Something in the Dark

by Pamela Cowan

  Everything had begun to happen after she was locked in the potting shed. Did it wake up then?

  Had there been something in that bomb shelter after all, something that stayed in the background waiting and hoping to be freed.? What if her panic attacks, the fear that drove her mind to escape to a place deeper than sleep was what it needed to awake? Did it take over the use of her body and filled with evil intent did it then attack and kill those around her?

  No. That was crazy. Was she really losing her mind? Things like that don’t exist. She tried shaking off the thought, though once given form it wouldn’t fade so easily. Starting the truck, she drove toward home. The unwanted thoughts traveled with her, as constant and unrelenting as anything she might have met once, in the dark.

  Chapter 29

  In the morning the phone woke Austin. Answering, she found Josh’s father on the other end.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Mikkelson?” she asked.

  “Have you seen Josh?” he asked, concern roughening his voice.

  Austin was suddenly wide awake. “No, I haven’t. I haven’t seen him since…since Thursday morning, the day. . .”

  “Yes, we heard about your friend. I’m very sorry to hear about it, and now I’m getting a little scared. I had some concern about Josh working for you after what happened to his coworker, and then your friend, and now it looks like he’s disappeared.”

  “When?” she asked.

  “He left Thursday night on his bike. Said he was going for a ride, but I imagine he was heading to town to get another pack of cancer sticks. Wife and I went to bed, and when we got up, there was no sign of him. Didn’t worry us at first. Figured he went in to work early. Then we heard on the news about your friend getting killed. Called the nursery and found out it was closed. That’s when we started to get—well, we’re worried,” he admitted.

  “The police?” Austin asked, climbing out of bed and sliding her feet into her slippers.

  “They told us at first they couldn’t count him missing for several more hours. Then we told them he worked for you and they got busy and started looking. Haven’t heard nothing. I left a message on your phone.”

  “I haven’t been checking it.”

  “I figured.”

  “What can I do?” Austin asked.

  “Just let me know if you see him, that’s all.”

  “I promise, Mr. Mikkelson,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for.”

  There was a click as he hung up the phone. Numbed by this last blow, Austin found it difficult at first to get through her morning routine. Part of her wanted to go back to bed, to sink into the blissful peace of sleep, to forget about Josh missing and Janice and Bunny gone forever. By the time she was dressed and had coffee she had given up on sleep. She was sick and tired of sitting around waiting to see what would happen next. She started by calling the police, working through the levels of bureaucracy until she reached Detective Clark.

  “This is Austin Ward,” she said, though she was sure he’d been told who was calling. “Two people I care the most about in this world are dead. My brother was almost killed, and now someone who works for me is missing. What are you doing about it?”

  “I assure you that we are investigating.”

  “Investigating who? I mean, who is left to investigate?” She slammed the phone down, knowing what she had just done was stupid and childish, nothing more than a temper tantrum, directed toward the person who was probably working hardest. No doubt she'd apologize for her outburst at some point in the future, but for the moment she felt a little better. Now, to do something a little less pointless.

  Digging out her photo albums, she looked for pictures taken at one of the summer barbecues. She sifted through them until she found a clear shot of Josh.

  Thinking how shocking her plan could be to the Mikkelsons, she called them.

  “Marga?”

  “Yes?” The voice was hesitant, quavering and sounded very frail. Austin knew Marga as a strong woman, as tall as her husband and as hard a worker. She drove a school bus and kept the kids in line with one look. She kept a meticulous home, a garden that provided vegetables to all the neighbors, including Austin, and helped out with the sheep whenever needed.

  “It’s Austin.” She hesitated. Then: “I’ve had no news. I only called to see. . .to tell you, rather, that I am making flyers, you know, to hang around town. I’m going to ask that anyone who saw him to call me.”

  “Do you believe this will help?”

  “Yes. At least I think so,” Austin said, afraid to offer even this slender hope, but unable not to.

  “I pray you are right. We are not so good here.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear from anyone.”

  “Thank you. We will be waiting.”

  Austin drove to The Copy Shoppe on Main Street. They had printed flyers and business cards for her before and she knew they did good work. She asked for fifty copies and taped the first one in the window of the shop. Then, armed with a roll of masking tape, Austin began to walk, stopping at the end of every block to either hang a sign in a conveniently located store or, if there was none, to tape one to a telephone pole or whatever surface was available.

  She was illegally taping a flyer to the side of a blue mail receptacle outside the barber shop when she felt a presence. Turning, she saw Mark standing and watching her.

  “I think the post office folks frown on that,” he said.

  “So?”

  “Can I help?” he asked.

  Pushing her damp bangs off her forehead, Austin nodded gratefully and said, “I thought this was a small town. I’m not halfway done and I’m wearing out.”

  “We’ll use my car. I’ll drive, you tape,” Mark offered.

  “That would be great. First stop, we need to go get some more copies made.”

  “Stay here. I’ll pick you up.” Mark turned and walked down a side street. In a moment he was back, pulling alongside and opening the Jeep’s passenger side door.

