Darkshine

by R. D. Vallier

  My stomach clenched. I curled into the fetal position and tucked my head into the sleeping bag. My stomach clenched tighter. I ignored it. My intestines cramped and gurgled and my eyes shot open. The ham sandwich was a bad idea, after all.

  I grabbed the flashlight and a wad of napkins from my backpack, then scrambled far into the bushes, out of Orin's view in case he woke. My stomach roiled, sharp with pangs. I bit my lip and pushed farther into the brush. I would die of humiliation if Orin glimpsed the mess the ham sandwich and I created should we hike past it in the morning.

  Thirty minutes later my intestines were empty and sweat cooled on my brow. I knelt on the shore, my flashlight illuminating the rocks and current, and washed my hands in the freezing river.

  "Got anything to eat?"

  I snatched my flashlight and whipped around, illuminating a grizzled man. His face was weathered and cracked from too many hard days in the sun, his body padded with a snow jacket and a black knitted cap. How long has he been standing in the shadows? I wondered. Did he watch me squat in the shrubs?

  "So sorry to scare you." Whiskey floated on the man's breath. He smiled like a jack-o-lantern, his remaining teeth stained yellow and spotted with decay. "My buddies and I lost our jobs recently and are out seeking work," he said. "I hoped maybe you had something extra to share to help us through our setback."

  Seeking work, my ass. You have been slumming for years, I thought, then sucked in my lips. The woman who had chucked the pop can had accused me and Orin of being bums, too. I dried my hands on my pants and handed the man the bag of chips from my coat pocket. "Here," I said. "Take it."

  His smile widened. "Thank you. Much appreciated."

  "You're welcome. Goodnight." I turned back to the campsite. The man grabbed my shoulder and I squeaked with surprise.

  "You sure this is all you have to give?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said, my heart hammering. "I have nothing else."

  "You sure?" The man's grip tightened; his knuckles creaked. I couldn't see our campfire around the shore's bend. Or Orin. Or my folding knife, warm and snug inside my sleeping bag. I cursed my stupidity and my bashfulness for getting me raped and killed. "I think you have much more," the man said. "I think you—"

  "I think you need to leave the lady alone."

  The temperature dropped ten degrees and my flashlight dimmed and flickered. The stranger wheeled around. "Who's there?"

  "Me," Delano said, and somehow now loomed between us, glaring down at the stranger.

  The stranger jumped back with a short cry. "How—?"

  "Go back to your camp." Delano shoved the man's chest; the man tottered back a step. "And take your spying friend with you."

  "No one else is—"

  Delano sneered. "Fifteen feet to my left, lurking in the shadows. Green jacket. Goatee. Pony tail. Hand in an uncivilized location."

  The man's eyes widened. He shot off into the darkness, shoes pounding the river stone. A second set of feet scrambled after him.

  "Did he hurt you?" Delano asked. He was barefoot, dressed in worn Levis and a brown, threadbare sweatshirt two sizes too big. My flashlight lit his unshaven cheeks and the dark circles beneath his eyes. The right side of his irises had dipped past the pupils.

  I let out a slow, rattling breath, unaware I had been holding it in. "No. Just shook me up." I snorted. "And now I have no breakfast. I'm such an idiot."

  "You're kind, not an idiot," Delano said. A moth landed on his shoulder and climbed down his sleeve. He handed me a snack-sized Slim Jim from his rear pocket. "For breakfast."

  A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "Thanks."

  "Although, I am curious," Delano said, snowflakes collecting in his lashes. "Why did you give that man what you had? Could you tell he had ill intentions?"

  "No. I just—I just felt bad for him." I stared across the river. Firelight from the hobo camp skipped across the water. "And earlier, there was a woman."

  "The piece of trash who threw the soda can at you."

  My cheeks grew hot, and that heat abandoned me for Delano. "You saw that?"

  Delano nodded solemnly. The moth crawled over his fingers, dancing like a coin across his knuckles before fluttering off into the shadows.

  "I guess I wanted to prove I wasn't like her," I said.

  Delano chuckled. "The fact you even care is proof you are nothing like her."

  "My husband says I am too sensitive, that I need to harden up." I clicked off the flashlight to hide my face. "Maybe he's right."

  "Nonsense. Sensitivity is a gift. It gives you compassion, hope in humanity, the belief in kindness. Those are good traits to have."

