Shades of Darkness

by A. R. Kahler

  There was a look in Elisa’s eyes that made me uncomfortable. Like she was examining more than my words. Damned actors and their damned training—she could analyze me better than anyone I’d ever met, often because I gave myself away with the flick of a finger or dart of an eye. Thankfully, she had tact with her observations. I had a feeling that if Ethan had her skill, he and I wouldn’t be friends.

  “Please tell me that if you ever get that stressed, you’ll talk to someone, okay?” Her words were quiet and serious and somehow incredibly tender. “Even if it’s not me. I don’t want to lose you.”

  Walls shifted inside of me. A crack in the barriers I’d built up over the last two years.

  Back in the bathroom, everything orange and white and red and black, colors seeping into shadow, fluids draining into air. Pain fading into nothing. Ravens shifting from shadows . . .

  Elisa’s grip tightened, and our dorm room came into focus. Not without consequence—there were tears in the corners of my eyes and a shake building inside of me I couldn’t force down.

  “Please,” she said. “Promise me?”

  I tried to still my jaw and keep my words from trembling. I didn’t trust myself. I could only nod and hope that she thought I was emotional because of Mandy. She pulled me in for another hug. The fissure in my composure cracked deeper. I squeezed her tight and carefully rewrapped the wounds that scratched their way to light. Now was not the time. Now was definitely not the time.

  This moment was about Mandy.

  Not me.

  I opened my eyes and looked over Elisa’s shoulder. There, on the windowsill, silhouetted in lamplight, was a crow. He cocked his head when my eyes met his. Then, before I could blink, he flapped and disappeared in a fluff of snow.

  • • •

  A few hours and one terrible movie later, Elisa curled under her covers and fell asleep almost before her head hit the pillow. For that, I was a little jealous. I had a feeling tonight wouldn’t be a night of restful sleep.

  It was nearly ten. Supposedly lights-out, but no one was coming around to enforce it.

  I turned from Elisa’s bed and stared out our window, both hoping and dreading to see the crow again. The woods beyond were dark, lit only by a single streetlamp a few yards away. The light wavered in the snow, glittering against branches and falling like confetti in some silent celebration. I couldn’t begin to count how many nights I’d sat here for hours after lights-out, watching the trees sway and the darkness change shape.

  And then, as expected, a shadow flew across the window. I followed its arc to where it alighted in a nearby fir. I couldn’t see it, swathed in shades of darkness, but I knew what it was. A raven. Sitting on the branches of a fir tree. Watching me as I tried to find it.

  I felt like I should say something, some prayer for Mandy’s peaceful transition. But as I watched the shadows shift, I knew the wish was unnecessary. Mandy was gone. Prayers for the dead were never really meant for the dead—they were meant for the ones left behind.

  I was used to being left behind. I didn’t need any more praying in that department.

  Is this why you’ve been following me? I wanted to ask. But I didn’t want the answer; Munin didn’t show up for something this simple. He was an omen reserved for more . . . apocalyptic . . . events. I’d learned that one firsthand, and two days too late. So what are you trying to tell me?

  The raven said nothing. Just like last time.

  Finally, after a few more minutes of staring at shadows and convincing myself I wasn’t going insane, I pushed myself from the bed and ducked into the bathroom.

  I didn’t turn on the light when I locked the door behind me; I knew the corners of this place like the curves of my own body. I slid out of my clothes and turned on the shower, pushed the heat to almost-scalding. Then, in the pitch blackness, I stepped under the spray. In here, I could pretend I was anywhere else. The darkness could be a cave, the cosmos, the water some magical liquid washing me clean inside and out. I slid to the wall of the shower, sinking down to rest on the floor of the cubicle. And it was then I let the last week crash in. It was too much, all too much. Mandy’s death. Memories of blood in the bathroom. Even Chris’s presence, touching on wounds I didn’t want to feel. Too many wounds. Too many aches. Too many reasons I shouldn’t even be here. I pressed my palms to my eyes and prayed into the spray, wash me clean, wash me clean. But I knew I couldn’t get clean, couldn’t run fast enough—nothing would cleanse me, not the water or my tears. I didn’t deserve to be clean, to mourn. Mandy was dead. Dead. And even though I’d heard Munin’s warnings, I hadn’t known enough to stop it.

