Dark Hollows

by Steve Frech

  She’s still smiling.

  “There’s only one way you could know that …”

  Everything aligns. Everything makes sense.

  “You were there,” I whisper. “You were at the warehouse, that night … You were the reason she needed to talk to me. It was you. She was trying to warn me that you were out. You were the reason she was at the warehouse, looking for me … She was trying to get away from you … You were there …”

  Rachel shakes her head. “I only wanted to talk to her. I was going to show her that we could be happy. I followed her there, and she ran inside. I parked in the road, and was walking up when I heard the shot. I hid, and then I saw you,” she spits, “standing over us with the gun. You sat down, and watched us die.” Tears begin spilling down her cheeks. “You could have saved us. You could have gotten help, but you didn’t. You shot us, and watched us die. After you left, I went inside to find her, and I found that door, in the basement. I knew. That’s where you put us. You left us in that room to rot!”

  “Rachel, I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay? I didn’t shoot Laura.”

  Her eyes flash with anger. “You’re lying!”

  “I’m not,” I reply, as calmly as I can, “and I can show you.”

  She blinks.

  “I went to the warehouse to meet a guy named Reggie. He was a bad person who tried to kill me. We were in the warehouse, and he shot me. The bullet went through me, it went through my side, and hit Laura.”

  I don’t know if she believes me, but I can see the first signs of doubt in the quiver of her lips, and the trembling of the gun.

  “I’m going to lift up my shirt, okay?”

  She doesn’t answer, only waits.

  Very deliberately, keeping my hands in view, I slowly take a hold of my shirt, and pull it upwards. I twist slightly to show her the matching scars on my side.

  “Here,” I say, speaking very slowly. “That’s where the bullet went in, and there’s where the bullet came out. Reggie shot Laura, and I killed Reggie. I hit him with a pipe, and killed him. You never saw him, because he was hidden. I took the gun from his hand, just in case he was still alive, and I went to Laura. That’s when you saw us. Afterwards, I put them in that room because I—I didn’t know what else to do, but that’s what you saw. I didn’t shoot Laura.”

  She’s wavering. The certainty is gone. “No … No … You killed us.”

  “Rachel, look at me, okay? Look right here,” I say, pointing to my eyes. “I didn’t shoot Laura.”

  Her trembling becomes worse. Her lips are shaking. The tears are pouring from her eyes and make a light pat-pat as they land on the floor.

  “You’re lying! You shot us!”

  “Her! I didn’t shoot her!” I snap. “You’re not Laura! Don’t you get it?! You made her go there, that night. You scared her so much, she ran to that warehouse to get away from you! It’s your fault, too, dammit! I didn’t kill her! I just didn’t sa— I didn’t save her.” I can’t stop the words before they leave my mouth.

  She stares at me. Fear and revulsion begin to take hold.

  “No …” she quietly pleads.

  “You’re the reason she came looking for me that night, and I didn’t shoot her.”

  The gun lowers slightly. Her mouth twists in agony.

  I see it happen.

  I watch as her broken mind sees clarity, recognizing that she shares some of the responsibility for Laura’s death. Her heart breaks right in front of me. She keeps the gun pointed in my direction, but doubles over, as if she’s going to vomit.

  “No … No!” she cries, and lets out a blood-curdling scream. Her body is racked with sobs. “Laura … Oh God … Laura …”

  I could make a grab at the gun, but there’s a couple of feet between us, and she still has it pointed in my direction. If I make a dash for it, she could panic and pull the trigger.

  My slight hesitation ruins any chance I may have had.

  She straightens up and continues speaking through her choked sobs.

  “Oh my God … Laura … My parents … What did I do?”

  “Rachel, listen to me.”

  My voice brings her back. She steadies the gun, but her face is still a mask of pain and anguish.

  “It will be okay,” I tell her. “The police are on their way. Just put the gun down. We’ll get you help.”