  "He says it makes me weak."

  "Insensitivity makes people weak," Delano said. "And selfish. It is easy to think only about yourself, without regard for how your actions will affect others. Sensitivity, however, takes courage. It is difficult putting yourself out in the world, showing kindness when it can lead to heartache or trouble. Your husband had no right to tell you to change. Your sensitivity is needed in this world, and is the core of who you are."

  I shrugged as snowflakes patted my face. "I guess."

  Delano faced me and cupped my hands in his. "There is no guessing about it, Miriam. Do you honestly have no idea how beautiful a person you are?"

  I groaned and pulled away. "Orin warned me you're a flatterer."

  "I am being honest," Delano said, and I heard the frown in his voice. "If you saw your true self—not clouded with the judgements of cynics—you'd lose your breath."

  "My lunch more like it."

  Delano sighed. "You are impossible."

  Something screeched like a furious kitten above the river. I flicked on the flashlight as a streak of white soared above our heads, a ghost with hollow eyes.

  "Barn owl." Delano cupped his mouth with his hands and mimicked the call exactly. The owl answered. The wind of her body brushed my face as she zipped silently through the falling snow.

  "Come. She has invited us to fly with her." Delano ran up the air as if on an invisible staircase. My heart swelled and I yearned to chase him, but my legs froze on the shore. He twisted in the air when he realized I had stayed behind, then landed beside me with a silent splat of shadow. "Come with me," he insisted, his voice dark and sweet and painfully seductive.

  "I-I can't," I said. "It's night magic. It's—"

  "It is what you were born for," Delano said. He brushed the snowflakes from his hair, and I realized they didn't melt against his skin. "I saw you last night. I watched how natural you wielded darkness, unlike the day magic Orin forces onto you. Come with me."

  The owl dipped above us. I threw my hands to the sky. Her feathers skimmed my fingertips, and the night whispered promises on my skin. Promises of liberation and pleasure and a lightness I barely enjoyed before Orin scared it away.

  Delano caressed my arm. "Come with me. I know you want to."

  "You're right," I said. "I do want to. But..." But how do I know this magic is not like heroin, with each hit taking me down the path of a demon?

  Delano sighed. "But you are not ready."

  I looked at my feet.

  "Then I will not force you." Delano sat with me on a log and patted my hand. "Despite what Orin says, I will not force you to do anything. Do you understand that?"

  My brow furrowed. "I want to believe that. It's just..."

  "Just what?"

  My chest tightened. When I had met the chickadee everything seemed so simple. A darkling was an evil hunter, something to flee from and kill if necessary. But when Delano showed himself, proved he was more of a man than a monster, he became another curiosity on this curious adventure. Another glimpse at magic as I raced with Orin to a magical world. But whether Delano scared me or intrigued me, the whole time I had thought of him as an addition, a fascinating tag-along. Now he was a complication. A choice.

  The barn owl landed in a nearby tree and screeched.

  I could leave Orin. Right now. I coul
d run off with Delano, embrace the night, reclaim the freedom I felt when I flew with the darkness. Night's whispers tickled my skin, enticing me to hear its secrets. Was that where I belonged? Or was it a seductive trick as Orin warned? Maybe—

  "Miriam?" Orin's voice in the darkness.

  I leapt to my feet. Delano's fingers tightened around my hand. "I'm safe," I called back. "I needed to go to the bathroom." I turned to Delano and frowned. "I'm sorry," I said, even though I had no reason to apologize.

  Delano kissed my wrist. Shivers rushed through my body. "Sleep. You need it," he said. "I will stand guard tonight."

  Across the river, the hobos' campfire was nearly black. "Do you think they'll return?"

  "Doubtful," Delano said. "I am more worried about the darkling whose territory I am trespassing on." He rubbed his jaw gingerly. "She's furious I warmed the day while she slept, and packs quite a punch."

  I blanched. Delano smiled, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. "Do not worry. I can handle Amaya. Though you will suffer her snowy night in return."

  "Miriam?" Orin called.

  "Go," Delano whispered.

  I started back to the campsite.

  "And Miriam?"