  Cold wrapped around me in spite of the burning heat. The darkness wasn’t a comfort. Not now. I wrapped my arms around my knees and pulled them close to my chest. I felt Brad behind me, wrapping his arms around me, kissing the back of my neck. Whispering that it should have been me.

  • • •

  After the shower I felt empty, but that was better than the alternative. I didn’t look in the mirror after drying off. I didn’t want to see Brad there, staring back. My moment of weakness was over. Now wasn’t about me. Now I would focus on Mandy and those who knew her. My phone blinked with a dozen texts from Ethan and Oliver, all asking if I was okay, though Ethan’s escalated from Are you okay to Please tell me you’re not dead to if you are dead, please don’t text back, I don’t want to behead a zombie-kaira to holy shit if you don’t text back I’m going to sneak from my dorm room and find you and you know I live on the second story and can’t climb. My paralysis is on your shoulders.

  I sent him a text first. I’m fine. And I hope you’re not in the bushes outside Rembrandt with a broken spine.

  A second later he texted back. Moderate paralysis. I expect cookies.

  I chuckled softly, careful not to wake Elisa. The room was lit by my little desk lamp, and I settled onto my papasan chair with a blanket over my legs. For some reason, Ethan’s humor didn’t feel sacrilegious or an affront to Mandy’s memory. It was a reminder that my support network was still there, that life was still moving forward.

  Despite what Brad had told me years ago, there were people who cared.

  Oliver’s texts were much more his calming style: I heard about Mandy. I hope you’re okay. and Call if you need anything. Any time.

  I thanked him, then set my phone to silent and leaned back, staring at my cluttered desk and wondering what to do with this insomnia. I didn’t want to sleep. Even with Mom’s crystal, I didn’t want to risk the shadows.

  Mason jars with charcoal sticks and colored pencils and fine-tip markers lined one corner of the desk, while a stack of papers and folders was piled haphazardly in the other. My bulletin board was covered in snippets of paintings and inspirational quotes, pressed leaves and feathers, and a few photo-kiosk strips of Ethan and me at the mall.

  I sighed and tore my eyes away. There was no way I was going to try to do work tonight, so I quietly slid out the drawer under my bed and grabbed a tiny cloth bundle. My Tarot deck.

  The cards were warm and soft as I slid them from the bag. Four years of nearly constant use had worn the edges smooth and the cardstock supple, almost velveteen. The deck was the traditional Rider-Waite, with the primary-color images and geometric sky-blue card backs. Not my favorite style of art, but there was something to be said for the simplicity, the easy symbolism. It had been a gift from my mom the first day of freshman year. Because the gods know a young girl needs more guidance than her mother can give. Those had been her words when she handed it over, and a similar quote was written on a tiny notecard inside the bag, her handwriting perfect and looping in black ink. I envied my mother many things, but her handwriting was among the top.

  I wasn’t too worried about being quiet—Elisa had long grown used to me shuffling in the dead of night. The familiar whir between my fingers was calming, rhythmic, almost more soothing than the guidance I was seeking.

  I’d nearly thrown them out sophomore year. Almost. The idea of
being connected to the occult after . . . well, it felt like a dangerous line to walk. But the idea of trashing something my mom had given me caused too much guilt, so the cards stayed.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered, images floating through my mind to make the question solid: Mandy’s smile, cop cars in the snow, Ethan’s words ringing like omens: Someone died.

  A card flipped out mid-shuffle, landing on the desk.

  “Ten of Swords,” I muttered, staring at the man stabbed by his own blades. Obvious enough—defeat, destruction, death. “Tell me something I didn’t know.”

  I kept shuffling.

  Minutes seemed to drag by. The cards shuffled quietly, none dislodging. I couldn’t think of anything else—no other question seemed pertinent. Then, after my eyes began to droop and my shuffling faded, a new image flashed through my mind: Jonathan, standing before our folklore class, a raven on his shoulder. It was the gods who took the innocent away.

