Nothing but Darkness (Darkness Series Book 1)

by Maria Ann Green

  I’m to Eva’s car in a matter of seconds, before she has a chance to register what I’m doing, and before I’ve even decided what I plan to do when I get there. Standing next to her driver’s side, I start banging my fists on her window. I know it won’t break from the force of my hands, so no real damage will be made, but it will get my point across.

  Eva’s face morphs from confident to terrified. Finally she seems to realize what she’s been doing. I’m larger, wider, stronger, and much fucking crazier than she’ll ever be. She never should have started this idiotic revenge shit.

  As each thump continues to land against her glass, my mouth moves of its own accord. I’m not thinking about what I’m screaming before it comes out, but that doesn’t make it any less satisfying.

  “You fucking psycho bitch. I’m done with your crazy fucking shit.” Each satisfying utterance of fuck is accompanied by a connection of skin to glass. And each loud crack forces Eva to shrink further into herself and away from the window she seems sure will break into her face. “You need to stop fucking stalking me or you’re going to fucking regret it when the fucking police drag you away. You’ve already lost your fucking job, which you weren’t even qualified for in the first fucking place, so why do you feel the need to also lose every small fucking piece of dignity you had left? You’re fucking pathetic, following me around like you’re going to fucking intimidate me.” I’m almost out of breath as well as steam, though I push on for one last insult. “Get a fucking life, you useless piece of shit.”

  Instead of waiting to listen to a rebuttal, I turn and tromp right back through my still-open front door into the warmth of my house. Once inside, my toes start to sting, but I relish it. At least there’s adrenaline pumping through my veins now, and I’ve lost the frozen paralysis. I have a feeling other than fear crushing me.

  After locking my door, I put on socks, grab a blanket, and camp out on the couch in front of the television. I need to know all of what’s known about The-One-Who-Doesn’t-Count’s murder.

  I watch horrified, yet glued to every second of the horror. My eyes are dry, and they sting from bulging without blinking for so long. My thoughts move slowly, and I don’t feel anything but numb.

  I know where my missing watch went now. The police found it for me. It went down with The-One-Who-Doesn’t-Count. It went into the water with her body. It went there and now it’s been brought back. With her. The two are connected. Forever.

  I can never take back the costly mistake.

  There weren’t pictures of it on the news, thankfully. Still, I know it’s mine. There’s no one else it could belong to. The reports said among the debris the police located a men’s watch, and they’re sure it didn’t belong to The-One-Who-Doesn’t-Count.

  They’re sure.

  And they’re testing for DNA.

  I don’t know if there will be any left after so long in the corrosive ocean water, but they’re looking. And they hope to find some, so they’ll look extensively. There isn’t a silver lining for me tonight either, because even if they come up empty on a bright red DNA arrow pointing to me, they’ll start trying to locate the owner in other ways. I have no idea if my watch had a serial number or if it’s traceable, but I fucking hope not.

  I watch.

  And I watch.

  And I watch, wishing I had been more careful.

  ****

  Ten hours after learning of her waterlogged body’s find, I feel just as awful as when the news first broke. I’ve reminded myself over and over I took extensive efforts to destroy almost every link to myself. All but the damn watch. I try to hold desperately onto the knowledge it should be impossible to find me, to blame me, to connect me to The-One-Who-Doesn’t-Count.

  I should be okay.

  I should still be safe.

  But I don’t feel that way yet. Not at all.

  The thought that works to calm me down enough to sleep is: if they’re going to tie her to me, there’s nothing I can do about it now. I don’t need to look suspicious. In fact, I need to live my life normally.

  Choosing the path I have will always keep me at some level of risk. I can’t get rid of it all no matter how smart I think I am. I could be caught at any time for any of my playmates. So I need to live every moment to the fullest and remember to make myself happy at every turn.

  I can’t live in fear, and I resolve I won’t.

  ****

  “Leave me alone. I can’t take it anymore.” My voice is hoarse, scratching my throat.

