Darkness My Old Friend

by Lisa Unger

  Sometimes people called her, finding her through referrals or an online search. Sometimes then the visions came as if in answer to the need. And as often they didn’t. People were frequently disappointed in her. They got angry. Eloise understood.

  She’d been angry once, too, when Alfie and Emily were taken from her. She’d wanted to lay blame, seek restitution. The anger was a worm inside her, gnawing at the back of her throat, squirming in her gut. She’d wanted the driver of that tractor-trailer to pay. He had a problem with pills, taking amphetamines to stay awake, then downers to sleep. That morning his addiction caught up with him. He’d passed out at the wheel, drifted into oncoming traffic, and sent their car rolling. He emerged from the accident unscathed.

  Eloise had wished him dead; she had hoped for him to lose everything he loved-his family, his money, his whole world. She wanted him to know all her pain, times ten. It kept her up at night. Once, before his trial began, she considered buying a gun and bringing it to the courthouse and shooting him dead. The only thing that stopped her was Amanda, her pale-faced angel. Eloise was all she had left. She thought of how her daughter had managed everything with such stoic acceptance. She’d bear that, too, so bravely. And at some point she’d self-destruct and there wouldn’t be anyone left to save her.

  Then Eloise met him, Barney Croft, the man who’d killed her family. And when she looked in his face, she saw how broken, how undone he was-by addiction, by regret, by his hardscrabble existence. She saw him standing outside the courthouse with his lawyer. The lawyer had his hand on Croft’s shoulder. Croft smoked a cigarette. Eloise had been coming in from a crying jag in her car, to listen to the rest of the testimony. She walked over to him; she couldn’t help herself. She wanted him to see her. She wanted him to see what he had done to her.

  The lawyer saw her first, put up a hand as if to ward her off. Then Croft turned around. She saw the color drain from his face as her own heart started to pound and her throat swelled.

  “Oh, Lord,” he said. And all she smelled was his cigarette smoke and his misery. “Forgive me. In the name of the Lord, please forgive me.” He put his head in his hands then and started to weep, his whole body shaking with it, the cigarette still clutched between his thick fingers.

  Maybe that was where it started. Because looking at him, she saw how life had ground him down. It dwelled in his ruddy skin and in the deep lines around his eyes, in the narrow gap of his thin-lipped mouth. She saw how he drove to support his family, how he took pills to drive longer, to make more. How then he needed more pills to sleep. And how the human body was not designed to live on drugs and bad food and endless miles of dark highways. She saw so clearly how people make the wrong choices for the right reasons and blow everyone up, anyway.

  “I do,” she said. “I forgive you.”

  She meant it. The worm in her gut got smaller. At the sentencing she spoke for leniency and offered him her forgiveness in front of the judge and television cameras. The worm grew smaller still. But that’s when she started to lose Amanda.

  On her desk was a photograph of her daughter, grown now with her two young children, Alfie and Emily (over Eloise’s protests-she didn’t believe in naming the living for the dead). Amanda was happily married, a successful accountant, a wonderful mother-and living as far away from Eloise as possible, in Seattle.

  Downstairs, she heard the door open and close, then heavy footfalls on the stairs. Ray had a distinctive way of entering her home when she neglected to lock the door, as if knocking were beneath him.

  “Eloise?”

  Oliver jumped from her lap, annoyed by the intrusion. They passed each other in the doorway.

  “I hate that cat,” said Ray.

  “I don’t think he’s overly fond of you.”

  He sat across from her desk, put down a paper bag he was carrying, and steepled his fingers. “So.”

  “Seriously, Ray. What is it with you? Do you think I wouldn’t have called?”

  “Let’s do it, then.”

  She released a deep breath. She knew he was going to ask her to do this. She hated it. It was painful, exhausting. And, frankly, she didn’t know how much longer she was going to be able to do it, to do any of it. Ray was in deep denial, but Eloise knew that her time was almost up.

  “What did you bring?”

