On the Far Side of Darkness

by R. C. Graham

  I must admit to being a bit peeved at Mandy, and I know it’s her behind this amateurish attempt at intimidation. Roughing someone up over a paper? Perhaps I should rethink my opinion of her intelligence. Why can’t she just attend classes and do the work? Why does she have to use force?

  I have no answers.

  Still, she must be waiting on tenterhooks for news, so I’ll let her know what happened.

  A twenty minute walk brings me to her house. I climb the few steps to the porch to knock on the front door. Mandy answers the summons and her face gapes at me in astonishment.

  I try to wear an expression of concern but my amusement at her reaction ruins it. “Pardonez moi, Mademoiselle Richardson. I had heard there were some punks nearby and was concerned for your safety. I’m pleased you are all right. Bon nuit.” I step off the porch and head into the night. Her door doesn’t close until I’m well down the street.

  I hope that’s enough to tell her to pull in her horns, goes through my head. My instincts tell me that will not be the case.

  After a moment’s thought, I quicken my pace and look for a pay phone. Once found, not an easy thing these days, I drop a quarter in it and dial a number I haven’t had need to use in years.

  “Prince Security,” comes a young woman’s voice, “how can I help you?”

  “I need to talk to Mr. Prince, please.”

  “He’s very busy. Can you leave a name and number?”

  "Simon Cleary," I respond before looking to the number on the pay phone and rattling off the digits to her. After thanking me, she hangs up.

  The return call comes in less than a minute. “Hello, Simon,” comes in a cultured English voice, “it’s been a while.”

  “Hello, Major. I require your services.”

  “Details?” Like all good professionals he wastes little time.

  “I need 24/7 surveillance of someone.” I follow up with the place I currently live and all relevant information about Ms. Richardson. “I don’t need microphones in her house or anything like that but I need to know her movements.”

  “How long is this job to run?” is his next question.

  “A week. No longer.”

  “I can have a team in place by ten tomorrow morning. The price is $25,000 US.”

  “Done,” I agree. He won’t haggle.

  “Can you set it up so I can talk straight to your operatives?” I ask. “I don’t want to lose time waiting for reports.”

  “Yes, I can. That will be another $5,000.”

  “Done.”

  He gives me a number to call.

  “Thank you, Major.” I say then. “Always a pleasure to work with you.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Cleary. Good day.” There’s a click and I hang up the phone.

  So, I’ll have knowledge of Mandy’s activities for the next week. Awareness of her movements, likely haunts and contacts will place me in a position to act against her, if need be.

  A sigh passes through my nose. I had hoped never to be in a situation such as this ever again. Conflict is tiresome, often useless and sometimes fatal to the people involved. However, I don’t want the person destroyed to be me.

  That means I prepare.

  I take time to contact one of my Grand Cayman accounts and transfer the Major’s fee.

  Once that is done, I ponder. The night’s still young. There must be something interesting to do. I wander off to look for that, whatever it is.

  But not Diane. Not tonight. I’m not ready to tell her goodbye.

  * * * *

  There’s a message waiting for me from the Dean when I awake the next night. “Professor Belleveau? We, uh, we need to talk.”

  I walk over to her house. Like the last time I was here she leads me to her home office.

  Unlike our previous meeting I’m surprised by the way she’s dressed. Her white blouse is translucent and the dark bra she wears shows through it. Her green skirt is very short, barely hiding her buttocks. The stockings she wears are white and her jade colored shoes sport very high heels. It seems that Mandy has a uniform for her victims. Is she going to brand them next? I wonder.

  After we’ve seated ourselves, Helen and I stare at each other across her desk. She chews at her lower lip for several seconds. After a deep breath, she gets to the point.

  “I’m discussing your position here with our legal department. There are allegations that you’ve been sexually harassing your students. We have two signed depositions. The school…”

  “Let me guess who the depositions are from,” I interrupt.

  She sits there, mouth open. My breaking into her speech has discomfited her.

  “Mademoiselles Coburn and Richardson, ne c’est pas?”

  Her eyes glance to one side and her mouth grimaces, confirming my hypothesis.

  “Is there any other evidence?” I ask next.

  Dr. Metaxas shakes her head in a negative.

  “No other witnesses?”

  Another shake.

  “Forensic evidence, sperm samples etc.?”

  Her gaze fixed on the surface of her desk Helen tells me, “No.”

  “And the people accusing me are a woman failing my class and her lover. That will carry their complaint a long way.”

  She sets her shoulders and looks up again. “That’s enough. We only need an allegation to bring to the board. It isn’t a court of law.”

  I can feel my face go stiff with anger. It takes a moment to keep the monster in its cage. “If you do that, Dr. Metaxas,” I inform her with a cold voice, “I’ll have to talk about what I know of you, and I have more than allegations.” The last sentence is a lie, but she’s unskilled at this sort of power game, and I’m sure I could get evidence within twenty four hours.

  The blood drains from her face. She knows exactly what I’m talking about. Helen tries to brazen it out though. “I duh, don’t know what you mean.”

