Dark Places

by Evans, Jon

Points to date: 0

  Entered by: NumberSix

  Entry date: 1 Dec 2000

  Kill date: 28 Nov 2000

  Kill location: Todra Gorge, Morocco

  Victim specifications: NumberFour aka Morgan Jackson

  Kill description: Capital punishment.

  Media files and URLs:

  Photo here.

  This is your only warning. Stop hunting, or be hunted.

  An empty threat, of course. But they didn't know that. I thought it might make a few twisted hearts beat a little faster. It might have the other four killers looking over their shoulders, staying up late at night, blaming one another for the security breach. It might even save a life or two. And that was good enough for me.

  * * *

  On the ferry back to Gibraltar I was unaccountably nervous, fearing that some crack Moroccan detective was about to tap us on the shoulder and ask us a few questions, that we would be sent back to serve life sentences in Tangiers. Visions of Midnight Express floated in my mind. But instead our passports were stamped at Gibraltar customs without so much as a single question and we were waved onwards onto that barren hunk of English rock. We found a hotel, and slept, and at noon the next day I looked out from my window seat on our Airbus A318 and saw London spread all over the landscape like a carpet of civilization. It was a curiously moving sight. No one should ever call London a beautiful city, but it is homey in its own sprawling, awkward way.

  "When do you head back to California?" Nicole asked me as I waited on the tarmac.

  "Tomorrow afternoon," I said.

  "D'you want to stay with Hal and I tonight?"

  "I… yeah, I would," I said. I was surprised by the question. I would have thought the two of them wanted to be alone tonight. But both Lawrence and Steve had true bachelor pads with no room for another, and I didn't particularly want to stay in another Earl's Court hostel surrounded by drunken students.

  We had a farewell meal and a few pints at the Pig and Whistle, and Lawrence and Steve went back to their flats after a round of backbreaking hugs and promises to stay in touch and hopefully visit me in California. Hallam and Nic and I had one more round and retired to their flat.

  "Ah, Christ, it's good to be back," Hallam sighed as he fit the key into his door. He opened it, tossed his bags on the floor, walked straight to the couch, plopped down on it and turned on the television. Nicole, laughing, followed him and leaned back into his arms, and I pulled up a chair and sat next to them.

  "You're a good man, Mr. Wood," Hallam said after a little while, apropos of nothing.

  "Thanks," I said, surprised.

  "I mean it," he said. "Nic and I have the good fortune to have lots of people that we're glad to call friends, but you're one of those we're proud to call a friend."

  "Thank you," I said, and I meant it. "I'm glad to hear you say that. Especially what with me just almost having gotten us all killed and everything."

  "Don't feel bad about that," Nicole said. "Please. We came with you with our eyes wide open, believe me. We knew what we were getting into. It was the right thing to do. And it all worked out for the best."

  "Few tense moments in there," I said.

  "There were," Hallam said. "There were indeed."

  "And they've gotten us to thinking," Nicole said. "Hal and I. We're not getting any younger, you know."

  "And when I thought I might have lost her —" Hallam shook his head and gave her a squeeze. "It's the kind of thing that makes you reevaluate things, you know?"

  I looked at them carefully. "I suppose so. Where are you going with this?"

  "We decided," Nicole said. "We're going to try to have a baby."

  "Really?" I asked.

  "Really," Hallam said. "It's time. You can't go gallivanting around forever."

  "And even if you could, you still shouldn't," Nicole added.

  "Wow," I said. "Wow! That's… that's terrific! That's great! Congratulations!"

  "Now save the congratulations until there's an actual bun in the oven," Hallam said.

  "Well, thanks for telling me, anyways," I said. "Do Steve and Lawrence know?"

  "We're not telling anyone but you, for now," Nicole said.

  "Don't particularly want to run into a wall of crude jokes about how the babymaking's going every week down the pub," Hallam explained, and we all laughed.

  "No smoking or drinking," Nicole said with a sigh. "For either of us," to Hallam.

  "Life is full of terrible sacrifices," Hallam said mock-seriously, and kissed her. "Let's see what else is on the telly."

  * * *

  That night I slept on their sofa, and when I woke in the middle of the night and heard the urgent sounds of their lovemaking from the other room I suddenly felt terribly sad and alone. They were my friends, and I loved them and wished them nothing but the best, wished them days of happiness until the ends of their lives, and I was happy for them, I was delighted to see them so happy building a future together. But I couldn't help but contrast that with my own life. I had no future to build, no one to go home to. I had found no Nicole, and maybe I never would. Hal and Nic fitted together perfectly, an example to everyone. As if they were the two pieces of life's simplest jigsaw puzzle. But simple as it was I thought I might never figure it out. That happened to people. They never found their other half. Thinking of the couples I knew I thought it might happen to most people. I felt a terrible certainty that I would spend my life being one of them.

  Maybe I had found my Nicole. Maybe her name was Laura Mason.

  Enough. Laura was dead. I had to get on with my life.

  But I had gotten on with my life. I realized that for the first time. I had put Laura behind me, at least as far behind as she was going to go. It wasn't because of Laura that I had been unhappy for the longest time, that I had felt like my life had turned to shit even though half the people I knew envied it. Laura hadn't helped, but she wasn't the real reason. The real reason was me. I couldn't blame Laura any more. She had been a cheap excuse for everything that went wrong in my life for long enough. I had to face up to the truth. I was the problem. The problem was me.