  “Shoes.”

  Shoes were good, very good. Feet were the place where the body most often connected to the earth, all the energy passing through the soles.

  “You should see that place,” Ray said. “Holt’s father was a hoarder. It’s disturbing.”

  “Is that where he found her shoes?”

  “Yeah, the old man kept everything.”

  “You know the Hollows PD asked Jones Cooper to look into the case.”

  Ray frowned. “I didn’t hear about this.”

  “He told me today. I thought he’d come to you next.”

  “Why did he come to see you?”

  “He remembered that I cleaned for her, baby-sat for the children sometimes. He wanted to know what my impressions were.” That wasn’t really true. She didn’t really want to get into their whole conversation. She didn’t want to tell Ray that she’d shared her vision with Jones. She didn’t even know why.

  Ray didn’t say anything, cast his eyes up to the ceiling. She stared at the bag he’d put on her desk.

  “We don’t know that my vision yesterday was related to Marla Holt,” she said. “It could have been anyone. I was just online, looking. It could be someone else.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  The intensity he’d had yesterday was reduced to embers; he seemed as tired as she felt. He wasn’t looking well lately. His wife had left him almost two years ago now. His kids, both living and working in Manhattan, didn’t seem to have much time for him. That’s what happened when you couldn’t join the living. Late to dinner, distracted when you were there. Ray drank too much, got morose about all the ugly things he’d seen and couldn’t change. His wife wanted to play golf and vacation in the Bahamas. Ray wanted to dig up graves. Who could blame the poor woman for leaving?

  “I heard from Karen,” Ray said. They read each other’s minds. It was that way with them, even after they’d ended their affair.

  “Oh?” said Eloise.

  “She’s getting married again.”

  Eloise gave a little laugh. “She must be out of her mind.”

  Ray smiled, too. “She met a retired doctor. Get this. She met him while she was taking ballroom-dancing classes.”

  Karen had always been asking Ray to take ballroom-dancing classes with her. He’d never had the time or, he’d confessed to Eloise, the desire.

  “I’m sorry, Ray,” Eloise said.

  He lifted a dismissive hand. “I’m happy for her. She deserves it.”

  Karen did deserve happiness. She’d been a good wife to Ray and a loving mother to their children. She was beautiful and vibrant, a kind person. And Ray had treated her badly; so had Eloise, for that matter. Eloise would have dinner at the Muldunes’ on a Sunday, sleep with Ray the following Wednesday. It wasn’t tawdry or dirty; it was desperate and sad. But that was so long ago. They were all different people now.

  Eloise could see that Ray was in pain-of course he was. Ray had chosen badly, and all the predictable consequences had formed a line at his door. But there was nothing to be done about any of that now. You just open the latch and let it all in-loneliness, regret, a kind of bone-crushing fatigue.

  “Okay, let’s do it,” said Eloise. Maybe it was pity. At least she could give him this.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m sure.”

  She got up from her desk and walked past him. She went to her bedroom and sat on the squeaking old mattress. She pushed off her shoes and lay on her back. Ray stood in the doorway a minute, and she remembered what it used to be like with them. How he’d come to her in the night like this and they’d make
love with all the lights on, all their imperfections in plain sight. They saw each other, understood each other. And when they were together like that, the dead and missing, all the people they were chasing, all the gore and horror that obsessed their thoughts, would recede for a while, leaving them with a brief moment of pleasure and comfort in a world that had gone too gray for everyone else.

  He walked over to her and stood above her. For a moment she thought he’d reach for her. And she thought she’d let him, thought she’d take him and let him have her. She could see him thinking about it, what it would be like after so much time. Then he looked away from her face and down to her feet. He removed the shoes from the brown paper bag, an old pair of sneakers. Tenderly, he placed one on each of her feet. Then he took a seat in the chair in the corner. They waited.

  chapter sixteen

  Bethany Graves cooked dinner, because that’s what she did. Her world, it seemed, conspired against putting words on the page, her other great comfort. Sometimes it felt like every page was stolen, secreted, managed in spite of all efforts against her. Inspiration was flighty and delicate, and any disturbance could send it squawking off into the sky. But hunger, the need and desire to prepare food, was steady and reliable, a centering ritual that must take place every day.

