Something in the Dark

by Pamela Cowan

  The story came to light gradually. The man calling himself Blake had been Muncie’s friend Brian. He had known them for a little more than a year. The time they had lived in Germany.

  “Blake, or actually Brian, was the product of a seriously disturbed family,” Mark explained to Austin, as they sat in his office two days after a Christmas she had not felt like celebrating.

  “I have a friend on the police force who told me what he knows, with the promise I’d only use the information to help in your therapy. I do have to ask you not to discuss this with anyone else until the story comes out to the public.”

  “Of course,” agreed Austin. “Tell me what you know.”

  “Well first, the police found a journal in Brian’s room that mentions how he believed you destroyed his happiness the day you got locked in that bomb shelter. Apparently, your mother was pretty upset about the incident and she spoke to Brian’s mother about his part in it. Brian’s mother then spoke to her husband.

  She must have confronted him, possibly blamed him for Brian’s behavior. We will probably never know what set him off. According to old medical records, the wife had been physically abused for years. This time the abuse got out of hand. She fell -- or, more accurately, was pushed -- down a flight of stairs. She died from her injuries. There was a court martial, and Brian’s father was convicted of second-degree murder and sent to prison.

  Brian was sent to live with grandparents but they couldn’t handle him. He ended up in a series of foster homes and residential treatment facilities for alcoholism.

  Somehow he became obsessed with the idea that you had purposely overreacted to the short time you were in the shelter. He thinks you faked the trauma to get attention, which caused his parents to argue and inevitably were the reason his family fell apart.”

  Austin sat back in her chair and sighed. “In a way I can almost feel sorry for him. I can see how he twisted things up and hated me, but I don’t get why he didn’t come directly after me. Why go after my family and friends instead? It seems like such a lot of work, not to mention complexity. Also, I’m not sure why he didn’t find me earlier? What took so long?”

  “If I were to guess, I’d say that he has been heading in this direction, figuratively that is, for some time. It was probably some new catalyst, a trauma of some sort that set him in motion literally. Or maybe it was as simple as his finding out where you were. Your name is unusual for a woman. How hard would it be to find an Austin Ward, female? You own a business. You probably pop up on web searches.”

  “I suppose so,” Austin agreed.

  “So he decides to find you and punish you for what he thinks is his ruined life,” Mark continued. “He learns you’re afraid of the dark. Maybe he’s known that since Germany.”

  “Which should have shown him I wasn’t acting afraid, I really was afraid. I was only seven years old,” Austin complained, railing against the injustice of it, the waste of three lives.

  “Brian’s father died in prison 16 months ago. I imagine that may have been what set him searching for you. There is no logic to it. You can’t apply normal thinking to his behavior. We may never know why people like Brian become so…” The ringing phone interrupted him. Mark walked to the desk to pick it up. “Sorry,” he said to her. “I usually turn the phone off, but I’m expecting a call. “Yes. Thank you,” he said into the phone, then after a few moments, “Yes, I’ll do that.” He hung up, then sat back down across from Austin and took her hand. “One last shock. It’ll be in the papers, so you should know.”

  “Yes?”

  “The police have been searching for the box Brian talked about. They found it.”

  “It was real?” she asked.

  “Buried near that fishing spot on the river. Don’t know how he pulled it off, but. . .”

  Austin moved across the space between them. She had been brave, had been calm and used her intelligence to escape Brian and his plans for her, but the reality of what he had meant to do to her, the idea of being buried alive in a dark box deep in the ground stripped her of her last defenses. Moving into Mark’s arms, trusting she would find a refuge there, she closed her eyes and thanked God it was over.

  Five days after Christmas, Mark knocked on Austin’s door. When she opened it she was surprised by a flurry of soft fur and huge feet as a puppy wobbled through the door and clumsily ran into her legs. She knelt down and the puppy yipped happily, licking her and panting puppy breath in her face. She laughed and looked up at Mark.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said.

  “Mine?”

  “Well, you told me you didn’t have time for a dog, so I thought maybe we could work out a time-share. You interested in half a dog?”

  “Ok. But I want the good end.”

  “You can have a side, left or right. That’s the deal,” Mark insisted.

  “Fine, I’ll take the left,” she said, stroking the pup’s soft fur.

  “The heart side. Figures,” said Mark with a grin.

  Chapter 34

  In the spring, when the ice melted and the runoff from the mountains swept through the culvert in Austin’s driveway, they found Josh. It was the meter reader who spotted the bones as the churning waters pushed them through the grating meant to filter out debris.

  There was nothing Austin could do with this new, but not unexpected, news. Tears were never enough. She had learned that lesson in the past year. They could never wash away all the pain of loss.