  “Why on earth would I do that? I’m just getting to the fun part.”

  Looking up, I see someone familiar straddling me. A knife at my throat. In the back of my mind I tell myself I should know who she is. Yet that small voice is overpowered by the louder, angrier one screaming in my face determined to hurt me.

  She stabs me over and over. I should be dead. There’s blood everywhere. How can there be any left in me? I keep trying to fight, but nothing’s working. My arms are heavy and my legs are bound together.

  It’s much more fun being the enforcer of pain than the one feeling it.

  “You can’t take what you dish out?”

  “I’m not meant to.” I scream in her face.

  This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

  “I’m making you better. This will make you stronger. You’ll be better because of me. You’re better with me.”

  And it comes to me. I know who she is. And I know what she wants.

  I try to say her name, only I can’t because she’s severed my vocal cords.

  ****

  So I was able to sleep. It was fitful, and not without nightmares or thrashing, but I slept nonetheless. I stayed in bed until the sun started to go down once again. It’s now Sunday evening, and I’ve wasted the entire day.

  But I’m finally starting to feel safer. Safe enough to be me again. So the day had purpose.

  I may have decided to live fully, but that’ll start tomorrow. I won’t be looking for my next playdate tonight. I don’t think my heart would be in it.

  I get up, dragging myself to the living room. There’s no need to get dressed. I’ll be alone until work tomorrow. Since Bee is working today, I have no one to impress. I look out the window, and a smile breaks the plane of my face for the first time since Bee went home yesterday. Eva’s still gone.

  Thank fucking god.

  She peeled away after my violent outburst last night and hasn’t come back since. I don’t want to hold my breath, but I seriously hope she’s come to her senses and is gone for good. Maybe I scared her straight, or I could’ve just scared her shitless. Either way, if it prevents her from following me anymore I’m fine with it.

  Back on the couch, I decide not to watch the news tonight. Any update on the autopsy or investigation of The-One-Who-Doesn’t-Count can wait. I need to regain more of my previous and natural resolve before watching any more that will send my stomach to the floor.

  I don’t regret what I’ve done, and if I could take it back I wouldn’t, so I need to stop worrying. I just need the time to calm down and return to normal.

  After three or four beers, and well into my second action movie, I’m feeling a lot closer to the normal I wanted to return to. I’m starting to wonder if there’s a healing quality to Sundays. Something about them just makes life easier.

  My movie ends, and I switch from the DVD to live TV while I make myself something to eat. The alcohol is going a little too quickly to my head without food in my stomach, and I have to work tomorrow. Banter between fictional characters fills the room as I dig for leftovers in the fridge.

  Maybe I should just order something. My fridge looks like a bachelor lives here.

  As the sitcom moves into a commercial, I regret ever switching from the menu of my movie.

  Are you fucking serious?

  “News tonight at ten. Another woman missing shortly after the retrieval of the last. Should women be fearful? Learn more at ten.”

  I can’t take it aga
in so soon.

  I saw Kristi’s face and my suspicion was confirmed, with taunting from the same beautiful anchor who’s been mocking me lately. Her concern is like spit in my face. I can’t escape. It’s just one blow after another, and I’m struggling not to run from the force weighing down on me. The urge to hide in a deep hole is getting stronger as complications arise.

  But I know running, and hiding, will only bring suspicion. I can’t give in.

  I flick the TV off, forgetting my thoughts of food. Instead I head to the shower. I can’t help but cling to the idea a hot shower can wash my worries away. A hot shower can drown out the outside world.

  Under the water, I turn my face to its heat. I imagine every negative emotion pent up inside me washing away, down the drain, after being expelled with each loud exhale. As my breathing becomes deeper and more rhythmic, I notice something better and more confident returning.

  But of course those happy thoughts aren’t long-lasting. What the fuck else did I expect this weekend?