  “You look hot,” Mark said, as she slid inside and shut the door. “I mean flushed,” he quickly corrected himself.

  “I knew what you meant,” she said, giving him a small smile. “My face is hot, and I’m sweating, but my feet are wet and freezing. This little heat wave is creating a messy thaw. I’m getting sunburned and standing in slushy snow and melting ice at the same time.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Well, at least it feels like I’m doing something, instead of just sitting around waiting for the next disaster,” Austin said. “My therapist would no doubt approve.”

  “I’m sure,” answered Mark, “and so does your friend.”

  Having made this statement, Mark slid the Jeep into first gear.

  Chapter 30

  Austin opened the nursery early the following Tuesday, just one day after Janice’s funeral and five days since she had found her body.

  Some thought it was too early. Others realized it was the best thing she could do to keep from dwelling on the terrible things that had happened in her life. How she was handling this last tragedy, the disappearance of another employee, was the subject of much conjecture and concern.

  Her regulars, the customers who knew her, came in throughout the day, pushing their cars and trucks through four inches of new powder. They bought poinsettias and twine, gloves and bulbs. They all knew what had happened to Janice. The details of her death had made the news, yet no one asked about it. No one, seeing Austin’s pale face, and her red-rimmed eyes, could mistake the fact of her mourning.

  Josh’s disappearance was another matter entirely. Several customers asked if they’d received any calls yet. Austin realized that they had seen the posters she and Mark had put up all over town, in some way that had made it a public matter that they felt free to speak to her about.

  Austin avoided ringing up customers as best she could, concentrating on putting together garlands from boughs
provided by their Christmas tree man, Ben, who had set up on the far side of the parking lot and seemed to be doing a brisk business now that it was only three days to Christmas.

  After the garlands were tied together, Austin added red bows and shiny ornaments. Then with Shellie’s help they sprayed the garlands with artificial snow. They were selling as fast as she could put them together. and Shellie had just left with an armful of garlands to deliver to the tree stand when Paco walked in.

  “Paco! she exclaimed, “How nice to see you.”

  “You too,” Paco said. “Can we speak?”

  “We can try. It’s quiet for the moment, but you know how it goes.”

  “Yes, I do. May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the coffee maker.

  “Sure,” Austin said.

  Paco poured himself a cup of coffee, added creamer and three packets of sugar. Austin could see he was killing time, gathering his thoughts and his words. She waited patiently, her fingers busy tying wire to pinecones.

  “This is a very hard thing to say. We have worked well together, I think,” Paco finally said.

  Austin nodded. Afraid that she could guess where this was leading.

  Paco sipped his coffee, then set it on the counter.

  “My wife’s sister has asked me to come to work for her husband at his store. He has been sick with his heart and needs help. Also, the store is a good business. It will pay more than I make now. Also, we will live in an apartment above my wife’s sister and it is bigger than our house here.”

  “Also people are not being beaten to death, one after another, or disappearing, never to be seen again. Sounds like a step up to me,” Austin added. It was meant to be a light statement, a show of understanding, but bitterness turned her smile into something ugly.

  She turned away from him, hot tears springing to her eyes. Knuckling them away, embarrassed and surprised by her intense reaction, she said, “Well, I never thought you’d stay forever. Then she turned back around to face him. This time, her smile was genuine. “I’ll miss you, though.”

  “And I will miss you.”

  There was no talk of writing letters or exchanging emails.

  Paco put his hand out to shake hers and she ignored it, stepping forward to hug him hard instead. He hugged her back, a quick affectionate squeeze.

  The tears returned as Austin watched him walk across the parking lot and climb into his truck for the last time. She brushed them away again. There would be no falling apart. She had done that once, and where had she landed but the hospital? She didn’t want to go back there and even more, she didn’t want to feel like she was no longer in control of her life.

  Still, she knew she had a lot to deal with. Every thought, every memory of Janice brought sadness and a kind of pain that washed through her, real physical pain.

  She would have to keep seeing Mark–as much as she hated admitting that she was not okay and that she couldn't do this alone. On top of that she had all but made up her mind to quit seeing him professionally and then, after a reasonable amount of time, if she continued to think about him, to call him, ask him out. That idea was out.

  Of course, there was also Blake. Though she wasn’t sure if her attraction to him was anything more than physical, she wanted to find out. He had been so attentive, so concerned, especially after Janice . . . He had done everything right, but Mark still connected with her on some deeper level, some wordless place that she went to when she met his gaze. She thought he must feel it too, that sense of connection. But of course his ethics would never allow him to admit to anything more than a professional relationship or a casual friendship. Worst of all, she knew how weak she was now. How fragile her mind, how strong her need. Was she healthy enough to be involved in any kind of relationship?

  In spite of her feelings, or perhaps because of them, Mondays had become her lifeline. Monday was the day she saw Mark.

  Chapter 31

  On Monday afternoon she climbed the stairs to Mark’s office and, as usual, her depression seemed to lift a little. She was feeling brave today. Brave enough to be honest and reveal how badly messed up she was. At least she liked to believe she was that brave.