  I jerked awake as two cards spilled from my hand, landing on the floor, one crossed over the other.

  The bottom was The World, inverted. And above it, The Tower.

  “Shit,” I muttered. Chills ran down my neck. I reached down and slid the cards back into the deck, passing it off as an accident. I was too tired to be doing this.

  But when I slid into bed and turned off the light, my cards tucked beneath my pillow, all I could see behind my closed eyes were those two cards. The inverted World: a woman twined in fabric, falling upside down. The Tower: a great obelisk destroyed by lightning, figures leaping from its heights. Apart, they were important, almost cosmic—great shifts, catastrophic turns of events. Together, in that combination, they felt like a curse.

  The world on fire. The world crumbling like the tower. Everything falling like feathers in the snow, like blood on the tiles.

  The gods walk, something inside me whispered. And hell if it didn’t sound like Brad.

  Elisa was, unsurprisingly, up before me. She plodded silently to the bathroom, but that slight rustle of covers was enough to wake me. I blinked and rolled over, glaring at the alarm clock on her shelf. Six thirty. I closed my eyes. I really, really didn’t want to be awake. I didn’t want to face whatever was going to happen today. Surely, we’d have some sort of assembly. Classes would be canceled, and I hated to admit that that would be one of the worst parts of all this—work always helped me get through things. If we just had a day to sit around and think about what happened, I’d go insane.

  Ethan found me at breakfast. I was sitting at the far end of the cafeteria, by the windows overlooking the woods and the iced-over lake. The mood of the room was as gray and heavy as the world outside. No one seemed to be talking, and if they were, it was in muted tones. He saw me, saw the look on my face, and immediately slipped into a side of himself I saw only in dire circumstances.

  “How are you?” he asked, setting his tray beside mine. There was only a banana and half-filled bowl of oatmeal. Looked like I wasn’t the only one without an appetite.

  “I . . .” I was about to lie, to say I was okay. But Ethan’s eyes were on mine and right then, I didn’t want to pretend anymore. Not with him. I’d been pretending with Elisa all morning. “I’m feeling pretty fucked up.”

  He gave me a half grin, the sad, consoling sort, and put a hand on my arm.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  He nodded like he understood. And maybe he did understand, at least partly. He’d once admitted it took him two years to come out to his parents. Some secrets were hard to hide, and even harder to share. His, at least, had nothing to do with blood or ex-boyfriends.

  “Well, I’m here when you’re ready,” he said, breaking me from my thoughts of the past. Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes. I knew he meant it. I just didn’t know if he’d still mean it if I told him the truth.

  We ate our breakfast in silence, the cafeteria’s mood getting both of us down. Elisa sat beside us a while later. She didn’t even bother with the facade of food: She had a mug of coffee and a handful of grapes. I couldn’t blame her for losing her usually voracious appetite.

  “We’re having an assembly at nine,” she said. “Maria told me when I left.”

  Ethan and I both sighed, staring down at our plates. There really wasn’t anything to say to that. Even when Oliver—usually the bright spot in any conversation—came over and sat down, the mood didn’t shift from morose. It felt wrong to even try to be cheery. Mandy had killed herself, and none of us had done anything to prevent it. We hadn’t even known there was a problem. You knew something would happen, whispered Brad. But you were too scared to do anything about it. I shook my head and shoved down his voice and focused on getting what little food I had down. I felt like I was floating, not really there. And everyone else in the cafeteria had the same dissociated air. No laughter, no loud chatter. Everyone moved and spoke like they were in a daydream, one they were terrified of rupturing. Some small part of me hoped I’d wake up to a morning that didn’t involve old nightmares and a dead classmate. Brad’s whispers told me that wouldn’t be the case.

  Outside, it began to snow again.

  “Do you guys want to go for a walk?” Elisa asked quietly, when it was clear everyone was done picking at their breakfast.

  I nodded. There was still an hour before the assembly, and sitting inside seemed like a terrible idea. We stood and left like a funeral procession.

