The Dark One

by Jennifer Martucci

  “Danny! Danny!” Sarah’s voice is panicked and snaps me back to reality. My eyelids flutter and I blink several times, her face is all I see for the first few seconds before my eyes adjust.

  “Dude, what the heck happened to you? We’ve been calling your name for, like, thirty seconds,” Tom says.

  I don’t want to tell them anything. I can’t tell them what I saw. They’ll think I’m crazy.

  “Sorry, I guess my blood sugar is a little off. I’m hypoglycemic,” I lie.

  “Are you all right?” Sarah asks me.

  “Yeah, yeah, I just need to eat,” I tell her and hate that I’m not being truthful. But without any other option, I must.

  “Okay, let’s get out of here,” Jenny interrupts us, and for the first time since meeting her, I agree with what she’s saying. I’m not the only one who thinks so either. Tom, Steve and Mike do not need further prompting. They agree, uttering agreements and making their way out of the basement, up the stairs until finally we slide out the window we entered through. Once outside, Jenny marches ahead after requesting that Sarah unlock the doors so that she can sit in the car. Tom and the guys discuss the details they’ve heard through the years about Joseph Hanson and his descent into madness, wandering in front of us and leaving Sarah and I alone.

  “Are you okay, Danny, really?” she asks, her voice low and intimate.

  “I’m fine.” I inhale deeply before and refuse to overthink the next words that fall from my lips. “But I have to tell you, your friend didn’t kill herself.” I hold my breath, trying to gauge her reaction and expecting her to tell me I’m completely crazy. But she doesn’t. Instead, she stops and turns to face me.

  “What?” she whispers. “How do you know?”

  I lick my lips and hold her gaze. Though it’s dark, her brilliant blue eyes are still crystal clear. Any shred of logic that I possess attempts to clap a hand over my mouth and prevent me from saying the words about to pass from my lips, warning me that without a doubt, she’ll think I’m insane as soon as I speak them. “I saw what happened down there,” I blurt. Too late to turn back now. “I’m not hypoglycemic either,” I add for good measure. “I saw what happened to Lisa. It was crystal clear.” Sarah’s face is unreadable. If she thinks I’m crazy, she’s concealing it well. I swallow hard and continue, knowing fully that the truly crazy sounding portion of my reveal is about to come. “She was murdered. Someone held her against her will and slit her wrists.” I wait and watch Sarah’s expression, trying desperately to gauge it. But it reveals nothing. Shifting my weight form one leg to the next, I stuff my hands in the front pockets of my jeans and chew my lower lip. My emotions exist in a state of anxious limbo, partially relieved to unburden myself of my vision and be completely honest, and partially wishing the ground would open up and swallow me to end the humiliation I’m experiencing.

  After several agonizing moments pass, Sarah asks, “Are you saying you’re psychic?”

  I consider her question for a split-second. “No. Well, yes. I mean, I don’t know really. I just see things sometimes.” I hear how idiotic I sound and contemplate running away. But I can’t do that. Not now. Not after I’ve risked it all and told her so much. I have to see this through to the bitter, mortifying end. I wait for her to hit me with a barrage of questions, and possibly just hit me period. But she doesn’t. Instead, she swallows hard and stares at me intently.

  “Danny, I sensed something different about you the second I met you, but psychic?” she asks and surprisingly manages to not sound condescending.

  I can only imagine that creepy carnival freak show music is looping through her brain. Still I continue, likely burying myself deeper. “I’m telling you what I saw. Your friend didn’t kill herself,” I say levelly.

  She pins me with her piercing gaze, searching mine. “I believe you,” she says after another long pause.

  “You do?” I wonder whether I heard her correctly.

  “Yes,” she says and shocks me to a point where my mouth hangs open foolishly. “I always trust my instinct when it comes to people, and I know you’re telling the truth.”

  I’m stunned, speechless and left without a single, coherent word available. Closing my lips, I smile goofily and feel the burn of shame blaze up from my collar.

  Sarah leans in and presses her lips to my cheek, a quick peck that nearly stops my heart mid beat, and says, “I have to get home.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I babble breathlessly. I watch as she turns and flitters down the driveway, my pulse thundering in my ears like the gallop of a team of horses.

  I don’t recall the short walk from where I stand to Tom’s car. And I’d swear under oath my feet never touched the ground. Tom greets me as soon as I place a hand on the rear door. “Did Sarah Miller just kiss you?” he asks incredulously.

  “On the cheek,” I mumble and feel a strange flutter quiver through my belly. “She kissed me on the cheek.” I try in vain to reign in my excitement.

  “Damn! You didn’t tell me you’re a straight up player!” Tom raises his voice and puts up his fist to bump mine.

  “Shut up,” I say with a wry smirk. “It was just a quick peck on the cheek. No big deal,” I lie when it was the biggest deal of my life so far where girls are concerned.