  Beginning slowly, she started by talking about the bomb shelter again, and the accident that had caused her to develop a fear of the dark and of closed spaces.

  “How did you deal with it when you were young?” Mark asked.

  “It got in the way lots of times,” she admitted. I could go out and play at night, as long as there were street lights or porch lights, but you know kids. They like to do scary things. Hide in the dark. I couldn’t do those things. I couldn’t play hide and seek or have sleepovers in the back yard, nothing like that.”

  “You got scared,” he said.

  “If the conditions were right. But it was more than just feeling afraid. I had panic attacks. Full-blown attacks, complete with hyperventilating, blackouts, memory loss. The other kids would figure out pretty fast that I was weird, but then we’d move and there would be a whole new set of kids and sort of a grace period before they started to figure it out.”

  “You seem to have adjusted very well.”

  “I guess you can learn to adapt to anything. I learned how to avoid situations where I would feel panicked. I stay out of elevators. I keep flashlights in my truck and in several places in my house.” For a moment the memory of finding the flashlight in the bedroom, dead and worthless the night of the power outage, flashed through her mind, but she drug herself back to the present and shook it off. “It’s so easy to sit here and analyze myself, to sound so rational and composed. The truth is, I’m not sure I’m rational at all. In fact, lately I’ve been wondering just how sane I am.”

  Mark sat silent, waiting for her, sensing she had not finished.

  She rubbed her hands together, looking down at the carpeting. “It’s just the same old thing, monsters in the closet.”

  She had been so close to telling him what she had begun to suspect: that maybe there really had been something in the dark in the bomb shelter. Was it possible that when she had been locked in, on that terrible winter afternoon, that something had found her? Maybe because she had been so young, or maybe because she had been so terrified, it had found a way in, a weakness that allowed it to enter, to slip in and take over her brain, her soul? And the final fear, the possible truth that had begun to haunt her, was that she was the one who was responsible for all that had been happening. That it was her hand that had stabbed with the trowel, lifted the hammer, wrapped the tape. It was possible. She had no alibi for the times when the attacks occurred. No memory but of darkness. What was she capable of in the dark? She shuddered. Or maybe the thing she had met in the dark had not used her body but passed through her, using her as a gateway. Maybe it was a demon, trapped in hell but through her able to migrate to this plane of existence. These thoughts were so crazy. Did she dare share them?

  Mark continued to sit quietly, waiting.

  “It’s nothing,” she finally said. “It’s just been a very bad year. So many people have died, yet I find myself crying hardest because my foreman quit.”

  Chapter 32

  Austin drove home slowly, the sound of Mark's reassurances echoing, a hollow sound in her ears. Why hadn’t she told him all of her fears? Wasn’t that his very purpose? She was disgusted with herself.

  The streets were packed with snow and more was falling. Dark clouds were rolling in from the north, carrying the promise of more storms throughout the night. Austin reached into the glove compartment and snapped on the flashlight she kept there. It came on immediately. Satisfied, she put it back. She might not have control, but at least she could stop making more stupid mistakes. She would stay out of closed places and make sure she always had some source of light at hand. She might never overcome her fear of the dark, but at least she could do everything in her power to fight the darkness.

  Suddenly, the rear of the pickup slid sideways. She steered into the slide and the vehicle fishtailed, sl
iding back and forth until finally bouncing off the ridge of snow the plows had left, and coming to a stop in the center of the street. Hands gripping the steering wheel, Austin took a moment to compose herself, then slowly released the brake and touched the gas. The truck moved forward and she drove home carefully.

  When she pulled into her driveway she breathed a sigh of relief. Unlocking her front door, she reached in, switched on the lights and then entered. Once more she felt a twinge of regret that she was entering an empty house. She had considered getting a dog, but thought that with her schedule, a dog wouldn’t get the attention it needed. “Fish.” she said to the stillness. “Maybe I’ll just get some fish. They don’t bark or shed. Well, I don’t think they shed. Boy, you better quit talking to yourself. People will think you are batty.” She said this as she hung up her coat, then walked through the living room and into the kitchen. The red light was blinking on her answering machine, so she punched the play button as she went by. She was reaching for a beer and a carton of cold fried chicken when Blake’s voice filled the room.

  “Hello, sweetheart. How you doing? You doing all right?”

  He was drunk. Somewhat amused, Austin put the chicken on the counter and twisted the cap off of the beer.

  “You call me, sweetheart. You call me soon’s you get in, hear?”

  She heard the fumbled clanking as he tried to hang the phone up, and then the tone that said he’d been successful.

  “Well, that was weird,” she said to no one.

  At 1:16 a.m. the phone began to ring. Austin came up out of a deep sleep slowly. Before she was able to fumble for the phone the answering machine pick up. She heard her own voice on the recorded message and then Blake’s.

  “You didn’t call me sweetheart. What you doing? You gonna call? Better call me. You hear me? You there?” There were some mumbled words and then the same disconnect technique.

  Austin brushed hair out of her face, groaned and rolled over. Amusement had become annoyance, but only mild annoyance. Within moments she was sleeping.