  She couldn’t even talk to Willow at the moment. Her child sulked in the family room, sitting on the floor, hunched over a pile of homework on the coffee table-even though there was a perfectly lovely desk built into the bookshelves that lined the wall. But that was Willow, always choosing the hard way.

  Bethany chopped the garlic with quick, staccato motions on the butcher-block board. She slid it into the olive oil waiting in a pan on the stove and listened to its happy sizzle; she took in the pleasant aroma. Garlic cooking in olive oil, was there anything better? Then, right before it browned, she tipped in the crushed tomatoes. She chopped the fresh basil and brushed it into the pot. Then she stirred, the heat on low. She’d defrosted the meatballs she’d prepared over the weekend. After a few minutes, she placed them into the sauce and covered the pot, turned the flame to a low simmer. She’d start the pasta and toss the salad after a bit. Spaghetti and meatballs, Willow’s favorite. She should have made steamed tilapia and broccoli, which Willow hated. But maybe what they both needed was a little comfort.

  She doesn’t need comfort. What she needs is a good kick in the ass. That’s what her own mother would have said. Bethany and her mother had never gotten along, right up until the day the woman died.

  Bethany sank into the sectional behind her daughter, who didn’t bother to turn around and acknowledge her. This room was exactly what she’d hoped it would be when she bought the house-a towering ceiling, a wall of bookcases, a plush cream sectional, a flat-screen television. Outside the window all she could see were trees.

  “Your father wants to come this weekend,” she said. She was extending an olive branch. They hadn’t talked since the screaming match they’d had in the car. Willow hated The Hollows, hated her life, and hated her mother, and she had expressed this to Bethany in a furious shriek that still rang in her ears.

  Willow let out a snort. “You mean Richard?”

  She took a breath. “Yes. Richard.”

  “Did his girlfriend break up with him?”

  She reached out and touched the back of Willow’s impossibly silky hair. The shades of red and gold were dazzling. It was cut in a funky asymmetrical bob. She’d always loved the way Willow’s hair felt beneath her fingers.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” Willow turned around then.

  “I don’t want you to be sorry, Willow. I just want you to keep your promises to me.”

  “I know. I just…” Willow dipped her head into her hand.

  “I know. You want friends. You want people to like you. That’s why you lie to them, to me. That’s why you break all your promises. We’ve been through this with the doctors, with each other. I know. But now it’s time to grow up, Willow. You are enough. You are exactly who you need to be. And anyone who doesn’t see that, who doesn’t like you for who you are… well, those people are not meant to be your friends.”

  Willow worried a thread on her sleeve. Bethany knew that Willow couldn’t hear her. At that age nothing your mother said got through. But Bethany thought that if she kept saying it, one day it would sink in.

  “I’m taking away your phone-for real this time-and the Internet access in your room. I’ll be driving you to school and picking you up. And you’re not going to see Jolie anymore outside school.”

  Willow looked up with wide eyes. “She’s my only friend.”

  “Friends like that you don’t need.”

  She expected Willow to explode again. But she didn’t.

  “How long without phone and Internet?” she asked.

  “Indefinitely.” She kept her voice calm but firm. She wanted Willow to know that she wasn’t backing down this time. “You can use the computer in here for research when I’m in here, too. And you can talk on the home phone, of course.”

  “If anyone calls, you mean.” Willow leaned her head back against Bethany’s hip.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said again.

  Bethany didn’t want to think it, but she’d heard those words too many times from her daughter. They sounded hollow and insincere. She didn’t say anything, just kept stroking Willow’s hair. It was as soft as it was the day she was born. It’s angel hair, Willow’s father had said. And she had been their perfect cherub, plump and so pretty. It was all so much easier when she was small, even though Bethany hadn’t realized it at the time.