  Mark was there. Muncie was there. She had to keep reminding herself that she was not completely alone.

  It was the last and possibly the hardest in a series of blows from which Austin felt she would never fully recover. She stopped for a pack of cigarettes and drove to the river. It was still her favorite place, though she avoided the patch of ground near the edge of the woods where she’d learned that Blake had buried a wooden shipping crate. It was as if that piece of earth was poisoned. She avoided even looking at it.

  Spring was coming. She had told Blake that Spruce had only two seasons, but that hadn’t been entirely true. Spring, whether it lasted a month or a day, was still a promise carried by the rushing rivers and greening hills, the rising sap and soaring spirits. Austin wondered if she would ever feel that sense of elation, of any good emotion, again. The darkness of Granny’s dream and of Blake’s plan, the darkness of the hole-in-the-wall all seemed to have seeped from their confinement and filled the world, or at least her world.

  She walked to the edge of the river. The old fisherman was just pushing off in his boat and nodded a hello to her before paddling toward his favorite spot below the bridge. Waving, she stepped onto the dock. It creaked as always, moving more loosely now that the ice had melted from its edges, though it did still rime the boards, a reminder that winter had not yet fully loosened its grasp.

  She opened the pack of cigarettes and lit up. The smoke was harsh and she coughed on the first few inhalations. It was a strange tribute, she realized: a cigarette to celebrate the life of someone who hadn’t had time to really live. The smoke burned her throat. Standing there, she let herself remember Josh’s wry wit, his sense of responsibility, and that small streak of rebelliousness. She thought he might have grown up to be a good man. Tossing the butt of her cigarette into the river, she lit another. The sun was warm on her shoulders. She took off her parka, laid it on the dock and sat cross-legged on it. The heavy sweater she’d worn under the parka was just enough to keep off the worst of the chill.

  The sun was dull, burning behind a drift of gray clouds. The water was the color of dirty bronze, a still mirror of the sky. Austin took another drag, then felt the shift as someone stepped onto the dock.

  “Austin.”

  Turning, she recognized Muncie. “Did you come to take me back home? I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine and we both know it.”

  “Some things you can’t fix, big brother.”

  “I know. I’ve known a long time.”

  “What do you mean
?”

  “About you. About the something in the dark that you told me about, back when we were kids. I know how it possesses you. How you…do things.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. Muncie stepped forward and knelt beside her.

  “You must suspect. You must know that it wasn’t all Brian. It couldn’t have been.”

  “Are you saying?”

  “It was you who attacked me, Austin. I turned just enough when you swung that second time. I saw you.”

  “But Will? You said it was Will.”

  “You’re my sister. I have to take care of you. Dad and Mom both asked me to take care of you. They both knew. We all did, but you were ours, and we had to…”

  “Take care of me.”

  “It didn’t happen every time. I don’t think it happened every time you got scared, just some of the time. Enough to make us worry. We taught you to keep a source of light around.

  “To protect myself.”

  “To protect us.”

  “I did things? Bad things?”

  “When we were little. When you were nine. I found you in the garage with our dog. You had locked yourself in somehow and hid the key. We didn’t even know you were there, but the poor dog.”

  “You told me she got hit by a car.”

  “That was because you came out of it and you saw, and how else could we explain?”

  “My God, Muncie, what kind of monster am I? I think I suspected…I knew something was wrong with me. Things kept happening: dried blood on my hands. I could have killed you and the others. Was Bunny? Did Brian kill Bunny or was it…?”

  He didn’t answer, but his silence was answer enough.

  “It’s my hands with blood on them. My hands holding the hammer and the pipe and the God knows what else. Quit protecting me. Tell me all of it. I have to know.”

  “I think you must have killed Janice,” Muncie admitted in a near whisper. “I think Bunny too. I don’t know about Josh, but what reason would Blake have had? He may have been insanely determined to punish you, but why the others? There would be no reason. He just took responsibility for it, bragged about it, to scare you.”

  “It worked.”

  “I know. But you don’t have to be scared any more. He’s dead too. They all are.”

  “That’s what happens isn’t it? Every time someone gets close to me. Every time I care about someone they disappear. They die.”

  “Not all of them. I’m still here.”

  “Only by the grace of God and my poor aim.”

  Muncie stood, then leaned over and kissed the top of Austin’s head. He stroked her hair gently and said, “We will get through this. Now that you know everything, we will fix it. Go home soon. It’s getting late. I have to go now.” Austin watched him walk slowly to his truck, climb in with the weariness of an old man, and drive away.