  “To use an American idiom, Dr. Metaxas, Mandy has been banging you. I know this. She’s got her hooks into you and it’s her behind this silly attempt at manipulation.”

  Maureen grows even paler and her eyes fill with tears.

  I feel not the slightest pity and exasperation breaks into my voice. “My God, woman! What are you thinking?!”

  “You don’t understand,” the Dean whimpers. “I can’t deny her. She tells me I want her and I do. She tells me I like it when she fucks me and I do.” The tears start to flow freely now. “She tells me I like her in my bum and I do. God, I’m so ashamed! But I can’t help myself.”

  I snort in contempt. “That has nothing to do with me, Dr. Metaxas. You’ve made your bed, now you sleep in it. You can bring the allegations to the board. As I pointed out, your case is weak. Even if you do succeed, I don’t care. Let people think what they want of me.

  “You on the other hand have a great deal to lose. Your career, your position at the university, your future and your husband.”

  I can see her collapse inside as I speak to her. She shrinks in her chair. The emotional agony she feels reduces her to a quivering heap.

  My anger bring me to my feet and I tell her, “End it, Helen. Your entanglement will come out and sooner than later. You can’t keep a secret like that. If you don’t end this affair, it will destroy you.”

  “I can’t!” comes out in a wavering, quiet wail.

  “Good night then, Dean,” I tell her.

  She makes no notice. Her shoulders heave and her tears pool on her desk.

  I shake my head in fury and pity as I leave her home.

  I head to Poet’s Walk. I need peace now. I hate that the world can bring such pain to people and I hate even more the fact that I had anything to do with it.

  If anyone disturbs me, they won’t have time to regret it.

  * * * *

  I have to clamp down on myself when I rise from the ground. The day’s rest has not calmed me much. My mind still roils and what I am is dreadfully close to breaking free.

  My evening’s ritual helps.
The simple rhythm of it soothes me.

  My toilette finished, I check my messages. Again there is only one, but it’s from someone I didn’t expect, Diane. She’s discovered I never answer during the day. The time stamp shows she called barely after the sun came up. Five minutes earlier and she would have caught me.

  “Georges?” Her voice is thin with terror. She’s gasping as her chest is squeezed with fear. “Some, something happened. A dream, dream, I think. Can’t remember.” She pauses to pull in a shuddering breath. “I’m scared, Georges. Don’t know why. I think I lost something. Don’t know what. Please, please, answer the phone. I need you.” There’s a long pause and then a click sounds as she hangs up.

  I’m gone from my haven, not even bothering to lock the door. In spite of my resolve to end our relationship, I have to go to her. My lover needs me.

  The speed and strength of my kind means I can take a direct route, through yards, over fences and roofs. I’m careful not to be observed but not fussy about courtesy or property. The trip is barely ten minutes.

  I knock on Diane’s door and she answers.

  “You!” she hisses with utter venom. Her eyes narrow with fury and lips curl with loathing.

  I can’t keep the astonishment from my face. If she had appeared wrapped in bandages and trailing dust I would have been less surprised. Without thinking I extend my hand and step towards her. My love recoils as if my touch would infect her with a virulent disease.

  “What’s, what’s happened?” I ask. The pain that crushes my chest makes my voice quaver.

  “I found out about you, you monster!” she growls back.

  Terror now wraps itself around my heart. If she knows what I am, she will die. Either I kill her myself or others of my kind will destroy her and me. We can’t have humans know of us.

  “You rapist!” she spits then.

  I can’t help but release a sigh of relief. My secret is safe. Hurt grows to replace my fear. There’s no reason why she would think such a thing.

  “That student of yours came by,” Diane goes on. “Mandy told me all about you. How you make them fuck you for a decent mark, how you degrade them, how you make them suffer. I can’t believe I was fooled by you!”

  Her words tear at me. Without thought I reach out and grip her arm. “You can’t be…” I start.

  Her reaction drops my jaw in astonishment. She pulls free with a jerk, falls to her knees and throws up. The sharp smell of stomach acid fills the air.

  “Don’t touch me!” Diane shrieks. She pauses for a second heave. “Don’t ever touch me again, you bastard!” Another wave of her stomach contents hits the floor. “Get out! Or I’ll call the police!” Her stomach expels yet more of her recent meals.

  Cold ice seems to form around my heart. It deadens the misery I feel. “D’accord,” I tell her in a tone as neutral as I can manage. I step back into the hall and close the door on the end of an important piece of my existence.

  An apartment opens down the hall and a small dog attached to a leash emerges. It gives a “Yipe!” at the sight of me and defecates. I’ve turned and headed for the stairs before the person at the other end of the leash can observe me.

  Before I emerge onto the street, I pull my emotions into a tight ball and slide my human face into place. Death and horror walk with me and there is only one person I wish them to be unleashed upon.

  I find a pay phone and dial the number Major Price had given me. “Yes?” a firm male voice answers.

  “I need a report,” I tell him.

  He draws in a quick breath at the sound of my voice. It seems I’m still not concealing myself well.

  The man’s a professional though and quickly gathers himself. “The team got here early. We had the subject under surveillance by 9:30 AM.”