  I slide into the back seat without saying another word on the subject. Gazing out the window and watching the Hanson Mansion disappear, I reflect on the horrible truths revealed in my visions. I know they have meaning, and that I’m intended to stop what’s occurring. I feel it deep in my marrow. Still, I can’t get the kiss from Sarah Miller off my mind.

  Chapter 5

  The sky is a lavender canvas interrupted by brilliant bands of sherbet orange as the sun, an eager sphere of fire, begins its journey from the horizon line. A new day is dawning beyond my window pane, and a brand new sensation is brewing within me. Energized and refreshed from a night of sleep spent tossing and turning, I’m not groggy or grumpy in the least. In fact, I’m looking forward to the day ahead of me, especially since I’ll see Sarah at some point. Thinking of her face and remembering the feel of her soft lips gently pressed to my cheek causes excitement to bubble and effervesce in my belly. I can close my eyes and see her porcelain skin, her translucent blue eyes and perfect pink lips. But all too quickly visions of her face that float in my mind transform to horrific, ghoulish images. Black eyes that are little more than passageways to the purest of evil crowd my mind’s eye. Instantly, my mood shifts, transforming from ebullient and hopeful—as a boy my age ought to be—to pensive and brooding. I close my eyes, attempting to ward off the slick slide of foreboding. But it is impossible. I know evil surrounds me, that it’s calling to me like a beacon, and that I must go to it, and that it’s my job to stop it.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to relax and clear my mind, only as I do, awareness sweeps across my skin like shards of crushed ice. The girls, the suicides, the cloaked figure with the black eyes I saw in my vision that slashed Lisa’s wrists as well as the other girl with her, all of them are connected, and none of them are suicides. They are merely a ruse to hide the deeds of the creature with the black eyes.

  Stomach churning as bile burns up my throat, I realize why I am in Patterson. I understand my purpose. I am here to end what’s been dismissed as a rash of cult-related suicides. I’m here to ensure another girl does not die in the same fashion as the others.

  Whirling and spinning like a carnival ride minus the elated screams, my mind struggles to grasp how I will accomplish the task I’ve been tapped for. I’m just a sixteen year old boy. And while I’ve noticed a definite change in my physique that includes a broadening of my chest as well as swelling and definition of my muscles overall, I am still, by no means, a capable looking sixteen year old. Self-doubt is a seed of inferiority that grows a field of shame and envy. I’m not looking to cultivate either, though what I’m up against seems like an impossible feat. Propping myself up onto one elbow, I take my head in my opposite hand and despair wor
ms its way into my brain. But my thoughts race to the night at the convenience store. That night, I was able to take down a man twice my size. And I did so with ease. It was almost as if I’d been infused with energy so potent, so powerful, it merged with the very blood in my veins, fortified it, charged it. I sit upright, recalling the surge, like an electrical current, that jolted me, awakened me. My heart raced and icy, cold tingles exploded over every inch of my flesh, and for a brief period, I wasn’t Danny Callahan the high school kid whose social ineptitude kept him home every weekend. No, I was something else entirely, something brave and powerful. Another force overtook me and commandeered my limbs. Shockingly, a dark, dark piece of me welcomed it, welcomed the reprieve and the departure from my lonely existence.

  Throwing the covers off my body, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Hope begins dueling with the doubt as it winds and weaves a path around my troubled mind. I have no idea how I was capable of doing what I did, but for reasons I can’t quite rationalize, I’m confident the power, the supernova of energy, will return when needed.

  With that in mind, I come to terms with the fact that I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m capable of.

  After rubbing my eyes and stretching, I hurry to the bathroom, brush my teeth and shower then get dressed. I jog down the stairs and find my mother standing just outside the living room. She’s smiling.

  “Morning, Mom,” I say.

  “Morning,” she replies, smiling so broadly it becomes unnerving.

  “What? What is it?” I quirk a brow at her and wonder what the heck she’s grinning ear to ear about.

  “I have a surprise for you.” The words pass her lips, fraught with excitement so complete it’s tangible. I roll my hand forward, encouraging her to divulge her secret. “I didn’t tell you but I signed you up for your road test.” She pauses and allows her words to sink in. “Your appointment is scheduled after school today.”

  “What? Really?” Now I am the one smiling so wide and hard it hurts. Power or no power and calling or no calling, getting my driver’s license is a privilege I’ve dreamed about for as long as I can remember. It’s a ticket to freedom, wings.

  “Yes, and if you pass, which I’m sure you will, I’m going to let you have the CRV.”

  My eyes widen with surprise and my mouth opens. “Are you kidding me?”

  My mother shakes her head no. “I had to buy a car with lower mileage since I have a much longer commute now. I already planned it out and am getting it today.”

  Lips still parted and wide eyed as I am, I must look like a moron, but I don’t care. I can’t believe my ears. I swear they just heard I’m taking my test for my driver’s license after school and that if I pass, I’m getting my mother’s SUV. Driving! Having my own car! It’s almost too much take in.

  “Are you kidding me?” Kiera’s strident voice pitches up an octave. “Mom! Really?” She stomps her foot to highlight her anger. “You’re giving him your car? What about me? I’m the oldest!”