  She looks at the floor in thought, and then looks back up at me. “No … No. They’ll say I’m crazy, and send me back to that place. That’s not fair. It’s not fair to my parents or Laura. Someone has to pay.” She chokes on the words. “I have to pay.”

  “It’s okay, Rachel. It will be all right.”

  She shakes her head. “No … it won’t.”

  She glances at the ground one more time.

  Now. I have to move, now.

  “You said the police are on their way?” she asks, eyes still on the floor.

  “Yes. The lady said the police are on their way with an ambulance. They’ll be able to help you.”

  I steady myself on the balls of my feet.

  This is it.

  I shift my weight forward and prepare to—

  She looks up.

  Her expression freezes me in place. She has an angelic smile, as if she’s had an epiphany.

  “I know,” she says, her smile breaking through her tears. “I know how to make it right. I’m to blame. I played a part in Laura’s death. And there’s my parents. I have to pay for what I did.”

  “Rachel, you don’t—”

  “But you’re right, too … You didn’t save her.”

  My heart stops.

  Her pain has completely disappeared. She’s calm, peaceful, and self-assured. “But do you know what? You saved yourself. I didn’t think you could, but you did. You saved yourself, and you saved Murphy. And you showed me that I have to be fair.”

  I can’t speak.

  “You said the police and an ambulance were on their way?” she asks.

  “… Yes.”

  She shakes her head at me like she can’t believe how perfect it all is. “I’m going to show you mercy, Jacob Reese. You didn’t save her, but I’m going to show you mercy.”

  “That’s great, Rachel. Thank you. Now can you please—?”

  “I’m going to show you mercy by giving you what you took from Laura.”

  I blink.

  “What do you mean? What are you going to give me that I took from Laura?”

  “You took away Laura’s chance to live, but I’m going to give you one. That’s how you pay; I’m going to give you a chance.”

  With tears in her eyes, and a benevolent smile, she aims the gun slightly lower …

  And fires.

  I collapse onto the floor in a ball, clutching my stomach. It feels like I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer. The pain is so intense, I want to scream. I want to wail like a child, but all I can manage are strained grunts through clenched teeth. Rachel is talking, but my ears are ringing, and her voice sounds like it’s reaching me underwater. I’m vaguely aware of Murphy barking outside. I make the mistake of looking down at my hands. I pull them away from my stomach. They’re covered in blood. My blood. I go back to pressing them against the wound, trying to hold my life inside of me.

  I roll onto my side, still curled into a ball, and look outwards. Rachel’s feet are within arm’s length. The sledgehammer pain in my stomach morphs to include the sensation of a white-hot poker being driven through my gut. My eyes are bulging and every muscle is straining. The ringing in my ears is fading. I can hear Murphy outside, and Rachel’s voice finally comes through clearly.

  “—all of this, and you’re right. I only wanted to be fair. So, I need to pay. I have to pay for what I did … and it’s time for me to sleep.”

  I raise my head and look at her feet.

  There’s a silence.

  The gun fires.

  It clatters to the floor next to her feet.

  Rachel falls.


  Her body offers no resistance as it collapses. Her head hits the floor, her face in my direction. Her eyes are open. They still have that angelic look. Her mouth holds that serene smile. Slowly, her facial features go slack as her muscles relax. Her eyes remain open but the smile fades. Blood begins to seep out from under her head. It inches across the floor towards me.

  I turn away, and press myself tighter into a ball.

  Every twitch sends bolts of pain through my body.

  Murphy’s still barking.

  My hands feel warm. I need to slow the bleeding.

  I don’t think the bullet went through. I think it’s still in—

  FUCK!

  The pain is blinding. I’m still grunting, even though every grunt causes my stomach to contract, which brings a horrible flash of pain, which causes me to grunt, again, starting the cycle over.

  The bleeding. I need to slow the bleeding. I think the bullet is still in me. I can use gravity.

  I twist myself and roll onto my back. I let loose a scream, which brings more pain, and clamp down on my stomach.

