about to go under. She knew that her husband’s moods were growing darker. She’d guessed at his password and logged in to his home computer and had been shocked by the things she’d found there. Kevin was not the man she thought he was. Maybe he never had been. He’d been visiting ugly, hard-core porn sites, guns-and-ammo sites. He’d been visiting sites about postpartum psychosis. She learned that they were drowning in debt. And then Paula found an e-mail correspondence between him and another woman. He was having an affair. The messages were filled with lies about Paula, that she didn’t take care of the kids, that she was having an affair, that she was mentally unstable, an alcoholic. It made her wonder about everything he’d told her about Cole’s mother, the other women he’d been with before her.

  Then last week she took his car to be washed. While she was waiting in line, she started picking up the trash he just left on the floor of the car. She didn’t want the people who washed it to think that she was a slob who ate nothing but fast food and then dumped the wrappers and empty cups, leaving them littered about the interior. She felt something under the passenger seat and pulled out a black canvas bag. She unzipped it and saw a plastic case inside. Somehow she knew what it was before she opened it. Sitting there, she opened the lid and saw the gun. She felt as if someone had sucked all the air out of the car.

  She slammed the case shut and jumped when the attendant knocked on the window. She smiled at him, told him she wanted the Super Wash, and asked him how long it would take. She exited the vehicle with the bag in her hand. Still smiling, she walked inside and paid the clerk. She went over to the window and watched the car get lathered and rinsed, sprayed with wax, and buffed. She wished there were a car wash for her life, something she could enter on a conveyor belt, something that would wash away everything that was dirty and ugly about her life. Where did he get this gun? Why was it in the car? Should she put it back? Should she get rid of it? What would he do if he knew she’d found it and disposed of it? It was a trap, a lose-lose scenario. She put the gun back where she’d found it and drove home. Why hadn’t she left that Monday when he went to work? She didn’t know the answer to that, either.

  What she found so odd about the situation she was in was that on the surface they must seem so normal. She was chitchatting with people at school when she dropped off Cammy and picked him up. She made her daily posts on Facebook, sharing pictures of the family and their various activities. Cammy on his scooter, Claire making a big mess with her mashed sweet potatoes. Fakebook, a place where people could project the image that they wanted, show only the things they wanted everyone to see, hiding every dark and sad thing in their hearts and in their lives. Or maybe it was just her.

  The neighbors must see the handsome Kevin going off to work every morning and coming home in the evenings, bringing in groceries or takeout, grabbing the mail from the box. Saturday night was their date night. They got dressed up and went out to the nicest restaurants, parties in the neighborhood, even into the city. But sometimes on those nights, Kevin wouldn’t say a word, checking his BlackBerry while she yammered away like an idiot over dinner. Or he’d dote on her at parties, then rail at her all the way home about how she ate too much or laughed too loud or how her dress was too tight, and was she ever going to lose that baby weight?

  It was scary how much people didn’t know about one another. For example, no one knew or even suspected that Paula and her children had become a burden, an inconvenience to Kevin and the fantasy he was creating in his mind about his new girlfriend. And that Paula had better find a way to get herself and her children far, far from him and quickly. Otherwise… well, she just didn’t know what her hu
sband was capable of doing. She just didn’t know.

  On the monitor, Paula heard Claire start to fuss. She looked at the clock and saw that an hour had passed. It was time already to nurse the baby, pack her up, and go get Cammy. How did the hours, the days, pass so quickly? It seemed like some kind of trick. She always had such big plans for nap time. But she so often just found herself blanking out, collapsing into the silence.

  When she turned to go upstairs, she saw him standing there. How long had he been standing there like that?

  “Kevin,” she said. She forced a smile. “You scared me.”

  “Where are the kids?”

  Her hands were shaking suddenly, so she stuffed them into her pockets. It was funny how your body picked up signals that your mind wanted to ignore. She hated herself for feeling as afraid as she did right now.

  “Cole’s out with friends.” She hated the sound of her own voice, so falsely light; the smile she kept plastered on her face actually ached. “Claire’s upstairs, just waking from her nap. And Cammy’s still at school.”

  Kevin glanced at the clock. “It’s almost four.”

  “He asked for aftercare today,” she said. She was too quick to answer. It sounded like the lie that it was. “So he could play with Nick. I was just heading out to get him.”

  “Really? Because it looked to me like you were just sitting around on your ass. I’d think you’d use your free time to work out.”

  Paula didn’t say anything, bit back the flood of pure hatred that seemed to come up from her gut and coat the back of her throat with acid. Once upon a time, before they were married, she used to look at him and think how lucky she was. He was so successful, so handsome and charming. She used to think she loved him. But maybe she never did. She didn’t know who he was; he’d presented a false image of himself, and she’d been seduced by that. She never suspected how cold his heart was.

  She tried to move past him, but he put an arm up to block her way to the stairs. She heard Claire start to cry. Her wails came staticky and broken up over the monitor that was at the end of its range.

  “She’s crying,” Paula said.

  “You think I can’t hear that? Go turn that thing off.”

  Her heart was pumping now, adrenaline racing through her system. But she did as she was told. She could still hear Claire crying upstairs, sounding so far away. Her body started to tingle the way it did when one of her kids cried; her breasts were engorged and starting to leak. It was time to nurse. She was glad she’d remembered to put the pads in her bra, so that she didn’t soak through her shirt in front of Kevin.

  “What are you doing home?” Paula asked.

  She wanted to go to Claire, but she stayed where she was. On the bar that separated the great room from the kitchen lay a hammer. She’d been trying to hang a few framed pictures of the kids earlier-there were no photos anywhere. She’d just never gotten around to it. No, that wasn’t the reason. By the time they’d moved into this big house that they couldn’t afford, she knew they weren’t a real family. She couldn’t bear the idea of hanging photos that were so fake as to be laughable. But one of her friends, one of her mom friends, had made a comment. You’re so smart not to have your walls cluttered with photos! I can’t walk an inch in my house without seeing one of their faces! Which was basically just a veiled way to say she thought it was strange.

