The Darkness Within

by Taylor K. Scott

  The long, dark corridor looks alien, unfriendly and no longer a part of the house I grew up in.

  CREEEAK!

  My breathing quickens and I lunge back against the wall, throwing my hand over my mouth as a large sob of fear threatens to betray my whereabouts to whatever psycho is currently navigating my living room. I have no certainty for what made that sound but if I had to guess, it sounded like someone was nudging the sofa along the laminate flooring.

  Before I can certify that thought process, I hear the click-clacking of footsteps slowly moving along the floor. When I hear the same footfall upon the staircase, I sink down the wall towards the ground and begin to try and make myself as small as possible.

  Holy shit, this is where I am killed in some grisly murder, violated, or, at the very least, violently assaulted! Fuck, what the hell do I do?

  Just before I’m about to pass out through sheer terror, with what feels like every drop of blood flowing rapidly to my feet, I hear the blessed sound of tires screeching to a halt outside of my house. My brain stops itself from blacking out and is silently hoping that it is who I think it is. The footsteps stop abruptly and as soon as the car door slams shut, they run across the flooring and disappear with another door slamming firmly behind them. I let a whimper escape my mouth, suddenly feeling relieved after seriously thinking I wasn’t going to make it out of here alive.

  I try to catch my breath again when the doorbell rings several times in what sounds like desperation. The shrill noise stuns me for a moment, even though I had been expecting it. As soon as I make my peace with the fact that it’s here to save me, I slowly move to stand by using the wall as a support. I can’t move any faster for the first few minutes, even when I hear Bowie’s voice shouting out for me.

  “Millie!” Bowie yells and begins thumping on the door. “Millie, open the door! Are you there? Talk to me!”

  I take in a few deep breaths and begin moving timidly down the hallway, but after a few steps, I turn them into a gallop and drop down the stairs two at a time. My breathing rate has evened out and I can no longer hear the thud of my heart pumping between my ears, however, I am still trembling when I finally open the door.

  Seeing Bowie here with a look of deep concern, reaching out to clutch at my shoulders, I find myself melting into a puddle against his chest.

  “Millie? Millie, are you ok?” he asks with a strange mix of authority and reassurance. “Are they still here? Did they hurt you?”

  “I-I think they’re gone,” I cry, “but they were here…in my house! They were coming up the stairs for me. God, I was so frightened!”

  He pulls me into his arms and makes gentle shushing noises to try and calm me, all the while stroking at my hair in slow, soothing motions.

  “It’s ok, I’m here, no one will get you,” he whispers until I’m no longer crying.

  I wait for the moment when he’s going to push me away from him but neither one of us makes that first step. We both know that when he eventually lets go, we’re nothing but a broken couple again.

  “Have you called the cops, Millie?” I shake my head and we both fall away from each other at the same time.

  “He or she only went when they heard you pull up,” I gesture behind me, inviting him in so he can come and have a look around.

  Needing no further invitation, he takes the lead as we turn on every single light we can find and begin to assess the damage. My hands stay firmly inside of my pockets, watching him as he carefully explores each and every inch of the living room. Apart from the sofa being slightly out of place, everything looks…normal. Just how I had left it before bed. I continue to look around at the living room, not quite believing how unchanged it is. I half expected the place to be obliterated given how terrifying it had felt at the time.

  Bowie walks the other way to me, and I soon hear the crackle of glass underfoot. I instantly whip my head around to see broken shards all over the floor from where someone had smashed the door window to gain access. I can’t help letting a gasp release from my mouth, prompting Bowie to look up to the ceiling with a deep-set frown and a heavy sigh. As he returns his gaze to the shattered glass, I instinctively pull my robe tighter around my waist, folding my arms defensively while I take in the scene before me.

  “Call the cops now, Millie,” Bowie instructs me, “they need to see this; you need to report it!”

  I nod obediently before walking away from the glass, not wanting a repeat of having shards stuck inside my feet. I notice I’m still trembling as I walk up and down the hallway, waiting patiently for someone to answer my call. That’s when I notice Grant’s door has been left open, freezing me mid-step. It’s such an alien sight to see it open, that my heart hitches up in my throat and I suddenly drop the phone to the floor.

  Shortly after the crash of metal on wood, Bowie comes up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder, making me leap out of my skin and ready to lose my sanity over the next death-defying ordeal. He grips hold of my shoulders more tightly, only to reassure me that it’s him. When my brain finally gets the memo, I instantly point towards the open door. As predicted, he frowns in confusion over my obvious fear.

  “Grant’s room,” I whisper, “it’s never open, Bowie. I have opened that door about three times since he was taken away.” He realizes I’m still trembling so goes over to shut it, but then stops himself. I guess the police will want to see that too.

