Blackened

by Tim McWhorter

  “Dad,” I said, this time louder, while I felt around the wall for a light switch. I expected a loud crash, maybe a swift and heavy blow to the face at any moment. It wasn’t just my overactive imagination. There was no telling what the darkness held. My heart was pounding against the walls of my chest like an angry, caged animal unsure of what its future held. Adrenaline was pumping through me and showed no signs of running out.

  After failing to garner response a second time, and unable to find a light switch on the wall, I had to make a decision. I left the safety of the beam of light coming through the doorway and made my way toward my parents’ front door. I moved as swiftly as the darkness allowed, with every step bringing renewed fear. The air inside my lungs begged for release. The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. My entire body was telling me how stupid this decision was. I just hoped it wouldn’t cost me dearly.

  Thankfully, it didn’t. I found the bank of light switches just inside the entryway, just where I knew it would be. With a relieved exhale of air, I spun around as I flipped the switch, and instinctively cowered against whatever might await me.

  The room erupted into a brilliant and sudden light. My father shot upright in bed.

  “What the hell?” he mumbled, shielding his squinting eyes. His entire face was a mass of creases and crevices as he fought the sting from the disruptive light. I almost felt sorry for waking him that way, but my attention was quickly drawn to something else.

  “Where’s mom?”

  “What?” he asked, while his hand blindly searched the nightstand for his glasses.

  The space in the bed beside my father was vacant. The covers were tossed aside, and the pillow held only a dent. My mother was nowhere to be found.

  Barnes had an affinity for females, and I tried to block out the possibilities. As much as it seemed impossible, my heart started pounding harder while my eyes frantically searched the small room. Eventually, they came to the bathroom and its closed door. A thin sliver of light ran along the floor beneath it.

  Hoping for the best, I couldn’t help but fear the worst.

  I looked at my father and gave him the universal shush sign with my finger to my lips. My grip on the ice bucket tightened as I raised it like a hammer. As I reached for the door handle, I allowed my trembling hand to hover over the knob.

  The sound of a flushing toilet came from the other side of the door, breaking the tense silence. A moment later, the faucet came on, ran for a few seconds, and then shut off. About the time I was pulling my hand away from the handle, the door opened.

  My mother gasped and clutched the top of her robe.

  “Luke!”

  I took a step backward and dropped the bucket to my side. I could only imagine what was going through my mother’s mind as she opened the door. She was lucky that it was only me standing there, even if she didn’t know it.

  “What is it, Luke?” my father asked, rising to his feet beside the bed. His eyes were still adjusting to the intrusive light as he put on his glasses.

  Ignoring the question initially, I turned and went back into my room. By the time I’d shut my front door and thrown the lock into place, my father was standing in the doorway between the rooms. My mother stood behind him, looking over his shoulder.

  “Luke?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, having a seat on the corner of my bed. “Something’s not right.”

  I wasn’t sure where to start. So much had transpired in the last few minutes, but with nothing to show for any of it, a small amount of self-doubt started polluting my mind. Did I really see what I thought I saw in the van? Could I be mistaken and not have shut my room door all the way? Could it all just be one big string of coincidences?

  It was all possible and improbable at the same time. I wanted to believe everything was just as I’d perceived. I wanted to believe in myself. More importantly, I wanted my parents to believe it.

  For that reason alone, not telling my father wasn’t an option, especially after the look in his eyes as we talked to Morgenstern. So I did the thing that was both the easiest and most difficult at the same time. I started from the beginning and told him everything I knew to be true.

  Chapter 29

  It was nearing six o’clock by the time I finished telling my side of things. The sun wasn’t yet showing itself, but it was warming up to it. The sky seemed to be just a shade lighter as we walked through the lobby toward the glass doors.

  “Maybe I should call Detective Morgenstern,” my father suggested, but I didn’t respond. I was still a little unsure about what was fact in the last forty-five minutes, so I figured I would let him make the decision.