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  Delano's ruddy eyes glinted and I heard the smile in his voice. "Remember to open my present."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  My heart raced and my legs trembled, but from anxiety or exhaustion I had no idea. I dropped my backpack to the tile and leaned my forehead against the door, forcing myself to breathe deeply. The public bathroom smelled like most cleaned public bathrooms, a mixture of synthetic cherries and disinfectants. I latched the lock with a gratifying clack. This was not how I had intended to welcome in the New Year.

  We had woke and left our camp hours ago. Orin was across the street at a rundown gas station, begging for a ride. I had told him I wanted to change into fresh clothes at the McDonald's instead of at the gas station since it was probably cleaner. Which was true. But I also wanted the familiarity. My life was spiraling out of control and the McDonald's reminded me some things in the world remained the same.

  I scrubbed my face with soap and water at the sink. The paper towels were rough against my wind-chapped cheeks.

  I had regretted my decision to use the McDonald's as soon as I entered, however. A dozen customers—including two highway patrol officers—ate breakfast at the tables, most of them reading newspapers with my photo tucked inside. I had kept my head down and zipped into the bathroom, making my best impression of a sick woman in desperate need of a toilet. And now that I was locked in the bathroom, I felt I would be sick.

  All this anxiety and struggle isn't worth it. Even if I wasn't the worst faerie to exist—even if I hadn't channeled the wrong energies—all the dangers and unknowns of this trip frayed my last nerve. Gazing into Orin's eyes, with all the warmth and promise of spring, made it easy to believe in impossibilities. But I had fooled myself. I wasn't adventurous or daring or worthy or strong. I was just me. Plain, boring, insignificant Miriam. And I yearned for my plain, boring, insignificant life back. It sounded like a fairytale.

  I dried my hands with paper towels and sat on the sink's counter—the cleanest area in the bathroom, I assumed—and tried to steady my nerves. I should call Sam. I knew he would never stop chasing me, and at least crawling back to him would give my life some stability. Sam's lies were known and familiar. Infidelity was a story told countless times. At worst it would lead me to a divorce, probably an apartment somewhere to live out my average, predictable life. I might manage a grant, go back to school, recreate a life strictly on my terms. Orin and Delano, on the other hand, promised only unknowns. One of them was a liar. If I picked the wrong one, I might end up abused, murdered, or enslaved in ... well, I had no idea where I would end up. A new world. A new existence. Living with a new species.

  Of course, just because Sam stopped chasing me didn't mean Delano would. And what would Orin do if I ran off and further threatened his promotion?

  Someone knocked on the door. I jumped off the counter without thinking, my muscles programed to flee at the slightest disturbance. I stood motionless, poised like a rabbit at the first whiff of danger.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Three firm knocks. Not Orin. He had promised two quick, three slow. I backed into the corner, pressed my palms against the wall. It's the highway patrol officers. They recognized me. "It-It's gonna be awhile," I said. "Sick."

  A woman mumbled something incoherently on the other side of the door and left. I let out a long breath and rubbed my face.

  I opened my backpack and groped for fresh clothing. Newspaper crinkled against my fingers. Delano's present. I lifted it out, the ribbon of shadow now gone. I slid my thumb beneath the piece of tape—protecting the newsprint from ripping as if it were fine parchment—and peeled back the wrapping.

  It took me a heartbeat to realize what I saw. I then squeaked with surprise and slapped the paper against the gift. I glanced over my shoulder, as if I was sixteen and my mother lingered in the doorway, ready to ground me the instant she assumed I had done something wrong. She wasn't there, of course. The one place she lingered was inside my head.

  Why on Earth did Delano give you a gift like that? I'll tell you why. It's because he knows you are a—

  I pushed her voice out of my thoughts, then scanned the bathroom for spiders who would tattle to Orin. I checked the stall, the sink, the wastebasket, the hand dryer, the changing table with a picture of an excited koala. No spiders. Only a moth nestled in the corner above the door, nearly invisible against the beige wall.

  Delano? Are you here?

  My insides buzzed with that naughty sixteen-year-old tingle. I peeled back the newspaper, exposing a bra and three matching panties, each made of fine, indigo lace. I was clueless as to where Delano had found them. Orin and I had passed mainly truck stops, convenience stores, and rural shops on our trek. This lingerie belonged in a Paris boutique.

