Out of the Darkness

by Jaime Rush

  Somewhere. Not at her place.

  She counted the receipts as the others cleaned their stations. “Are you guys ready for the total?” A grin spread across her face. “We made sixty-six hundred freaking dollars for SafeHouse tonight. Plus another three thousand in separate contributions.”

  SafeHouse gave shelter to abused women and children, and for reasons Zoe couldn’t name, she felt compelled to help.

  RJ put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “The kids are going to get their playground. Nice job, Zo. You put a lot of work into setting this up.”

  Her eyes watered only because she was so tired. “Nice job to all of you.” She handed the bank bag to Michael. “Could you make the drop tonight?”

  As RJ started to pull away, she tugged him back, and whispered, “Stay for a minute, ’kay?”

  “Sure.” He must have picked up on her fear because his expression turned serious.

  It killed her to need someone or impose, but that was a lot better than going home alone. She gave them all a hug of thanks before they left while RJ bought time by organizing his station. His mop of shiny brown hair hung in thick strands as he reached for a wayward ink cup.

  When they were gone, she said, “Could I crash at your place tonight?”

  He raised brown eyebrows in surprise. “Anytime. Is something wrong?”

  She glanced at the window. “There was a guy out there for the last few hours watching me. It made me uncomfortable.”

  No need to get into the rest of it. Then she’d have to explain about her dad, and that was something she wanted no one to know about. Then she’d be poor Zoe, whose dad went on a shooting spree, instead of Zoe who didn’t talk about her family. She had told them that her father had died, plain and simple. There was no way for anyone to find out more, including her. She’d Googled her father’s name but found nothing. Of course, the shooting spree had happened before the Internet. And no doubt the government had covered it up.

  “You know I got your back, babe.”

  “Cool. I need to go by my place and get some things.”

  He was still looking at her with an odd expression.

  “What?”

  “I think this is the first time in the two years I’ve known you that you’ve asked for help on a personal level.” He smiled. “It’s good.”

  She didn’t smile back. “I’m just self-sufficient, that’s all.”

  “Everyone needs help sometimes, Zo.”

  Not her. Zoe Stoker kept her world under control. Zoe Stoker did not need help.

  They walked out, and she locked the door. Even with RJ, who was tall and muscular-lean beside her, she felt vulnerable out in the cool night air. She pulled her leather jacket over her black leather bustier and stayed close to RJ.

  Fifteen minutes later she walked into her apartment, RJ behind her. She stopped, her body going still.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She looked around the small living room filled with stuff from her life: Halloween masks of Frankenstein and a zombie with a rose clenched in his teeth, cardboard cutouts of Godzilla and King Kong that she’d positioned to kiss each other. “Would I sound crazy if I said I knew someone’s been in here?” She saw him taking in her artifacts. “All right, crazier than you already think I am?”

  “How can you tell? Nothing looks out of place.”

  “It’s something you can feel; the same way you know when someone’s watching you. It’s like the energy in here has been disturbed.”

  He looked around at her old horror-movie posters, all framed in black metal, against the backdrop of dark red walls. “Maybe it’s just all the creepy stuff.”

  “I’ve had some of those posters since I was a kid. Those monsters are my friends.” She decided not to try to convince him. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

  She packed up some of her favorite clothing, her splurges. The urge to pack a few things, not just enough for one night, worried her. Like that nesting urge that pregnant women were supposed to feel right before the baby came. She threw in her iPod and her CD mix of Russian pop music. She carefully folded a few of her Salvage tops, her Brazilian black jeans, and her platform shoes with the inlaid silver-and-wood heels. She went to her filing cabinet, tucked in the back of her closet, and pulled out the stash of cash she kept in her WOMEN’S HEALTH folder.

  Just in case…

  In case of what? She’d talk to Cyrus soon—please, any minute now!—and find out he was overreacting or mistaken. She put the cash in her sling purse and hoisted her duffel bag, then went into the bathroom and opened her makeup drawer. Since she didn’t drink or smoke or do drugs of any kind, mostly out of fear of losing control, she allowed herself other vices, like makeup. Her current favorite brand: Urban Decay. She scooped out a handful of products and stuffed them into the bag.