  The window in the bathroom fills with red and blue flashing lights. They seem to beat against me harder than any fist could. I’m stuck, rooted to the spot, by confusion and terror. I can’t hear the sirens over the pounding water around me, but I know they’re going off outside.

  Is this it?

  Am I finished?

  Have they connected me to my playmates? Is my world about to end?

  I turn off the shower once movement seems to connect with my brain again and rush, naked, to the bathroom window. I was right; I can hear the sirens now since the water isn’t running to cover it up. And they’re loud.

  The cars are right outside.

  Everything seems to dull in my peripherals. Colors all fade to gray, and the sounds of the police cars wane. I watch in amazement as the room tips sideways, the ceiling getting farther away.

  Then there’s nothing.

  I fainted. I fucking fainted.

  When I realize this, my head is pounding. I check in the mirror and there are no cuts, though there may be a bruise later. I have no time to examine any longer, because hard thumping knocks sound at my front door.

  They’re ready to take me away.

  But I won’t run. It would only look worse.

  Even if they drag me away right now, even if they charge me, who’s to say it would stick? Their case isn’t airtight. A watch isn’t enough to lock me away. No jury would be convinced with the little evidence they have.

  I quickly wrap a towel around my waist, trying to breathe normally as I walk to the door. As I turn the knob, I wonder if they’d let me put clothes on before shoving me into the backseat. It’s freezing, so I’d hope so.

  “Police.” A deep voice booms from the other side, just before the door opens.

  “Can I help you, officers?”

  Breathe.

  “Mr. Jacobson?” The older of the two men speaks. The other stands silently, taking in my lack of clothing and confident posture. I glance at their nametags, stalling for time. Officer Brown and Officer Lawrence look ready to strike.

  Keep breathing.

  My time is up.

  “Mr. Jacobson, when was the last time you were at Delta’s?” The other officer cuts in.

  No.

  “It’s not a good idea to lie to us. Just answer the question. We know you were there, and we know what you did while you were there.” The older cop takes over once again. They are almost tripping over each other.

  I feel faint again.

  Kristi is the only thing I can think about. Her face is the only thing I see. Her haggard, wrinkly skin replaces first one officer, then the next, leaving two uniformed dead women interrogating me. I was at Delta’s, they’re right. And I did do something really bad to the waitress who used to work there.

  “Are you listening to me, Jacobson?” The younger one reaches out and shakes my shoulder. His contact is the jolt I needed.

  Wait…did he say Jacobson?

  “That’s not my name. I’m Aidan Sheppard.”

  Could it be?

  Lawrence looks to Brown for reassurance before continuing. “Is this 3057?”

  Holy fuck, it could.

  I point to the mailbox on the street and its brass numbers. “I’m 3061. Fifty-seven is next door.” Again I point them in the right direction.

  I don’t need to remind myself to breathe anymore.

  “Thanks. Sorry to bother you, sir. Have a nice evening.”

  And then they leave. They walk down my steps, down my driveway. Neither turns around. Neither stops and comes back to arrest me. As I strain, I can hear yelling from the house next to mine as well. They weren’t looking for me. My heart soars, and I slam my door closed.

  The police weren’t here for me.

  They weren’t here to arrest me for murder.

  Holy fucking shit.

  I jump up twice with my hands in the air and a smile on my face that could crack concrete. But my luck runs out as my feet meet hardwood for the second time.

  I slip and fall hard on my ass.

  Fuck.

  Nothing more than a groan comes out as the pain twinges, radiating from where I touch floor. There was too much water dripping from my skin to the now-slippery surface beneath me.

  It hurts, and I’m annoyed at my own behavior, but I’ll take a bruised ass over life in prison.

  As I slowly get up, I realize how close my nerves came to breaking. It was all too much. The sheer panic, the rush of relief, it’s all been overwhelming. I’ve come so fucking close to losing everything this weekend.

  More than once.