  Islington was a nature lover’s paradise. You almost had to enjoy nature when you studied here—there wasn’t anything else. We didn’t walk any of the short trails along the lakeside, though. No time, not with the looming assembly. Instead, we sat on one of the benches by the shore and stared out at the frozen lake. Fishermen’s huts dotted the snowy ice, and a line of fir trees on the horizon marked the shore. I’d sat out here so many nights, daydreaming about what went on in those houses: people having dinner or watching TV or fighting. People not worrying about art or college or trying to make their mark on the world. In my imagination, they all had simple, happy lives. Lives my own convoluted mess could never imitate.

  The things we didn’t talk about far outweighed the things we did. For the most part, we sat in silence, watching a few figures roam the lake and the clouds churn above. Ethan asked Elisa about her play. Elisa asked Oliver about his concert.

  We didn’t mention Mandy. We didn’t wonder aloud why she’d done it or what would happen next. We didn’t need to. Those questions perched on our shoulders, heavy and laden with oily feathers and sharp beaks.

  For my part, I could barely concentrate on their small talk. Ethan leaned against me on one side and Elisa rested her head on my other shoulder, but I hardly felt them. Their weight felt worlds away, unable to tether me to the Earth. I watched the crows circle above the snow, flecks of black dodging between a sky as pale and solemn as the ice spread out below.

  Why are you back? I wanted to ask. I didn’t know if I was asking the birds or Brad, or if it even made any difference. Why are you following me?

  Mandy had killed herself on her own volition. I had barely known her. This had nothing to do with me. So why did it feel like I was the center of all of this, like the crows above were circling around me like some cosmic nexus? I had nothing to do with this, I wanted to scream.

  Only because you did nothing to stop it, Brad whispered back. A trait you’ve gotten quite good at. How long do you think you can run away, Kaira? How long until they find out what you did?

  “It’s time,” Elisa said, snapping me from my reverie. Her voice seemed swallowed by the lake, her words small and insubstantial.

  We slid off the bench and wandered to the black box theatre where the assembly was taking place. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why they chose it over the actual auditorium: This was more intimate, a conversation rather than a lecture.

  We followed the line of students leaving their dorms up the asphalt drive that led to the performing arts complex.
My entire body felt numb as we walked down the hall and into the cozy theatre which, as the name implied, was just one large black box with a row of risers and chairs on three sides. Ethan and Oliver and I sat near the back, while Elisa took a spot up front with Cassie. The place was filling fast.

  I closed my eyes. I didn’t think I was empathic, but being in large crowds always drained me. It might be part of the reason I gravitated toward painting. Right now, I felt like I was suffocating in other people’s muck. I leaned my head against Ethan’s shoulder and nearly whimpered when he wrapped his arm around me.

  “Is this seat reserved?”

  I quirked my eye open.

  Chris stood in the aisle, in a green plaid shirt and black jeans, looking down at me a little uncertainly.

  “What? No,” I said. Ethan was staying resolutely silent.

  Chris gave me a slight smile and sat down. If one could fidget while sitting, he did so. He stared straight ahead, hands clasped in his lap, his foot tapping nervously.

  “How are you doing?” I asked. I knew Chris knew Mandy—everyone in the art department knew everyone. It’s just how things worked.

  “I’m okay,” he said. Definitely a lie. “What about you?”

  “Okay,” I replied. I could lie just as well as he could.

  He nodded. For some reason, I wanted to apologize for the distance the night of the concert. Pushing people away right now seemed like a bad idea, even if it really was in his best self-interest. I didn’t say anything though. Words seemed too difficult.

  The theatre filled up silently. Some students and staff were even standing along the walls, since this place wasn’t meant for four hundred bodies. If anyone cared about the cramped conditions, they didn’t voice it.

  Ms. Kenton, our president, stepped into the middle of the stage and the room hushed in a moment. She wore a somber black suit, which just made the room seem even heavier. She was normally full of life and color, putting the rest of us and our faux-hippie attire to shame. Seeing her was like the final hammer.