  “I got an interesting call today,” said Kevin.

  “From who?”

  From where he was standing by the room exit, she knew he couldn’t see the bar area. She put her hand on the edge.

  “The bank. Your old bank.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really?” But she felt her whole middle bottom out.

  “Seems like there’s some money there you failed to mention.”

  She thought about lying, about doing some song and dance. But she decided against it. She just kept her mouth shut, offered a quick shrug. Upstairs, Claire was howling now. She wasn’t used to waiting for her mom.

  His expression softened then.

  “I know that things haven’t been great between us, Paula. But how could you keep that from me?” He’d modulated his voice to sound sweet and pleading. She could actually see him tearing up. But those eyes were dead. The game was up; she knew that.

  She’d been doing some reading. The sociopath has no real feelings. He does not experience guilt or remorse, love or empathy. He knows only his own needs and goals. But he’s a skilled mimic, a brilliant actor. And as easily as sociopaths hide in plain sight, they all have one thing in common: the pity play. When confronted or discovered, they will always try to make you feel sorry for them in order to control you. Paula had read about this in her research. She was fairly sure that’s what her husband was. But it wasn’t until this moment that she dared to admit it.

  “I’ve given you everything,” he said. He took a step forward; she took one back. “I’ve worked so hard for us. But it hasn’t been enough. I’ve failed. The business is going under. We’re nearing personal bankruptcy.”

  She knew all this. She stayed silent.

  “The truth is, baby, we need that money. It could save us.”

  He couldn’t get to it without her. She was certain of that. Husband or not, his name was not on her account, and he did not have access to that money. Otherwise there would be no reason for this show. He’d just have taken it. And if she didn’t sign that money over to him, there was only one other way for him to get it. She moved her hand so that now it was resting on the hammer.

  “I’m sorry, Kevin,” she said. “It was Janie’s, and she just wanted me and the kids to have it. That money belongs to my family.”

  He released a sad little laugh. “But I’m your family.”

  A couple of months ago, he might have been able to manipulate her this way. But not today.

  “I know about the debt,” she said. “I also know about your affair. I know about the lies you’ve been telling her about me.”

  She saw something flash across his face. It was rage. This was the other thing about sociopaths. You are advised not to confront their fantasies-because sociopaths will do anything necessary to protect their self-narrative. All the experts agree that you must get as far away as possible, sever all contact, protect yourself at all costs. Upstairs, Claire had gone quiet. Paula could hear just a miserable whimper. Claire was wet and hungry. Paula needed to get Cameron from school. In another minute she would be late to get her boy. She’d never once been late to pick him up. The thought of him standing there waiting made her sick.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kevin said. His tone was cloying, his voice just a whisper. “Are you okay, honey? What’s wrong?”

  He was coming toward her. She tightened her grip on the hammer. And then she saw him pull that gun from his waist. The moment expanded. She was aware of her own breath, the beating of her heart. For a crazy split second, she thought about that game-rock, paper, scissors. They were playing a different version: gun, hammer, toy truck.

  She’d been stepping over that little blue truck all day, having added it to her mental model of the room. She’d stepped over it with the laundry basket, the cup of tea. And every time she did, she thought, I should really pick that up. Someone’s going to step on that and go flying. But she never did get around to doing that.

  chapter fourteen

  “How’s Willow?”

  How dare you even ask? is what Bethany wanted to say but didn’t. Enduring her ex-husband’s weekly guilt call was almost more than she could take this afternoon. She still felt off center after her meeting with Henry Ivy, was regretting her decision to let Willow stay after school to study at the library. She kept watching the clock. She was tempted to call the library again. But she didn’t want to be that kind of mom. Once was careful. Twice was paranoid. The late bus would pull up at 4:35. She couldn’t quite see it from the house, but she could hear it if the television was off, if she was listening for it. And today she was listening
for it.

  “She’s adjusting.”

  “Not getting into trouble?”

  “It’s not really your problem anymore if she is.” She couldn’t keep the sharp edge from her tone. It crept in against her will, a thug pulling a switchblade, not afraid to use it. Usually he’d snap back and the conversation would turn into an alley fight, dirty and mean, ending abruptly. They’d try again next week, for Willow’s sake. But he surprised her this time, by waiting a beat before answering.

  “I still care, Bethany. About you. About Willow. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it. But I do.”

  She felt her core melt a bit. And then she got it. What’s-her-face-Miss 34DD-had taken a walk. She’d picked up on the fact that all the money and buff good looks in the world didn’t make up for everything Richard was lacking. Richard Coben looked damn good-even pushing sixty, he was in better shape than most men half his age. That head of prematurely gray hair was exotic, sophisticated. Those icy blue eyes bored into you, seemed to see every romantic dream you ever had. The opening act was spectacular-roses and candlelight, surprise trips to Paris. The girls swooned-Bethany included. But they didn’t stay around very long.

  “Brenda left?” she asked. They’d known each other too long to beat around the bush.

  She heard him sigh. “Yeah. Things didn’t work out.”

  He wasn’t a bad man. He wasn’t even a dog, really. He was shallow and unfaithful, sure. Work-obsessed, self-involved. But his fatal flaw was that he didn’t keep his promises, his vows. He couldn’t follow through on the big things. This was disappointing to the girlfriends, painful for the wife, crushing for the child.

  Look at this apartment, that ring on your finger, that trip we just took to St. Lucia. Isn’t that enough?

  It’s not nearly enough. It means nothing at all. We don’t want or need any of those things. We just want you.