Scared of the Dark: A Crime Novel

by Easton Vaughn

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “Ok, then.”

  “That you could care less,” she added.

  Aiden sighed. “I’m a captive, and you’re with the people holding me against my will.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “Believe it or not, I’m having a tough time here, too.” She touched her eye, her cheek.

  Aiden sighed and nodded. “Will whipped my back whenever I paused to catch my breath. He used a stalk of some type of plant. It was soft, but it stung all the same.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Aiden.”

  He smiled. “Actually, you were just about to tell me about your whirlwind romance with Shepherd.”

  “He fed me a line,” she said, shrugging, “and the rest is history.”

  “You don’t strike me as the type to fall for a line.”

  “What do I strike you as?” she asked, giving him her best smile.

  He swallowed and didn’t answer.

  “You have someone special in your life, Aiden?”

  “Saina,” he said right away, his voice wistful.

  Lemon tried to not be hurt by his tone. Tried.

  “Looks like we’re both without our one true love,” she said.

  “I’ll take one of those clean shirts now,” Aiden said.

  “Love isn’t a topic you’re comfortable discussing?”

  “I’m partial to blue, if you care,” he added.

  Lemon grabbed a yellow Polo shirt from the clothes rack and brought it over to him. “You should let me help you with this,” she said. “Your shoulder’s giving you fits.”

  “Myofascial trigger point,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I have a knot in my shoulder,” he explained.

  “What can I do for it?”

  “You can’t do anything for it?”

  Lemon sighed. “What would help it?”

  “I don’t want your help,” he said.

  “Theoretically?” she said.

  “Heat, pressure, stretching, hydration,” he offered. “There are a number of treatments.”

  “All of which can be arranged if you’ll stop being so stubborn.”

  Aiden nodded, the hardness going out of his face. “But not tonight. I’m tired.”

  She moved to his back and touched the knot. A thick, hard mass right at his shoulder blade. “This sucker is big.”

  “I told you not…” His words lost as she started to knead the lump.

  More than a few of Lemon’s boyfriends had appreciated the warmth and flexibility of her fingers.

  “Christ, that feels good,” Aiden whispered.

  Without thinking, Lemon leaned over and kissed his neck. Tiny little pecks that made his skin prickle. She couldn’t say for sure what compelled her to do it. Nor could she stop herself. It was there, bubbling above the surface, and nothing would make it bob below the water line.

  “Christ,” Aiden said, not bothering to scold her. That pretense was over and done with.

  Lemon moved around and sat on his lap, facing him. Boldest thing she’d ever done. She told him so.

  “Why me?” he asked.

  “The truth?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m lonely,” she answered.

  “So I’m just to fill a void?” he said, barely hiding his disappointment.

  “You say it as though that isn’t a major thing. Not everyone can fill a void. And a void left unfilled…”

  “You’re right,” he said after a beat of thought.

  “Put your hands on my hips,” she directed.

  He did.

  “Touch my breasts,” she said.

  He eased the left strap of her dress down off her shoulder, and then did the same with the right. Rolled the top of her dress down to expose her naked breasts. She’d chosen to forgo a bra today. More often than she could count, Lemon had been told she had beautiful breasts. Creamy, full, glorious breasts.

  Aiden leaned forward without grimacing and took a nipple between his lips.

  “I said ‘touch,’” she whispered.

  He sucked the nipple until it was as hard as a stone.

  Lemon said “Jesus” instead of “Christ,” but she and Aiden worshipped the same god of pleasure. At least that’s what she told herself in the moment. Something that felt this good had to have some divine connection.

  She reached down and caressed his penis through his pants. It took only a moment to come to life. She moved from his lap, quickly undid his belt buckle and eased both the pants and his boxers down to his ankles. She stood in front of him, on exhibit, and lifted her dress and wiggled out of her panties.

  Aiden made a sound deep back in his throat and licked his lips.

  Lemon sat back down on his lap.

  Their genitals rubbed and their breathing changed but Aiden’s erection faltered just as Lemon tried to slide it inside of herself. Frowning, she played it with her hand, thumb on one side, pointer finger on the other, up and down the shaft.

  Nothing.

  “Damn it,” Aiden said.

  “Relax,” she whispered. “Just relax.”

  She continued to play it with her fingers. It was a big, floppy thing that refused to respond.

  Lemon dropped to her knees and leaned forward.

  “Don’t,” Aiden said, reaching a hand out to stop her.

  “You don’t want this?”

  “You’re better than this, Lemon.”

  The implication angered her. His use of her name, as though they were friends.

  “Thanks for making me feel like a whore,” she said.

  “What? Why would you say that?”

  “You let me get down on my knees. A hair away from sucking your white dick. And then you tell me, no, you don’t want it, with that tone in your voice.”

  “What tone is that?”

  “Nose-up-in-the-air,” she said. “I can’t even be bothered with the black whore sucking on my dick.”

  “Wow!”

  “Yes,” she said, rising to her full height, “wow.”

  “Lemon, I didn’t mean to imply anything by this. I just…I don’t feel right letting you do that to me.”

  “I get it,” she barked.