  My mother’s face is impossibly stoic as she watches Kiera teeter on the precipice of a teenage tantrum, a cringe-worthy occurrence to have to witness. “Kiera, you failed your road test three times,” she says levelly. “You refuse to practice and no matter when I ask you—what time of day or what day of the week—you can never be bothered. It’s never a good time. So . . .” My mother leaves the remainder of the sentence dangling in the air between us.

  “So what if I failed! It’s not fair! It’s not right!” Kiera’s cheeks are flushed a deep pink and her voice is shrill. At any given moment I expect her to throw herself to the ground and begin flailing her arms and legs.

  “I suggest you watch your tone, young lady.” My mother speaks through her teeth. Her voice is low and quivers with the promise of punishment of the weekend variety. “I don’t owe you an explanation for my decision to give the CRV to Danny. After all he’s been through, I thought you’d be happy to see him with his license and a car to get around in.”

  “Happy that he is going to be driving and have his own car?” Kiera looks at my mom incredulously. “My little brother!” She’s fairly shouting now.

  Placing a hand on her hip and narrowing her eyes, my mother says, “Whose fault is that, Kiera? Whose fault is it that her little brother will be driving before her, hmm?”

  Silenced, Kiera turns on her heel and stomps into the kitchen. I look at my mom and raise both eyebrows, pressing my lips together to form a small frown.

  My mom shakes her head. “I swear that girl will be the death of me.” She exhales loudly then nods toward the kitchen. “Hurry up and grab a quick bowl of cereal before I drive you in. I don’t want to be late for work, especially since I’m leaving early to take you to get your driver’s license.”

  I bob my head and do as I’m told, shuffling into the kitchen and avoiding eye contact with Kiera as I pour Wheaties and milk into a bowl. I eat fast and gather my books for school then head out to my mother’s SUV. The ride to school is uneventful. I have the luxury of listening to my mom’s Billy Joel CD as opposed to my sister squawking as she is still pouting from the earlier driver’s license discussion.

  We make it well before the first bell rings, and after a quick good-bye, my mother leaves us and begins her lengthy journey to work. Kiera disappears without a single word of acknowledgment to me, and I head straight to my locker. As soon as I begin twisting the dial on my lock, I feel a large hand clap me on my back. “Bro, that was crazy last night!” Tom is beside me, the deep bass rumble of his voice a now familiar sound.

  “Yeah, it was,” I agree for more reasons than I can articulate.

  “That house and what happened there is so sick.” Tom says more but his words fall to the roar of blood behind my ears when I see Sarah walking toward me.

  “Hi Danny! Hi Tom!” She greets us both but her eyes are trained on me, a fact that makes my breathing catch. I can’t believe a girl as beautiful and popular as she is has any interest in me at all. I look up and try to calm myself only to find another pair of eyes on me. Luke Carmichael studies me the way a lion studies a gazelle before he strikes. And while I don’t necessarily feel like prey, Luke does possess a distinct predatory grace that makes me nervous.

  Looking away, I lean down low and whisper to Sarah, “What’s up with that guy?” I nod toward Luke as I inhale the intoxicating fragrance she wears, so close to her long, slender neck it hurts to pull away.

  Turning, she says, “What guy?”

  I look back up and to my surprise, he is gone. I scan the entire hallway. There isn’t a trace of him. It’s as if he simply vanished. “What the heck?” I say more to myself than anyone else.

  “Are you okay?” Sarah’s brows are knit. She looks concerned. “Do you need to eat or something?”

  The way she asked if I needed to eat I wonder whether she is asking me indirectly whether I had another vision.

  “Later guys, I need to get to class.” Tom says, realizing neither Sarah nor I are paying any attention to him. He fist bumps me after closing his locker then jogs down the hallway away from us.

  Feeling guilty yet happy to be alone with Sarah, I watch him go. Sarah’s voice returns my attention to her. “So are you going to homecoming on Friday night?”

  “Umm, I didn’t even know about it,” I admit. “I mean, I guess. Maybe. I’ll see if Tom is going. I really don’t know anyone here.” I’m rambling, blathering on and on like a complete idiot. Heat snaps up my neck and across my cheeks, embarrassment warming them.

  “Well, you know me.” Sarah smiles sweetly. “I’ll be there.”

  If I were a betting man, I’d think she were flirting with me, or maybe even asking me to the homecoming dance. Is she? I wonder. Dare I think she would ask me? She couldn’t be, could she?

  My head feels as if it’s engulfed in flames and I bob my head knowing fully I’m killing any chance I have with her because I look like a bobble-head doofus.

  “I mean I’ll be there. If you decide to go
, you’ll know someone.” Her tone if offhand, cool even, and my earlier thoughts are negated. I’m completely confused and disappointed. I guess she was just making conversation by mentioning the dance, and being polite saying she’d be there and I’d know her. I guess I misread her completely. But on the off chance I didn’t, I tell her I’ll be there.