  Yesterday Mandy went to classes, had dinner at a restaurant and returned home. Nothing unusual. The next part of his report catches my attention.

  “Last night, the subject left her house at 10:57 and drove out of town. She was followed to an old farmhouse. More correctly, the road to an old farmhouse. My operative wouldn’t travel any farther.

  “I gave him hell for that. But he told me he wouldn’t go near the place for all the money in the world. He said the place frightened him. That was a surprise. I’ve worked with him for three years and I didn’t think anything scared him.”

  My contact’s voice grows less professional, softer. “I did some digging. It turns out there was a multiple murder there, almost a century ago. Now the locals won’t go near the place. And people from elsewhere who have lived in it won’t stay more than a month or they never leave at all.

  “I went to check it myself. My operative was correct. There’s something not right about that place. I couldn’t get myself near it, even in the daytime.”

  A wonder creeps into his tone. “I always believed such places were just fairy tales. I never thought I would ever see such a thing.”

  I have and more than once, is the thought I keep to myself. “Continue your report,” I order him. My voice is normal now. I have myself under control.

  “Yes sir!” he barks. I can almost see his heels click together as he stands at attention. “Today the subject visited an apartment building.” The address he gives me is Diane’s. A savage snarl almost passes my lips at that piece of data. “After that she attended one class, returned home for a short time then went to the university library. She’s been there for nearly six hours now and is still inside.”

  “Thank you,” I say, “well done.”

  “Thank you, sir. Good night.” His job is finished for now and he hangs up. Neither of us have time to waste.

  After I replace the receiver I think for several minutes. My fury has receded somewhat. Darkness no longer fills me or directs my actions, much. I want this silly conflict to end. The reasons behind it are foolish and Ms. Richardson has not the slightest idea of what she is dealing with. Perhaps it is time she knew. If done properly, that is privately, the revelation of what I am might be enough to make her cease this stupid game. Without other witnesses Ms. Richardson won’t say a word about our confrontation.

  I head to the library. It will be open for another hour yet and that will give me time to confront her. It’s also public which will limit our actions. Nothing extreme will happen when there are likely to be others to observe what we say and do..

  Through that short journey, I work through what has happened. Most mysterious are the complete and extreme changes that Mandy can cause in her victims. I sort through all the methods by which such things can be done. Only one, that I know of, can affect a person as quickly and thoroughly as the shift I observed in Diane.

  A shudder of pain passes through me at the thought of her. It takes a major effort of will to keep myself reined in.

  I return to my thoughts, recheck my premise and conclude it is the most likely explanation. I realize I’m going to have to be very careful if I wish to survive.

  On reaching the library, I go to the front desk. There’s only one librarian on duty. After giving a description, I inquire where Ms. Richardson is.

  “I can’t tell you that, sir. We aren’t required to te…”

  I haven’t time for this. I look into her eyes and she goes blank.

  “Where is she?” I ask once more.

  “The reading room on the third floor,” comes in a flat reply.

  “Is she alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “What has she been doing?”

  “Going through our rare history section. She’s been working backwards through the last two centuries.”

  “You won’t remember I was here. Ignore me for the rest of the night.”

  “Yes,” she tells me.

  I release her and she turns away, goes back to her work.

  Once I climb to the third floor, I go to where my adversary is working. This late in the evening the level is empty. The door of the reading room is locked. As I shake my head in distaste, I place my hand on the wo
od and push with all of my strength. The jamb shatters and I swing the portal open. Mandy looks up with shock in her eyes, astounded at my sudden presence.

  My gaze meets those startled irises. I doubt this will work but things will be much easier if it does. I exert my power, try to grab my opponent’s mind and bend her will to me.

  My effort to mesmerize her slides past her awareness like water over metal. Some other power, as dark a mine, saturates her, makes Mandy immune to my ability to influence her mind or memories. I can tell she isn’t even aware I tried such a thing.

  It’s as I feared. So we’ll have to do this the hard way.

  Since my first gambit has failed I saunter over and place myself in a chair, just beyond her reach.

  I glance at the book she has spread on the table. It’s an old one and is turned to a reproduction of a painting. I know the work well. It was done in the early 1790’s, just before I left France for the first time. The subject of the portrait is me. The artist captured my sardonic mien, my world weary and cynical smile, perfectly.

  When I look at Ms. Richardson again, I place that expression on my face. She rapidly moves her gaze back and forth between me and my avatar. Confusion grows each time her eyes shift.

  “Oh yes, that is me.” I tell her. Her disquiet fades. Her mouth drops as my revelation hits home.

  “Mademoiselle Richardson,” I say to her then, mild contempt making my voice frosty, “you better than anybody should know there are more things on earth than are dreamt of in most people’s philosophies.”

  “What are you talking about?” She puts a poor poker face on, trying to hide her concern.

  “Let me recreate my thinking. I’ve encountered two of your victims so far. The Dean…”

  “You know about that?” she interjects.

  “Don’t interrupt,” I snap at her. “The Dean was the first one. After observing your little tryst with your former English teacher several evenings ago…”

  Mandy’s face blanches as she discovers how vulnerable she actually is.