  The lobby felt less like a ghost town this time around. There was a fresh smiling face at the front desk, her dark brown hair pulled up into a bun. A handful of business-type men in suits were milling around the breakfast stations with their plates full of fruit and fresh made waffles. My attention was drawn briefly to one of the men standing by himself waiting on his toast. I thought he was talking to himself, until he turned and I saw the Bluetooth headset clipped to his ear. The older woman from the elevator was pouring orange juice from a large bag into the dispenser.

  What a difference forty-five minutes can make.

  The sliding glass doors swooshed open as we approached. My father had his cell phone out and was scrolling through his contacts. I just hoped that it wouldn’t be a wasted call. While my father had been putting on his shoes in the room, it gave me more time to think. And more time to doubt myself, which wasn’t surprising considering the return of some of the PTSD effects lately. Doubting myself was something I’d gotten all too comfortable with after everything went down a year ago.

  The only part I was absolutely sure of was the van. I hadn’t imagined it. It was very real. Maybe it was just one of a thousand in the city. Maybe it was simply a coincidence that one would be parked beside me in a parking lot full of vehicles. Maybe it wasn’t even the van that had followed me the night before.

  But it could be.

  Unfortunately, we would never find out.

  “You can put your phone away,” I mumbled, my pace slowing, my heart falling.

  As we stood there looking at the empty spot beside my truck. My hope for a real clue was dashed. Not even a fresh oil stain remained to prove the van, or any other vehicle for that matter, had been there recently.

  Somehow, I knew what was coming before he even asked it.

  “Did you happen to get the license –”

  “No,” I snapped. “I didn’t.” Then I cursed aloud before turning back toward the hotel.

  Dad didn’t call Morgenstern, but he did offer to trade me vehicles for the day. Knowing how much he disliked the truck, I rejected his gracious offer. I’m not sure if he was relieved or not, but I’m sure the small part of him that wasn’t a selfless parent wasn’t the least bit disappointed.

  By the time I arrived at work an hour and a half later, I had probably checked my rearview mirror a hundred and sixty-seven times. Before I’d even started up the truck, I performed a thorough inspection to make sure there was nothing out of the ordinary with it.

  “Long time, no see,” Dallas said, as I entered the storage room through the back door. It was his weird attempt at sarcasm, something he hadn’t mastered yet, despite his years.

  “I know. What’s it been, like twelve, thirteen hours?”

  “Something like that,” he said, sitting at his old wooden desk, smiling too broadly for the first thing in the morning. But then, Dallas never needed coffee to get him going in the mornings. Usually the smell of motor oil and antifreeze did the trick. He was sorting through a jumbled stack of receipts, so I was happy to leave him to it.

  I offered up only a weak grunt and continued into the office where the coffee maker was waiting for me. I’d been in such a hurry to get out of the hotel, I didn’t bother getting a cup on my way out. And I definitely didn’t want to stop anywhere after what happened at the Starbucks the d
ay before. Hell, for all I knew there was a sign now posted at every location with my photo on it that said, “Do not serve this person.”

  With a Styrofoam cup of steaming fuel, I headed in the direction of the shop, eager to get to work. I hoped it would take my mind off of the events of the last twenty-four hours. Just as I got to the glass door, Dallas entered the office behind me. I wasn’t in a talkative mood, so I hoped he wasn’t, either.

  “So,” he said innocently, “do anything exciting last night?”

  I looked at him, and it was all I could do not to roll my eyes. But knowing he was innocent, I somehow found the strength.

  “You have no idea,” I said and walked out into the shop.

  Chapter 30

  It was sometime after lunch when my mood finally improved. Maybe it was the work that was taking my mind off of things. Maybe it was the soulful sounds of Motown the radio station seemed stuck on that day. Hell, I’d spent so much time around Dallas, maybe it was the smells of grease, brake fluid and hydraulic oil that were cheering me up.