  Murphy’s barking pauses, then grows more frantic than before.

  Being on my back should help slow the blood loss. I press harder with my hands.

  I start crying.

  This is indescrib— I hear them.

  Sirens, approaching fast.

  Murphy continues barking.

  Good boy, Lassie. Tell them that Timmy is in the well.

  I almost laugh, but grunt, which snaps my mind back into focus.

  I’m going into shock. The pain is lessening.

  I have to stay here.

  I have to keep my eyes open.

  The sirens are growing louder.

  Hurry. Please, God. Please! Hurry!

  Keep your eyes open! Focus on the ceiling. Keep staring at the—

  —heavy steel door. There’s a pressure on my shoulder.

  “Jacob?” a voice whispers.

  I turn.

  It’s Laura.

  We’re standing in the warehouse. The music from the—

  —STAY HERE!

  I can see faint red, blue, and yellow lights playing across the ceiling. They’re getting brighter. The sirens are growing louder.

  Hurry. Please.

  I just need to hold on. I just need to focus. Focus on the pain. Keep your eyes—

  —music box fills the warehouse. There are pinpoints of light overhead like stars. All around us, moving through the piles of rotting wooden pallets, people are dancing, waltzing to the music. I catch a glimpse of my parents dancing together. I see Reggie dancing with Rachel. Two of the dancing figures don’t have faces. Somehow, I know they are Rachel’s parents. Everyone is elegantly spinning to chimes of the music box.

  Laura smiles at me and holds out her hand. “May I have this—?”

  —KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN!

  I press on my stomach, knowing the agony it will cause, but the flash of torture keeps my mind in the present.

  DON’T DANCE!

  I can hear the cars in the driveway, outside.

  The sirens cut off but the lights continue to play across the ceiling and the walls.

  I can do this. I can do this. I just have to keep my eyes open.

  Hurry.

  I hear voices. Loud voices. They’re at the door. Heavy footsteps. They’re coming towards me. They’re in the room.

  Hurry!

  I just need to keep my eyes open!

  HURRY! PLE—

  Chapter 17

  I hate this heart monitor.

  I know that’s a weird thing to say because it’s reminding me that I’m still alive, but after four days of relentless, methodical beeping, it’s driving me crazy.

  Four days. That’s how long I’ve been awake. I’ve been in this hospital for eight days, but I was out for the first four.

  I remember being shot. I remember lying on the floor of the cottage. I remember the sounds of the footsteps and voices coming towards me, but that’s it.

  Then, it was all dreams and oblivion.

  I wandered around all the places from my life: my childhood, Laura’s dorm, Mattie’s house, the warehouse, my parents’ funeral, The Hollows. Everywhere I went, I was the last person on Earth, haunting my own memories. Every place was quiet, except for the occasional random voice from somewhere in the distance. Some of them I recognized: Laura, Sandy, my father, Rachel. Others were alien, forceful voices shouting things I couldn’t understand.

  Finally, after feeling as though I had wandered for years, I ended up in the cottage, standing over the first and only person I encountered on my travels: myself, bleeding out on the cottage floor. Then, everything went black.

  I could have stayed there. Enveloped in nothing, but then I started to hear this rhythmic sound from somewhere in the distant darkness. It grew louder and louder and the blackness around me grew lighter and lighter.

  That’s when I opened my eyes.

  The first thing I saw and heard was the heart monitor.

  The light in the hospital room was blinding. There was a mask over my nose and mouth and a tube going down my throat. I panicked and tried to move, but my body wouldn’t respond. I could only slightly shift my weight, which caused me to be nauseous.

  “It’s okay. You’re okay, Jacob,” the doctor said in a soothing tone from my bedside. “I’m Dr Jensen. This is Nurse Hemmings.” He nodded to the middle-aged nurse on the other side of the bed and continued, “It’s best if you don’t try to move, okay?”

  The panic subsided. I realized that I must have been drugged up to my eyeballs.