  The girl looking back at her from the mirror was as frightening as any monster. Her thick black eyeliner was smudged more than she’d artfully done that morning. Her pale complexion looked gray. Her eyes were bloodshot. The scariest part was the fear in her brown eyes and the tightness of her jaw.

  Unable to stand it anymore, she called Cyrus on her cell phone. It rang and rang and finally went to voice mail. She didn’t leave a message. He’d see the missed call and know it was her.

  Come on, Cyrus. Call me before I go mad freaking crazy.

  Gerard Darkwell picked up the ringing cell phone. It showed a Baltimore number on the screen. He pulled up Zoe Stoker’s profile. Yes, it was her number. He let the call go to voice mail. She didn’t leave a message. Too bad.

  He made a call of his own. When the man answered, he said, “It’s Darkwell. Diamond definitely told her something. Keep a close eye on her. Grab her if you can; take her out if you can’t.”

  “She’s suspicious. She took one of the men from the tattoo shop home with her, and they’re leaving again. My guess is she’s staying the night with him, and I don’t think it’s a romantic rendezvous.”

  If only they could have heard what Diamond told her. Either way, she was now a liability, one that needed to be dispensed with.

  “I’m on her, sir.”

  “Make it clean.”

  Clean and quick. That was the way he liked it.

  CHAPTER 2

  Z

  oe was in the bathroom putting on her makeup when RJ knocked. “Cindy and I are heading out for breakfast. Wanna come?” She traced a line on the inside of her lips to make them look smaller. She could hear her mother’s voice about wearing too much makeup, but that didn’t stop her from adding another streak of red blush to her cheeks before she opened the door. “I’m not really much of a breakfast person. Go ahead, I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” She didn’t want to impose on them any more than she already had.

  He gave her a grin. “You’re not rearranging the bathroom, are you?” To Cindy, he said, “She’s anal about being organized. At her station and in the supply closet, everything is in alphabetical order, all lined up perfectly. She’s always sorting the pens and pencils at the front desk.”

  Out of their sight, Zoe pushed the row of lined-up bottles back out of order. “I’d have to be a real control freak to organize someone else’s stuff.” She heard her phone ringing. Charging out of the bathroom, she raced to the living room, where she’d spent the night on the couch, and fished her cell phone out of her bag.

  “Zoe? It’s Cyrus.” She had to strain to hear him over the sounds of traffic in the background.

  “Thank God. You give me that freaky message, then leave me hanging all night.”

  “Sorry about that. I’ve been tied up. We need to talk in private. I’m not all that familiar with Baltimore. Where’s a good place we can meet?”

  Uh-oh. It didn’t sound like a meeting where he would tell her he’d overreacted. “Tell me what’s going on now. I can’t wait another second.”

  “It’s not something I can explain over the phone. Believe me, I�
��m not being melodramatic here.”

  Her breath tightened in her lungs. “I believe you. You found out something, didn’t you? About my dad and your friend?”

  “Yeah. Big stuff.”

  “Meet me at my shop. It’s not open until noon.” At least that was a place that felt under her control.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  She hung up, a knot in her chest. She hated not knowing what was going on and especially hated surprises. Her staff had found that out when they’d thrown her a surprise birthday party and she’d stomped off. She’d slunk back ten minutes later, after composing herself.

  “What’s going on?” RJ asked, his cute, blond girlfriend draped around his waist.

  The sight of them shot a pang of envy through her. Oh, to have someone to love and support and protect her. She’d been in shallow relationships, but a long-term one was not on her possible list. It was kind of hard to explain that if she got emotional, things would start flying. And being in a relationship and not getting emotional, impossible. She’d tried.

  “Loosen up,” they’d coax. “You’re too rigid.” Then it eventually changed to, “Zoe, you’re a damned ice cube.”