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “Let’s pretend this entire night hasn’t happened.”

  He tried to smile. “I’m going to have a hard time with that one. You’re a beautiful woman, Lemon. This is the most exciting almost-experience I’ve ever had.”

  “I lied earlier,” she admitted.

  “About?”

  After a moment’s thought, she said, “I don’t believe I love Shepherd at all?”

  “Really?”

  “Pleasant dreams,” she said quietly. “Maybe Saina will pay you a visit.”

  Aiden called her name as she moved to the other side of the room and turned her back to him and fixed her dress. He was still calling it as she rushed through her repaired front door and out into the lonely dark night.

  Tuesday, June 26

  The first time with Saina had taken him completely by surprise. She’d called asking if he would keep her company over the weekend. Her roommate, Tabitha, would be away, visiting with her parents in Connecticut until Monday, and Saina, he knew, was bothered by the various creaks and moans that sang out in the apartment when all was quiet. Neither he nor Saina had a shift at the hospital for the next few days, so they made tentative plans to laze around Saina’s apartment watching old movies, playing Scrabble, and singing all of the latest pop songs as off-key as they pleased. When he arrived at her door, Saina was dressed down more than typical, her hair hidden under a Red Sox baseball cap she had turned backwards, her form lost in baggy sweatpants and an MIT sweatshirt whose cuffs hung all the way to her fingertips. A delicious smile and a pleasant aroma offering him welcome.

  “Traitorous,” he said, pulling at the shoulder of her MIT sweatshirt.

  “Not really,” she replied, her smile brightening. “It�
��s only going to get wrinkled.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind.” She reached forward, secured his wrist, yanked him inside. “My candles are melting while you stand out here. Come in.”

  “Candles?”

  Candles, for sure. Everywhere, it seemed. One on the coffee table in Saina’s and Tabitha’s slight living room. One atop the waist-high bookshelf wedged in a corner. One glowing from a bare countertop in the kitchen.

  “Scented?” Aiden asked, crinkling his nose.

  “The candles?” She nodded. “Honeysuckle nectar. What do you think?”

  He frowned in concentration, grasping for the right words. “They create a…”

  “Mood?” she suggested.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “Well done, Saina,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Ready for a drink?”

  “What’s on tap?”

  She moved toward the kitchen, talking over her shoulder. “Wairau River Wine. The Sauvignon Blanc. I picked a bottle up from Whole Foods yesterday. Chilled it in the fridge overnight. Took it out about twenty minutes ago. You’re supposed to do that with whites.”

  “I was thinking more of water,” he said, following on her heels into the kitchen.

  She stopped suddenly, her shoulders sagging. “You know where the glasses are.” Gone too was the energy that had been in her voice. “The ice-thingy’s not working, so let the tap run to get the water cold.”

  Aiden looked into her eyes then, really looked, and instantly he understood. His mouth went dry, and suddenly he was acutely aware of his heartbeat. He hadn’t any idea the direction this weekend was headed. Saina, on the other hand, seemed to have had it all figured out. Women knew more than men. And they held all of the power.

  “Try not to break anything,” she said. “Half of this shit is Tabitha’s.”

  “Saina…”

  She turned away as if she hadn’t heard him, and Aiden pounded his forehead with a fist. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Don’t lose your head over this. This is what you want in the worst way.

  And just as quickly, Saina turned back, a frown causing a deep crease between her brows. “What do you want in the worst way?”

  Now he was frowning as well. “I don’t follow,” he managed, phlegm mangling his voice.

  “You said ‘this is what you want…in the worst way.’”

  He gave her a curious look. “I said that out loud?”

  She sighed and waved it off. “It doesn’t matter. Get your water. I’ll grab the Scrabble board.”

  Aiden reached forward before she could move past him, felt her shudder as his hand fell on her shoulders. He turned her gently, so she was facing him, and touched her chin and lifted her head until their eyes met. They stood there for a long moment, just looking at one another.

  “I’m a little slow sometimes,” he told her. “If you’d answered the door in a silk camisole, I probably would’ve understood right away.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said, pouting her lips. “I can just hear you warning me about catching a cold.”

  “That’s a persistent myth, Dr. Chatterjee, and you know it. You don’t catch a cold from being cold. You have to come in contact with a virus, microscopic droplets from an infected person’s respiratory system.”

  “And to think,” Saina said, crinkling her nose, “I usually find medical talk sexy.”

  Aiden smiled. “Let’s start over. Wairau River’s the one with the green apple and tangerine? White pepper in the finish?”

  But Saina wasn’t changing her mood that quickly. She stood there, motionless and silent, still pouting.

  Women held all the power.

  “Saina,” he said, emphasizing her name.

  “I wanted tonight to be perfect,” she complained. “You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this.”

  “And all you could come up with is a two-sizes-too-large MIT sweatshirt?” he said, holding back a grin.

  Saina’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened into an “O.” She slapped his right arm. He rubbed the arm, and she lightly punched the other.

  “Ouch, Saina. That hurt.”

  “You deserve it for being such a jerk.”

  “Yeah, and you want to get freaky-deaky with this jerk.”