  Dr Jensen held up a small whiteboard and placed it on the bed at my side. He then took out a marker. “Now, I don’t want you to try to talk but we do need to communicate a little, okay?”

  I lightly nodded.

  He put the marker in my hand, which I realized I had some control over, and placed it on the whiteboard.

  “Do you remember what happened?” he asked.

  I ignored his question and wrote ‘Murphy’ in a comical looping script because my fingers only slightly followed my brain’s commands.

  “He’s fine,” Dr Jensen said. “He’s with your friend, Sandy. She’s keeping an eye on him.”

  A flood of relief swept over me.

  “Do you remember being shot?”

  ‘Yes’, I wrote.

  Dr Jensen proceeded to explain to me that the bullet had been a wrecking ball to my guts. Those are my words, not his. I lost a lot of blood and almost cashed out in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. They operated on me for almost sixteen hours to repair the damage and it had been touch and go the whole time. They were finally able to stabilize me but had to put me into a medically induced coma, hence my around the world travels.

  They removed the tube two days ago. I’m still on a drip for my nutrients and I’ve been told that I’m off solid foods for a while. For four days, I’ve been lying on this bed with nothing to do but think and turn over every moment that led me here. After a few hours, you just accept the catheter and the bedpan and the sponge baths and the constant blood draws and the overly enthusiastic ‘How We Doin’?s’ from the nurse. She’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not in the mood.

  I know the police are going to want to talk to me. As soon as they took out the tube, it was only a matter of time. I still can’t really move, but I am starting to talk, even if it is barely above a whisper.

  I’m alive.

  I fought my way here. I convinced Rachel to let Murphy go. I convinced her that I didn’t kill Laura, but I did play a part in her death, and for that, she gave me a chance, and I beat it. It could have easily gone the other way. Rachel made a decision and let the chips fall where they may … and I beat it. I got my life back.

  But now, I have a choice to make and I’ve done nothing but turn it over in my mind for the past four days because it’s going to determine what type of life I’m going to get back.

  When the police come to
talk to me, I can do one of two things.

  I can tell them everything: Laura, Mattie, Reggie, Rachel, all of it. I can come clean and finally get this off my chest. I don’t know what comes after that, but I could stop hiding. I could stop looking over my shoulder. The nightmares would stop. The downside would be jail. I don’t know for how long. I did kill Reggie. That would have to come out. Maybe I could argue it was self-defense. I have no idea if it would work. I don’t want to go to jail. Not at all. The thought of being locked up for an indeterminate amount of time for whatever they charge me with terrifies me, but this would all be over, and not just for me. Mrs Aisling and Amy could start to move on, too.

  Which brings me to my other option: I can keep going.

  There’s nothing that really ties me to Rachel or Laura or Reggie. I can plead ignorance. I don’t think Veronica or the rental car guy would want to get involved. They probably won’t even hear of this. Maybe Amy would, but that’s a risk I have to take. I also don’t think Mrs Aisling is a very reliable witness. I can lie all over again and say Rachel was a crazy woman who thought I killed Laura. They’ll have the records and I don’t think Dr Cavanaugh would tell them about my visit. They also have Rachel’s dead parents. I can be one of her victims who just got lucky.

  Once it all blows over, I can rebuild my life, leave The Hollows, and maybe start another coffee shop in some other perfect New England town, but the doubt would always be there. What if Rachel left a clue? What if I’m wrong and there is something to connect me to everything? How much worse would it be when they put the handcuffs on me then, rather than if I confess, now? But what if I can keep going, get through this, and it’ll all be over? But how would I know it was really over? The answer is that I won’t. I’ll be free, but the guilt and the nightmares will continue, and the looks over my shoulder might be more frequent.

  It’s all I can think about in between the sponge baths, ice-chip lunches, and the incessant beeping of this fucking heart monitor. Yes, my heart is beating but it’s a constant reminder that the time to make a decision is running out.

  *

  I know.

  I know the moment Dr Jensen walks through the door two days later that the time has come.