  Two hours later and the police are finishing up their investigation. Whoever it was has left very little in the way of evidence. I can tell they don’t hold out much hope of finding them, even though they say nothing out loud to that effect, it’s obvious from the subtle exchanges they give one another. The wreckage left behind, plus the constant shivers running down my spine, have me realizing that I’m beginning to hate this house more and more. I’ve been nothing but a victim in this place. Neglect, loss, and too many visits from the police have finally paid their toll on my happy memories here. It’s all too much. Much too tainted to still be called a home for me.

  Monica, the friendlier officer of the two, smiles at me when she picks up her evidence bags. She places a hand on my arm, then informs me she’ll be in contact while the other officer shakes her head over the lack of anything they’ll be able to use to get a suspect, let alone a conviction.

  “Is there somewhere you can stay?” Monica asks with a frown of concern etched over her tired face, no doubt being at the end of a long shift for her. “That window isn’t secure, and I don’t like the idea of a young girl being left alone here after what has happened.” I almost laugh, thinking, ‘Don’t worry Monica, I’m used to it!’

  “I’ll be staying here with her,” I hear Bowie’s stern, authoritative voice without fully registering his words. Monica takes a moment to look between him and me before settling on my face to gain some sort of affirmation. I think she can tell there’s some tension between us, but when I finally nod, she turns to leave.

  “Call us if you have any more concerns tonight,” she says directly to me. “Look after her young man!” she calls over to Bowie in a motherly kind of way. One that says, ‘Don’t be a dick to her or I’ll be having a word with your parents.’

  I see him roll his eyes and shove his hands in his pockets before nodding back, looking so unimpressed I have to stifle a smile. I close the door behind them where I remain for a minute or two, staring at the wood paneling and prolonging the time it takes before I have to look at him again.

  “I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms,” I mutter before I finally pluck up the courage to turn and see him staring right at me. He looks both guilty and angry, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. However, given the intensity of his gaze, I’m not sure I want to. I sigh noisily, long, and slow, before pushing off from the door, suddenly feeling utterly exhausted as the adrenaline finally ebbs away and out of my system.

  The Police had helped to board up the broken door and the glass had been swept away, with some being taken for evidence.
There’s nothing else to do but switch off the lights and walk upstairs, so that’s what I do. Bowie follows silently and I suddenly feel bereft of his touch, my mind wandering back to a time when we would have been going to the same bed together, probably unable to keep our hands off from one another. Part of me is desperate for him to reach out to me, the other wants him to leave without another word.

  “You know I’m not staying in any other room but yours,” he declares from behind me, and worryingly, he doesn’t sound like he’s joking. I spin and look at him like he’s on something.

  “Surely you don’t think I’m going to be letting you in my bed, do you?” I snarl. “You can’t just click your fingers and my legs miraculously spread wide open for you!”

  He smirks and leans against the wall of the corridor, which still feels alien and is likely to stay that way until I finally get to leave this place for good. The smug bastard looks fuckable in his low-slung jeans and an oversized hoodie, and when he lifts his mouth into a full-on, taunting, grin, it sets off a round of traitorous butterflies inside of my stomach. I almost hit myself over my raging hormones and their ability to make me lose even my most basic level of common sense and self-preservation.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Princess, I’ll sleep on the floor. But if your mystery guest returns to come after you, what fucking good am I sleeping in a different room?” I blush with humiliation, conceding to the fact he has a point. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t sleep with liars.”

  “Oh, come on! You’d sleep with any woman willing to offer herself to you!” I snap, feeling deeply hurt by his venomous words. He pushes off from the wall and leans in closer towards my face with derision dripping from every molecule in his being.

  “True, but not you,” he whispers in my ear, then grins at me. “But if I wanted you to, you’d strip right now and offer yourself to me on a fucking silver platter!”

  “Oh, and here he is ladies and gents,” I mock, folding my arms theatrically, “the real Bowie Phillips, aka my very own, personal bully!”

  “At least I’m not a rapist sympathizer!” He shrugs his shoulders casually like he’s finding the whole conversation boring…like he finds me boring. It’s enough for me to bite and say something which I know will piss him off. I figure it’s best to say it now instead of regretting not saying it at two in the morning when I’m bound to still be awake and raging over this whole, horrific evening.

  “My brother is innocent!” I growl through clenched teeth, “And when I prove it, I will enjoy seeing that smug expression wiped off your bastard face!” He merely laughs at me as he shakes his head.

  “Well, good luck with that lost cause, Princess,” he juts out his chin arrogantly, “Grant is going to be rotting in that place for three more years while you live alone in this mausoleum of a house!”

  “Get out!” I shout, with tears streaming angrily down my face. “I’d rather take my chances with the intruder than spend another single minute in here with you. You heard, fuck off!”

  His expression turns sour, and it looks like he’s going to do me some real physical harm, but instead, he hoists me over his shoulder and marches me into my bedroom where he throws me ungracefully onto the bed. Gobsmacked, I watch as he stomps out of the room, only to return a few moments later with a pillow and a duvet from the guest’s room. He stares murderously at me as he strips down to his boxers, looking like he gives zero shits. I meet his stare, being too stubborn to back down and look away first.