  Whatever it was, I went with it.

  I had just struck the tip of the acetylene torch and was about to cut off the rusty muffler bolts from an older model Oldsmobile when I noticed the shoes. From underneath the car, the shoes were all I could see of the person, and I had no idea who they belonged to. They looked to be black leather work boots, but the bottoms of a pair of dark grey uniform pants covered most of them. Since I hadn’t heard anyone say my name, I continued with the task at hand. It was only going to take me a minute to cut through the bolts anyway, and customers in the shop were a frequent sight.

  By the time I wiggled the muffler loose and rolled the creeper out from under the car, I figured Dallas had taken care of the wandering customer, or whoever it was, who had been standing there. But he hadn’t, and it wasn’t a customer.

  “What’s up, man?” a smiling Arashk asked, as I laid on my back looking up at his crotch.

  “Hey,” I said, and because it’s difficult to hold a conversation looking up at someone’s crotch, I rolled off the creeper. My anger and frustration had subsided, but I was still a little on edge. Maybe I always would be. Either way, I felt just a little vulnerable lying there with this tall man standing over me, even if it was someone I knew. “What do you have for me today?” I asked him as I stood up.

  “Nimic.”

  “Sorry?”

  Arashk chuckled to himself.

  “Nimic,” he repeated, “is Romanian for nothing. I have nothing for you today, my friend.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, shutting off the acetylene and oxygen tanks. I tossed the green-tinted goggles onto the roof of the Oldsmobile and leaned against it. If Arashk wasn’t dropping something off, I was more than a little curious as to what I owed this visit. “So what’s up? Need your car fixed?”

  “Nah,” he said. “Boss gave me a pair of Reds tickets for the game Saturday. I’m not really into baseball, so I thought I’d see if you wanted them. Seems nobody else can use them. Didn’t know if you were into baseball or not, but thought you might be. It is your national pastime, correct?”

  It was, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t really into sports at all, but my father was. And that was enough to pique my interest.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said, thinking that, if nothing else, it might be a good distraction for the two of us. “How much are they?”

  “No charge, my friend. I just don’t want ’em to go to waste.”

  “Well, in that case,” I said, “I’ll definitely take them. Thanks.”

  “No problem, except I don’t have the tickets with me. I’ll bring them next time,” he said with his normal broad smile. “Oh wait, I don’t think you guys have any parts on order right now. That may change, obviously, but as of right now, nimic. Give me your number, and I’ll catch up with you sometime before Saturday.”

  I rattled off the first three numbers before the fourth caught in my throat. I barely knew Arashk. He was just the parts delivery guy, not a friend. And passing my phone number around didn’t sound like something I should be doing, especially after the events of the last twenty-four hours.

  “Is something a problem?” Arashk asked, wiping his dark hair away from his eyes.

  I cleared my throat and coughed. “Must have breathed in some dust,” I said lamely. What was I thinking? Arashk wasn’t Barnes, and I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of this guy. It’s not like I didn’t know him at all. What excuse could I possibly use for not wanting to give him my number that wouldn’t sound utterly lame? I just couldn’t make a habit of it.

  I started over, rattling off the numbers as he typed them directly into his phone.

  “Cool,” he said, dropping his phone into the pocket of his uniform shirt. “I’ll get with you in the next day or two, and we can meet up somewhere.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “It’ll be a nice break from everything for me and my old man.”

  “Old man?” Arashk asked, his eyes narrowed.

  “My dad,” I clarified.

  “Oh,” he said with a nod of understanding. “Having it rough lately?”

  “It’s nothing,” I said, trying to steer the conversation away from any more inquisition. “Just been really busy lately. It’ll just be nice to do something fun for a change.”

  “Oh. Alright, then. See ya.”

  With a wave, he turned to walk away. When he got to the shop door, he stopped and turned back.