  I stroked a satin strap, smooth beneath my finger. Maybe I should have been offended and listened to Orin's warnings—that Delano was a seducer and a trickster. Which was believable, considering his kiss from last night still tingled on my wrist, and I yearned to thrust my body against his in thanks. Did that prove Orin's warning had merit, however? I thought about the chickadee's lecture in the boxcar, scolding me for confusing impulse with instinct. Was my desire for Delano impulse? Were lies tangled in these designer threads, his bait gift-wrapped in newspaper and lace? Maybe that was Delano's scheme. Intrigue me, love me, lure me. Then crush me when I let him close. Or maybe what I feel is instinct. Maybe I was so broken, so discarded, that I saw demons in kindness, crimes in compassion, and believed all the negatives even if they were lies.

  I pulled out a small white card tucked between two of the panties. In perfect black cursive it read: I thought you might appreciate some security during unstable times. —D

  I snorted, then giggled, then couldn't stop. Perverted or not, lingerie was what I had been pining for the past week. I buried my mouth into the crook of my elbow, biting my overcoat's sleeve to muffle my laughter. In the mirror my cheeks flushed as red as pomegranates, and the ache in my chest was the best sensation I had felt since ... when? Before being lost in the woods? Before jumping the train? Before my loveless marriage?

  Of course, if Orin was right about Delano, this sensation was incredibly dangerous. I glanced at the trash bin, knowing I needed to throw Delano's gift inside. Instead I tore the tags off with my teeth and untied my boot laces. Just trying them on won't harm anything, I reasoned. The moth wiggled its rear against the wall as if settling in for a movie-night.

  "You better close your eyes," I told the moth, then stripped naked and changed into my new pretties. I pivoted on my toes in front of the mirror, beaming like a supermodel. The bra and panties fit perfectly, as if the lace were indigo vines which had crept onto my skin. Okay, you had your fun. Now throw them away. Covering the li
ngerie with truck stop clothing felt insulting, but I did so anyway, hyperaware of the indigo secrets pressed against my skin. I slid my hands over my hips, buzzing inside and yearning to be reckless. Be calm. Be calm. Be calm. I took a deep breath and forced my composure, like an injured bird fearing the flock would kill them the instant its weakness was discovered.

  Knock-Knock. Knock ... Knock ... Knock.

  Orin.

  "Miriam! You will never believe the ride I found! Hurry up before they change their mind!"

  "Be right there." I glanced in the mirror before leaving the bathroom. My face was neutral. The face of a bird too afraid to sing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  "That's our ride?"

  Orin nodded enthusiastically. "Great, huh? They're heading to Montana, so they will take us most of our way. All it cost was groceries and my fedora." Orin bounded off to the gigantic RV at the gas pump, his boot buckles jingling. The RV must have been the top of the line in its heyday, which I assumed was somewhere around the early eighties. Rust spots now dotted the mustard stripe highlighting its center, and tie-dye curtains hung in windows crowded with decals of hearts and stars. Each hubcap was painted yellow with a black smiley face. The eye of the rear had been chipped, making the wheel look as if it was winking.

  A young man, no older than twenty-two, in patched jeans and a stitched suede coat popped out of the RV's side door. His short, dark dreadlocks poked out of Orin's fedora like a squid who'd been crushed with a conch-shell. "Aaaaallll aaaabooooard," he called out, then disappeared inside, cackling as if he had told the wittiest of jokes.

  A chubby brunette in a tropical wrap-skirt and a puffy ski jacket crushed her cigarette with a Doc Martin before climbing into the RV. A brown Volvo pulled up to the neighboring gas pump. I hid my face from the driver and followed Orin into the RV.

  The interior reminded me of a grizzled man unable to let go of his younger, protesting days. The brown carpet and plaid upholstery were worn and ripped, the couch brightened with paisley throw pillows and a fuzzy black blanket with a huge marijuana leaf in the center—the kind sold on roadsides, strung up on chain-link fences. The cupboard above the brown stove and refrigerator had no doors, displaying an impressive stash of boxed macaroni and cheese. To the left was the bathroom and a bare mattress peeking out beyond an open accordion doorway. A multicolored glass pipe sat on the tabletop behind the passenger seat, along with a box of matches, an orange highlighter, an empty wine bottle caked in candle wax, and a kingsize bag of Skittles. The RV couldn't scream "drugs on board" any louder if it had a gigantic bong strapped to the fender.