  As the emotions ebb, exhaustion sets in. I can barely stand any longer, and I take the cue to limp to bed. I can’t take one more thing today. I wiggle beneath the sheets, still wet and naked, and I couldn’t care less.

  As I drift off, the sirens stop, yet the lights keep flashing in my room. With the fear gone, they create more of a hazy quality to the room. And I can still hear the shouts left over from some domestic dispute feet away from my bedroom.

  But the yelling isn’t what rips me from the precipice of sleep.

  Two sharp staccato raps at my front door jar me awake.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  Instead of dressing, or even looking for my discarded towel, I drag my sheets with me and hold them in front of my dick. Anyone stupid enough to be bothering me right now deserves any shock they get from my state of dress.

  “What?” I try hard not to yell, though I still say the word too loud. There may be some accusation laced in the syllable as well. I just want to sleep.

  No one answers. There isn’t anyone standing on the other side of my door. There isn’t even anyone running away. It’s just empty, and it’s cold. Maybe I imagined the sounds. But then the frigid wind whistles by, whipping something into view.

  A note’s taped to the outside of my door.

  Someone was here. But they’re gone now.

  I grab it, letting the door swing closed. Something stirs in the pit of my stomach, knowing I don’t want to read this. So I lock the deadbolt and limp back to bed before looking. But I can’t wait forever; it can’t be ignored.

  It’s typed. I won’t be doing any amateur writing analyses then.

  I hold my breath and begin to read.

  Aidan,

  I know whose watch they found in the water. I know what you’ve done. I know what you are. I’ve been watching you.

  I read it twice, then crumple it up, turning off my bedside light. But seconds later I sit up, switch it back on, and reread it three more times. I don’t learn anything new. The words never change.

  Someone’s been watching.

  Someone other than Eva has been watching me, and for longer. It can’t be her, because I haven’t had a playdate or collected a donation since she became my shadow. Someone else out there knows. Someone knows my darkest secret, knows who I am inside, only they didn’t threaten me. They didn’t ask for anything.

  The
y just told me they know.

  I burn the note, flushing the ashes down the toilet. Though after I finish, there isn’t much else I can do besides sleep. If they’re watching, and they know, then all I can do is wait.

  They’ll have to have a playdate eventually, but first we’ll have to be introduced.

  I can wait. I can be patient if they aren’t going to the police yet.

  I’ll deal with it, but only when the time’s right.

  With that resolution, sleep finally catches me and wraps me up in oblivion.

  Monday morning’s light breaks too soon after my eyes closed. They feel as raw as my ass, but despite the ache my nerves are surprisingly calm. Nothing a little aspirin and coffee can’t fix, which is exactly what I grab on my way out of the house to work.

  I still believe my anonymous admirer is going to keep quiet. There probably isn’t any DNA on the watch. And Eva is again missing from the neighborhood’s landscape. I’ve received no calls, no knocks on my door for questioning, and I’m beginning to think there never will be. No suspicion has been thrown my way despite the ample amount of time there’s been for it. No repercussions seem to be blowing toward me, and because of this my steps into work are much lighter than they would’ve been had I been walking in this weekend.

  Life isn’t so bad.

  As I walk up to our adjoining offices, I notice Jason is already inside and settled. He must have gotten in early. Show-off. So much for work as usual. I knew he’d cave. I lean into his office to say hello, still in an upbeat mood.

  “How was your weekend?”

  Right now I have no qualms about stupid chitchat with Jason. He can talk up and down about Kama Sutra positions with Amelia, and I won’t blink an eye.

  “Boring. Didn’t do shit. What about you?”

  Taking a second to look at Jason instead of past him or into my own thoughts, I notice how weathered he looks. His normal exuberance is missing. It’s been replaced by fatigue and annoyance. He’s hunched as if a lot is sitting on his shoulders. I debate asking Jason what’s wrong, but think better before I do. He usually shares with me when he’s ready. And if he hasn’t yet, then he isn’t ready.