  In the end, I win the battle of wills, when he finally heads towards the chair where he sets up a makeshift bed in my armchair. He proceeds to slump down inside of it but not before he gives me one more thunderous look.

  “I hate you,” I mutter bitterly, then turn into my duvet.

  “Right back at you, Princess!” he growls.

  Chapter 30

  Bowie

  Shit, I’m an asshole! It doesn’t surprise me when I wake to find Millie’s already up and gone. However, I do a customary check of my face to make sure she hasn’t shaved off my eyebrows or slashed my face with a pair of nail scissors. I know what I said last night was uncalled for, but she got me so riled up, at the same as turning me on in her little PJs and feisty attitude, I had no conscious choice but to spar with her. It was that or throw her on the bed and give in to what we both wanted. But it’s not the right thing for us in the long term. She said so herself, she believes my sister’s rapist is innocent. How can I be with someone who thinks that? It would be like slapping Sam in the face!

  Despite ending up on the floor, I slept like a baby in Millie’s room. In fact, it’s the best I’ve slept since we very publicly ended it all back at school. I have to smile when I realize Millie must have lifted the cover back over me before she left, seeing as I know I lost it sometime between being on the chair and moving to the carpet. I’m not gonna pull her up on it though, she’d only deny it, and then we’d no doubt call each other a whole host of names we don’t mean...well, I don’t, anyway. With any luck, Millie already well and truly hates me, which is the best way forward for her.

  As I slowly move upwards, she comes back into the bedroom from her bathroom and looks at me with a death stare, the type that makes your balls crawl back up inside of your abdomen. She then stomps over to the bed and begins looking for her robe. I remain sitting, quietly amused by her huffing about and enjoy the show that’s all for my benefit. She wraps her dressing gown around her body, tying it off tightly at her waist, with every move silently telling me to ‘fuck off’.

  The doorbell rings, which thankfully stops me from laughing at her rage-induced movements. We both look at one another for a moment with confusion spreading over both our faces. It’s not until we hear Mercy muttering away on her phone outside that she eventually trudges off to go and let her friend in. I’m left to dress, folding the duvet up calmly and slowly before forcing myself to leave.

  By the time I arrive downstairs, Mercy is eyeing the damaged pane of glass and Millie is making tea in the kitchen. I have to stifle another smile when I notice there are only two cups sitting on the side. I guess I’m not invited. It kind of makes me feel proud of her; my girl is not one to be pushed around, even when life seems to be constantly dealing her a crap hand. Of course, then I realize, she’s not my anything anymore.

  “Oh Lord, what’s he doing here?” Mercy sneers at me, to which I give her my best shit-eating grin with teeth and dimples.

  “Good morning to you too, Mercy,” I announce to the room, “no need to cream your panties over me, I was just leaving.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t…you know, with him?” she says, jacking her thumb over to me with wide, protruding eyes.

  “No,” Millie murmurs, and if I’m not mistaken, with a little sadness to her voice. “I’ll show you out.”

  I wave theatrically to Mercy, just to wind her up, but the returned hand gesture isn’t quite so friendly. When I step out onto the front yard, I turn to block the door before Millie can slam it in my face, like I know she’s dying to do.

  “Listen, I’m sorry about last night,” I say, trying to sound genuine, but I can tell from her over-the-top eye roll, she’s not buying it. “I went too far, and I certainly don’t hate you.” After a few pensive moments, she nods without making any further eye contact with me, which I know I deserve. “I’ll arrange for someone to come and fix the glass for you. Do you need me to stay tonight?”

  She shakes her head way too quickly for my liking, or my ego. This is what I wanted though, this is for the best, so I don’t say anything further. Instead, I just stand there looking like an idiot.

  “Thank you, but Gabe is coming to stay with me,” she mutters towards the ground, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist.

  Well, shit me, moving on already! Call me selfish, but I want her to hate me, not move on with somebody else, especially not with that asshole.

  “But I would really appreciate the glass repair. I don’t know anyone who can do
that. And thank you for last night, it was good of you, considering we’re no longer…” She throws her finger between the two of us and I nod, still frowning over her mentioning the fake boyfriend coming to stay.

  “Gabe, huh?” Didn’t want to say it, but it came out like a traitorous little bitch anyway. She bites her lip and taunts me with it.

  “Why? Does that bother you?” I shake my head and look to the ground, feeling that surge of pride for her again. Jealous as hell, but proud. “No, Gabe is like the brother I’m missing, Bowie. It may have escaped your notice, but I pretty much have no one. Gabe is coming to look after me if only so freaks wanting to break into my house don’t slaughter me in my sleep. But he will be sleeping in the guest room, just so you know.”

  I press my lips together in a hard line and nod, grateful for her explanation, even though I still hate the thought of him being here with her.

  “Goodbye, Bowie.”

  She closes the door in my face before I can return the farewell. I stare at it for a good few minutes before eventually turning away to go back home and explain the bloodied footsteps to my parents.