  “By the way,” Arashk said, “I get concert tickets sometimes, too. If you’re ever interested. You’re into the hard shit, right? Metalcore and stuff? I’ll keep you in mind.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said, picking the creeper up and stowing it against a wall so no one would trip over it. When I turned back around, he was gone.

  *

  When I got home from work, a dark blue sedan was parked across the street from our house. It had no markings or visible connection to the Dayton Police Department, but it didn’t take a character from The Big Bang Theory to recognize its purpose. I nodded at the plainclothes officer behind the wheel sipping a diet Coke and he nodded back.

  “His name’s Courtney,” my father said as I shut the front door behind me. He stood in the middle of the living room, looking out the front window and shaking his head. “And that’s his first name. Officer Courtney Stine. Can’t imagine what his parents were thinking giving him a name like that.”

  “Maybe it’s a family name,” I offered, shrugging my shoulders and dropping my keys onto the table beside the door.

  “Maybe,” my father said. “Still ...” but he let his thought die right there, and I chose not to resurrect it. “Your mother’s making dinner tonight. I assume you’re going to be here?”

  He gave me one of those looks that parents are so good at, regardless how old you are. The one that more or less told me what my answer should be.

  “Yeah,” I said, the thought of my mother’s cooking perking up my mood. I can usually eat my share of pizza, burritos and take out Chinese, but even I was getting tired of eating at the hotel. “I’m here for the night. Probably gonna crash pretty early. I’m wiped.”

  “I can imagine,” he said, a look of fatherly concern narrowing his eyes. “Anything out of the ordinary happen today?”

  I shook my head. He already knew the answer. Both he and my mother had texted me a hundred times over the course of the day.

  “Well, with our new watchdog out there, you can sleep easy tonight. I know I’m looking forward to sleeping in my own bed for a change.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m just excited about a home cooked meal.”

  “Bonus!” my father said, and smiled for the first time in a couple days. “I’m gonna see if she needs any help.”

  I watched as he turned to head in the direction of the kitchen, but not before looking out the window one more time.

  Chapter 31

  Claire had never sent me a photo quite like it before. She was always texting m
e playful selfies, or photos of her and her friends doing something funny. Usually whenever she thought I could use a pick me up. One time, during what has become known as my “dark days,” she was getting her hair cut at a salon. Without the urging of anyone, she proceeded to take the hair her stylist had just cut off and stuck it to her upper lip and chin with styling gel. Basically, giving herself a deep, reddish-brown goatee that matched her hair perfectly. After taking a selfie where she posed with a scowl like a ginger Charlie Hunnam, she texted it to me, hoping it would make me laugh. It did, and it chased the storm clouds away on that particular day. That’s just the kind of person she was, caring to a fault, and willing to do almost anything to make the people in her life happy.

  The photo she sent me that night after dinner was tastefully done and definitely made me happy. Her soft, pale skin had suffered the effects of a long Ohio winter, which only helped the red lace stand out all that much more. The top of the bra was cut low, the bottoms of the panties were cut high, and I was forced to walk over and shut my bedroom door.

  “well?”

  The text with the single word followed minutes after the one with the photo. Still recovering from my initial reaction, I could only reply with a single word of my own.

  “wow”

  But that was okay, because it summed up my thoughts perfectly.

  “hope that’s a good wow”

  It was, I assured her. Turning on my iPod, I clicked on the dock and sat down on the edge of the bed with my cell in hand. Propping my pillows up against my headboard, I laid back to settle in for a relaxing text swap with my girl.

  “whats the occasion”

  While I waited for her response, I found myself in the mood for something slightly more mellow than my usual fare of Metalcore. And by ‘slightly more mellow,’ I meant quite a bit more. Scrolling through the list of artists on my iPod, I stopped at 3 Doors Down. Cueing up their Away From the Sun release, I set my iPod on its dock and hit play. By the time the slinking guitar opening of “When I’m Gone” started curling through the speaker, my attention had returned to Claire and the connection we had through my cell.