  “I want you to talk about all this with Dr. Cooper tomorrow. Okay?” she said.

  “Okay,” said Willow.

  “Willow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who was that boy?”

  When Willow turned to look at Bethany, she wore a wide smile. Bethany felt her heart fill. She hadn’t seen her daughter smile like that in so long. It almost brought tears to her eyes.

  “His name is Cole. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

  Bethany couldn’t help but smile back at Willow. She reached a hand out to touch her cheek. When Willow was small, she used to climb into Bethany’s bed at night and lie on top of her, pressing her cheek against Bethany’s chest. I can hear your heart, Mommy… Go to sleep, Willow.

  “He is cute,” Bethany said. “How old is he?”

  “I don’t know. He’s a junior.”

  “So what were you guys really doing back there?”

  “We really were looking for that mine you told me about.”

  Bethany was kicking herself. She should have known better than to mention something like that to Willow. “Do you know how dangerous those old mines are, Willow? I mean, people die, get buried alive. I’d have thought after your encounter you’d be scared out of there forever.”

  She had thought that. She’d figured that the silver lining of the whole incident would be that Willow never went into those woods again.

  “We didn’t find anything,” Willow said. “I couldn’t remember where I’d seen him. Jolie thought I was lying. She got mad. But I wasn’t lying.”

  “Well, don’t worry about Jolie. It doesn’t matter what she thinks. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks.”

  Willow rolled her eyes. It was one of those things that kids never believe. Because to a teenager it’s the only thing that matters. Even most adults never learn that lesson.

  “Look,” said Bethany. “This is what we need to do moving forward. You need to focus on school. I need to focus on work. We’ll make friends and settle in eventually.”

  “What about Cole? What if he calls me?”

  “Well, we’ll deal with that when it happens. Okay? Just be up front with me, and we’ll work something out.”

  He was going to call; Bethany knew that. He had that goofy look that boys get when they like girls, and he’d been shining it on Willow. But Bethany was planning to keep her daughter under lock and key for a while. Sh
e just didn’t want Willow to know that. Willow didn’t need an excuse for sneaking around.

  “You promise?” asked Willow.

  “If you keep your promises to me and do well in school, I’ll keep my promises to you.”

  Willow smiled again. And Bethany smiled back. There was nothing like a cute boy to brighten the mood of a teenage girl. Maybe The Hollows was going to turn out to be the right place for them after all. Willow was going to settle in and adjust, even after this rocky, unpleasant start. Bethany was going to finish her novel. Even after the events of the day, it seemed possible, even hopeful.

  “Mom,” said Willow, “you know I don’t hate you, right?”

  “I know, Willow.”

  chapter seventeen

  At dusk Jones and Henry made their way through the trees. After everyone had cleared off, Jones had asked Henry if he’d like to take a walk. And Henry had agreed.

  “It’s always a good idea to know what’s going on in the woods behind the school,” the other man had said.

  As they moved deeper in the direction Willow Graves had indicated, Jones was aware of a low-grade buzz of uneasiness. As he’d mentioned to Eloise, Jones didn’t think much of coincidence. He didn’t believe in it. Didn’t like it when it occurred. So, necessarily after the graveyard encounter, he felt annoyed, off center. First there was the boy, Cole Carr. He’d just been talking to the kid’s stepmother a few hours earlier, was unofficially going to look for the kid’s mother. Then there was Michael Holt, whom Willow Graves had seen digging up something back in the woods. Jones had the cold-case file for Holt’s mother sitting on the passenger seat of his car. Willow Graves was one of his wife’s patients; he’d seen the girl and her mother, Bethany, several times coming and going from appointments. Then again, The Hollows was a small place. And it had its ways, this town. Jones Cooper wasn’t a superstitious guy, but sometimes it seemed like The Hollows had a way of encouraging paths to cross.