  Or her favorite: “Ice bitch.”

  The damned of it was, she loved sex, but she didn’t want to just have sex.

  “I’ve got to meet a friend. Go, have fun,” she said, when RJ looked concerned. “See you at the shop in a few hours.”

  Thirty minutes could not get there fast enough. She wasn’t known to be patient in the best of circumstances.

  She arrived at the shop, picked up the paper she subscribed to for the waiting area, and unlocked the door. She shook the paper out of the plastic lining and let it drop onto the chair, all the while looking out the window for Cyrus. He had about ten minutes.

  Antsy and anxious, she organized the front desk. She noticed a chip in her red nail polish and did a quick fix on it. Silver rings adorned her fingers, except for her wedding-ring finger; she’d had a ring of flowers tattooed on that one. She told her friends she was marrying herself, and they thought it was a joke.

  She grabbed a duster and walked over to the sign Michael had given her in honor of buying the shop: NO DRUNKS, NO DRUGS, AND NO ASSHOLES. She smiled. Just like his cutting sense of humor. A collection of framed pictures of her employees covered the wall behind the desk. She kept a fence around her, out of necessity, and allowed RJ, Rachael, and Michael cracks through which to reach her. That they did touched her deeply. She smiled at their goofy faces as they hammed it up for the camera.

  She heard a sound in the storage room where the rear exit was. Cyrus! Made sense that he’d come in the back way, where no one would see him if he was being all sneaky-like.

  She turned to go to the back when the newspaper caught her eye.

  “What the…?”

  Cyrus’s picture. She snatched up the front section, the others falling to the floor. CIA OFFICER KILLED BY MUGGERS AT PARK.

  She gasped. Her eyes lit on different words in the article. Quiet Waters Park. Two bullets. Last night. Dead.

  Cyrus, dead. Last night.

  Which meant he hadn’t called her this morning. Hadn’t set up a meeting at the shop…alone.

  Wasn’t in the back.

  She ran to the front door. Heard a sound just behind her. A hand grabbed her arm. She inhaled to scream. Another hand slapped over her mouth so hard her teeth cut into her lip. She was yanked backward toward the storage room. Someone was dragging her to the back. Through the cracks between his fingers, she smelled sweat and stale cigarettes.

  Fear radiated through her body. This couldn’t be happening! Bottles of ink flew everywhere. A poster frame fell with a crack. She twisted around to get out of his grip and saw his face: the guy who’d been watching her last night. God, he still showed no emotion. Stone cold. Stone-cold killer.

  He dragged her into the dark room, one hand smashed over her mouth and the other around her throat. She tried to plant her feet, but he had her at the perfectly wrong angle, and, hell, she was wearing platforms. She grabbed for the sides of the door, fingers clutching at the frame.

  He jerked her free with a violent twist and slammed the door shut. Darkness swallowed them. Her eyes adjusted and, in the dim light that crept beneath the door, she saw his snarl. “You girls are sure feisty bitches. I’m going to finish you right here.”

  You girls? No time to wonder what he meant by that. She was too scared by the meaning of the last part, which was crystal clear. He was going to finish her—kill her.

  Please, no! I’m only twenty-three, and I haven’t gone to the islands or Transylvania or anywhere hardly! I haven’t done anything to deserve this!

  His arm jackknifed around her throat, pressing against her windpipe. She grabbed at him as she gasped for breath, digging her nails into his arm so hard that she had to be drawing blood. It didn’t deter him. Black spots pulsed in front of her. Her body was weakening.

  Got to find a weapon before I lose it. She looked where the shelving units lined the walls. I can’t see anything!

  But she knew exactly where everything was…in alphabetical order.

  She raised her foot and jammed her thick black heel down on the top of his foot. He grunted, but the son of a bitch still didn’t let up. She lifted her foot again, and he rammed his knee into the back of hers. She buckled, letting gravity and momentum pull her down. He struggled to fight the fall and keep control. She hit the floor, jerking out of the hold he had around her neck. Gasping for air, she crawled toward where she knew the shelving was. Bad move. He straddled her, crushing her into the concrete floor, hands around her throat from the back. Now he had total control over her, pinning her to the floor. She only had one thing going for her—she’d gone from scared to pissed.