  She came in low, wrapping her arms around his waist, the Red Sox cap tumbling off as she burrowed her head into his stomach and took them both to the floor. A top-notch wrestling move. They rolled around on the linoleum giggling like a couple of teenagers.

  Thirty minutes later, breathing heavy, lying naked in Saina’s bed, he eyed the MIT sweatshirt in a ball on the floor. “You were right,” he said.

  “About what?” Her voice was thick from exertion; she lay on her back gazing at the ceiling.

  “Your MIT sweatshirt. It’s wrinkled. Just like you said it would be.”

  She smiled. “You nearly messed up, my friend. For a moment there I thought I’d just keep the sweatshirt on.”

  “I can be dense at times,” he admitted.

  “Hmm,” she said, and nothing more.

  He waited. Then said: “Something’s on your mind.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asked, still fascinated by the ceiling.

  “You always say ‘hmm’ when you’re deep in thought.”

  “You really believe you have me figured out, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “So, tell me, what’s on your mind.”

  She let out a long breath. “You…you have much experience with this sort of thing?”

  “You’re the first girl I’ve ever wrestled out of an MIT sweatshirt,” he said without hesitation.

  “I’m being serious, Aiden.”

  He nodded. “Any sweatshirt, for that matter.”

  She stopped focusing on the ceiling, sat up on an elbow and looked at him instead. “Are you saying…”

  He nodded again. “First time ever for me. Did it show?”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  He suggested, “It didn’t show in the least. You make love like a porn star with a nine-inch—”

  “Don’t even go there,” she cut in.

  He smirked. “What about you? Do you have much experience with this sort of thing?”

  She plopped back down in bed. Stared at the ceiling once more. “I’ve swam these waters twice before,” she offered, a tight smile in her features. “The first guy I can’t say I regret. It was a complicated relationship, but mostly a good one. I learned a lot from him. Lothario number two? I was totally rebelling because of my breakup from Number One. I am Woman, hear me roar. You know? Got knocked down a peg or two for my troubles. Just thinking about it makes me want to vomit.”

  “And number three?” Aiden ventured.

  Saina looked at him again, and the tight smile wasn’t so tight anymore, it was a full-on headlight, a wide swath of majestic brightness. “My dirty deed with numero tres? Hmm. It’s not complicated, at least not in a bad way. And thinking about it doesn’t make me want to vomit.”

  “That tells me what it isn’t,” he said. “But not what it is.”

  “My educated guess,” she whispered, eyes full on him, “would be love.”

  That surprised him as much as what they’d just done in her bed. He said, “I love you, too, Saina.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want you saying that just because we’ve gotten biblical.”

  “I’m not,” he replied, meaning it. “I’m saying it because it’s true. Don’t think for a minute it hasn’t been on my tongue before today. I wasn’t sure when I should tell you. Whether it would freak you out. I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing.”

  “A virgin,” she said softly.

  He smiled. “Not any longer.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “I’m an open book…now that we’ve gotten biblical.”

  “Which is only right.”
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  “What did you want to ask me?”

  “About the virgin thing…”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What were you waiting for?”

  “You.” No hesitation whatsoever.

  Saina was quiet a moment before responding. “That’s a shit-ton of pressure, Aiden. You’re sure I’m worthy of this?”

  “I can’t imagine ever making love to another woman.”

  And she’d reached over and gripped his hand, focused on the ceiling again.

  Later, Julie Eagan happened.

  Aiden didn’t take love, or the intimacy that inevitably came with it, lightly. And yet he’d betrayed Saina twice—by hooking up with Julie and then by lying about it. He suspected that Saina knew the truth. And what could he say to defend himself? She really really means nothing to me.

  And now there was Lemon, his Ghost Woman. He felt a connection with her, and a deep one at that. It was difficult for him to reconcile his surging feelings for her. He wondered whether they were simply an effect of his hopeless situation. He supposed Lemon would wonder the same thing. How could either of them possibly have any deep feelings for the other? They didn’t even know one another. What was Lemon’s middle name? Did she have brothers and sisters? Her favorite book? Movie? Musician?

  He looked at the repaired door and willed it to open.

  It didn’t, of course.

  Lemon hadn’t come back after rushing out last night. He’d struggled to his feet and made it as far as the front yard, searching the black night for her. Then a group of men he hadn’t encountered before walked up holding torches and chased him back inside. The sudden appearance of those strange men had unnerved him, for certain, but Lemon’s absence weighed him down even more. He didn’t sleep a wink, and now a new day had dawned and Lemon still hadn’t returned.

  He sat on the side of the bed and kept staring at the door.

  When it finally opened, creaking on its hinges a time later, he sat up straight, the words clear in his head. First he would apologize. Then he would explain. If those efforts failed, he was prepared to beg.

  But the woman in his doorway wasn’t Lemon.

  She had reddish-brown skin that reminded him of expensive leather, large, dark eyes, and a thick knot of hair that amazingly fell to her waist. Her body was muscular and toned, and yet so decidedly feminine at the same time. He swallowed and tried to keep himself from looking at her strong thighs. Were all of the women on this island great beauties?