  * * *

  Nicole and Hallam and I said our goodbyes after Nicole made us a full-on English breakfast, guaranteed to triple your cholesterol levels if you so much as blinked at it. The Piccadilly Line took me back to Heathrow, where I had landed ten short days ago. It was December now. In all the excitement I had almost forgotten that. Christmas was coming up. I didn't know where I would spend it. My family didn't really celebrate together any more. It occurred to me on the flight back that there was no one I had to buy presents for. Lots of people that I could buy presents for, who would be happy to receive them from me; but nobody who would expect one, nobody in the whole wide world.

  At San Francisco International the bored woman at Immigration asked me if I was coming to America for business or pleasure, and I was about to say "business" when I realized that I didn't work there any more, my job had been terminated, my work visa was invalid. Everything was changing. I had no job. In a couple of months my apartment lease would expire. I had nowhere to go for Christmas. Maybe I should go to London after all. But what would I do there? Could I really change my life by changing its setting? Was there something wrong with me that a mere shift in venue could not repair? I thought that there was. I wished that I knew its name.

  It was a cold and foggy day. I took a taxi back to my apartment and fell back into my own bed with a great sigh of relief. But I didn't really feel relieved. Now that I was back, now that Morgan was gone, what was I supposed to do? Where did I turn next?

  After a little while I called Talena, even though it was late, past eleven.

  "Hello?" she answered.

  "Hi," I said. "It's me."

  "Paul! Where are you?"

  "I'm back," I said. "It's all over. Everything's finished."

  "What? Tell me what —"

  "I'll call you tomorrow or something," I said. "Or I'll write you an e-ma
il or something. But… now is not very good. Now is bad. I don't like talking anymore." I didn't know what I was saying. "I'm sorry. Jet lag or something. I'll talk to you later."

  I hung up and winced as I replayed the conversation to myself. I must have sounded like an idiot. Like I was on drugs. I felt like I was on drugs. Downers.

  I sipped Scotch and watched TV. It helped a little. Outside it started to rain.

  Then at about midnight there was a knock on the door. I answered it. I didn't have a clue who it might be.

  It was Talena, dressed in a black raincoat.

  I stared at her.

  "Did you leave your manners over in England?" she said, but kindly. "It's considered good form to invite a girl in from the rain."

  "Yes," I said. "Sure. Sorry. Come in."

  She came in and joined me on the couch. I turned off the TV.

  "Tell me all about it," she said.

  And I did. The whole thing, omitting no detail. I spoke in a dry monotone but she hung on every word. It didn't take that long, it had only been ten days, albeit action-packed, since I had last spoken to her. And right at the end, when I was telling her about Hallam and Nicole's decision to have a baby, to my own great surprise and shame, I burst into tears.

  I don't know how long it had been since I had last cried. Ten years at least. Maybe more. I thought I had forgotten how. But I broke into wracking sobs, clutched at my head and cried like a baby, loudly, sobbing and shaking and sniveling as if it was the only thing I knew how to do. After a moment Talena was next to me, her arms around me, lifting my head onto her shoulder, whispering soothing words into my ear. I cried for a long time. I felt inexplicably and terribly sad but somehow relieved. As if I was releasing something awful that had been pent up inside me for years and grown toxic.

  When I was finally finished my face and Talena's shoulder were soaked with my tears and snot. I sank back into the couch, exhausted, and looked up at her.

  "I think I'm done," I said, banally, and nasally.

  "Okay," she said gently, producing a package of tissues from her purse, which she used to wipe my face and then her shoulder relatively clean. I didn't move. I felt utterly humiliated, but somehow that was okay. As if I knew I had finally hit bottom, and at least there was nowhere deeper to sink.

  "Come on," she said. "Let's go to bed."

  "Let's?" I didn't think I had heard her correctly.

  "You shouldn't sleep alone tonight," she said. "Come on." She led me to my bed and under the covers. We kept our clothes on. We held each other, at first tentatively, and then as if we had always been together. She was very warm.

  "It's going to be okay," she whispered in my ear. "Everything will be okay."

  At some point during the night we both stripped down to our underwear, it was too warm to keep our clothes on, but we didn't kiss, didn't touch except to hold one another. Once she murmured in her sleep, something anxious, in a harsh foreign language, and I held her tighter, and she woke up and her eyes opened and she smiled to see me there.

  When I woke up she was gone from the bed and I was afraid she had left, but she was only in the kitchen, making coffee. She was fully dressed and she smiled at me in my boxers and told me to take a shower. When I came out of the shower she had toast and coffee ready and we ate it on the couch, watching TV, sitting at opposite ends but with our legs overlapping in the middle.

  "I should go," she said eventually. "I have to get to work."

  "All right," I said, following her to the door. "I'll call you tonight."

  "Call me today. Tonight you can buy me dinner."

  At the door she kissed me. Our first kiss. It went on for a long time. I saw stars.

  "I'll see you soon," she whispered, breathless.

  "Not soon enough," I whispered back.

  I watched her walk down the stairs and disappear into the San Francisco fog. After a little while I decided to go for a walk myself. I always liked the fog. It makes the whole world seem beautiful and mysterious. And that's what we all really want, isn't it?

  Beauty and mystery. And somebody to share them with.