  Things flew off the shelves and hit the wall. Something hit him, but it didn’t faze him. She tried to get to her knees, but he pushed down harder. His arm shook with his effort to strangle her while her nails dug into his flesh. With a burst of adrenaline, she pulled his arm to her mouth and bit down hard.

  He held on for a second, spewing curse words she hadn’t heard since high school. She tasted his warm blood as he screamed in pain and pulled back. She shoved him away and lunged for the shelving unit, fumbling in the dark for the box of scissors. He ran toward her, following the noise she was making. No box! Her crazy energy must have sent it off somewhere. She grabbed a spray bottle instead. Disinfectant.

  He clamped her arm. She pumped the bottle’s trigger, aiming in his direction. He hissed in pain as his hand batted the air. It knocked the bottle out of her hand. She crawled away. He still came at her. She wedged her fingers behind the shelving unit and pulled it away from the wall. It crashed down with a clatter. Things shattered and skittered across the floor. Most importantly, she heard an oof.

  She got to her feet, ankles wobbling on her heels. Her shoes slipped on something that had spilled, but she held her footing. She heard him climbing out from beneath the shelving. She ran for the door, flinging it open and tearing through it, taking only a second to slam it shut behind her.

  She heard the man kicking things aside. She grabbed up her bag and reached for the door. Pulled it. Damn! It was locked. Two posters dropped to the floor.

  She heard the storage-room door open. A whimper escaped her throat. Don’t look! Just get out!

  She flipped the lock with blood-slicked fingers. Footsteps ran toward her. She pulled the door open. Breathing behind her. She slipped out and pushed it shut again, coming nose to nose with the man’s fierce face on the other side of the glass. Blood was smeared on him and now on the glass.

  She ran, unsteady on her platforms. She reached her Jeep. No solid doors to keep him out. Gasping for breath, she fumbled with the keys, sticking in the one with the peace symbol design before realizing it was the wrong key. She started the engine and only then looked back. He wasn’t there. Wasn’t at her shop’s door. Wasn’t anywhere.

  S
he threw the Jeep into drive and tore out, her whole body shaking. Her gasping breaths turned into sobs. She covered her mouth, trying to stifle them as she drove. Her hands…covered in blood. His blood. She looked in the rearview mirror, searching for a car behind her. No one.

  The area catered to businesses that opened during the latter part of the day, like skate shops, music stores, and bars. It wasn’t busy yet. She pulled into a gas station that had exterior restrooms, parked in the back, and ran into the women’s room. Seeing her reflection scared the hell out of her. Dark red hair flattened on one side, sticking out on the other. Red marks around her throat that were tender to the touch. Lipstick smeared across her cheek and black eyeliner smudged in streaks. Blood dripped down her chin like the Halloween costume she’d worn last year. If only she’d had the vampire teeth glued onto her incisors. Then she could have really torn into him.

  Anger. Yes, anger was good. Anger was better than fear.

  The mirror rattled.

  Anger also made things fly. She took several deep breaths.

  I’m calm now. I’m no longer in danger. Turks and Caicos. Antigua. Very calm.

  Yeah, tell that to my heart.

  The mirror stopped shaking. She washed the blood off her face and throat.

  “What do I do now?” she asked her reflection.

  “Go to the police. That’s what you do when you’re attacked. Except Cyrus said not to talk to the police.” And he was probably right. Just like he’d said, his death was covered up. She had no doubt why, even though the paper called it a mugging. The government wanted to keep its secret at any cost. She’d watched movies about this stuff, but she kind of hoped that was all fiction.

  And she was next.

  Where did she go? What did she do? Only Cyrus knew the answers, and he couldn’t help her now.

  “I need time to think. I have to sort all this out.”