  She sat staring deeply into the water. It was cold down there, cold and quiet as a tomb. Down there, no one was waiting to die. Before she could change her mind, before the evil that could possess her had one more chance, she dove. The water closed around her and bubbles of air burst from her clothing and foamed to the surface. It was cold. So cold the shock was like burning. She wanted heat, warmth. She fought the urge to swim. She grasped her arms and began to sink. As she slid away from the sun, as her feet touched the floor of the river, the darkness closed around her. The fear that had been part of her for so long clawed free from the primitive part of her brain and it was that instinct alone that took over, forcing her to fight and claw for the light.

  Breaking to the surface, she took a deep breath of air into her aching lungs. She had no idea which direction to swim. The cold was cramping her legs and arms. She knew she had only moments left, but she felt neither grateful nor afraid. All she could feel was the burn of the water she had gasped into her lungs, the pain shooting through her chest.

  Then she felt something smack the water beside her. She grabbed for it instinctively, and her hand closed weakly around the paddle end of an oar. The old fisherman pulled her slowly toward his boat until she could hook her arm over its side while he paddled both of them to shore.

  An hour later, with the help of her truck’s heater and several cups of gin-laced coffee, she finally stopped shivering.

  “You think you’re feeling good enough to drive home now?”

  “Yes, I think so,” she told him softly, her voice hoarse from the river water and the harsh gin.

  “You sure give me a start. Them boards is slippery and you was sure lucky someone was around to pull you out when you fell in.”

  “I sure was.”

  “Good thing, too. I spotted that fella you was talking to. Was gonna head to the other side of the bridge, but once I recognized him, I thought I’d hang around see what he was up to this time..”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well that fella's some entertaining. He's got himself a great big 'ol Cat. He was out here some time ago digging a hole in the ground. ‘Round there, back in them trees,” he said, pointing to the spot that Austin thought of as poisoned ground.

  "I always wanted to run one of them big Cats. Heavy equipment operator’s what I always wanted to be, so when I seen him running that thing I had to hang ‘round and watch. Imagine he was fixing a sewer line or something, but it sure was pretty the way he could dig a hole in that hard frozen ground just like that. He snapped his fingers and nodded. His dark eyes sparkled with the memory. Austin noted the deep wrinkles around his eyes, the tangled gray beard and liver-spotted head and wondered how much she could trust his memory.

  “Are you sure it was him?”

  “Sure as I am it was you fell in the water. Seen him a few times ‘round here. Wears red mostly, and that yellow jacket with the patch of duct tape on the pocket. Sews pretty much as good as I do, I’d guess.”

  “I have to go now," Austin said. "Thank you. I never realized how awkward it would be to say thank you to someone for saving my life.”

  “No stranger than my saying you’re welcome, I suppose. You get home and get into a hot bath and then some dry clothes. You sure you ain’t had too much of that gin to drive?”

  “I’d say I had just the right amount. And thank you for that, too.”

  “Well, you are welcome again.” He climbed out of the truck slowly, feeling for the running board gingerly but once he was firmly on the ground his stride was quick and sure. Austin drove from the parking lot slowly, careful of black ice, but she had no intention of going home.

  Chapter 35

  Her nearly dry, badly tangled hair kept getting in her eyes, and she brushed it back with shaking fingers. Her clothes were damp and she looked as wild as she felt as she drove to The Lake House.

  When she pulled up the driveway she was not at all surprised to see Muncie sitting on a lawn chair at the end of the private dock, his back to her. He had not turned when she pulled in, or when he heard her walking toward him. He knew who it was and he was simply waiting.

  As she stepped onto the dock and took in his relaxed slouch, his wide shoulders, she realized she was no longer as sure of herself. Muncie was strong, with muscles honed by years of operating hand tools and hauling lumber. Physically, she was in good shape too, but she was no match for him and she knew it.

  Initially, armed with the truth about her friends' deaths and freed from guilt and self-doubt, she had felt invincible. Now, she realized, she was not operating with anything approximating reason or logic. Her friends would have suggested she call the police. Leave it all to them. In fact, it occurred to her, as she walked steadily toward Muncie, that she had been operating on some kind of autopilot since her leap into the river. That she had no idea what she was going to do, no weapon to use against him. All she really had were a whole lot of questions.

  “Beer?” he asked fishing one out of the small cooler next to him, holding it up, still without bothering to turn to look at her. This only added to the general “Through The Looking Glass” aspect of the aftern
oon.

  “No thanks,” she said stopping short of the dock. “Got a cigarette? I got mine all wet.”

  “Sorry. You know I never took up the habit. I’m kind of surprised that you’re smoking again. It’s not a good thing, you know.”

  “Really? Do you really care?”

  “Such anger,” Muncie chided.

  “I have reason.”

  “I suppose.” He opened the can of beer he’d offered her and took a long drink.

  “Turn around,” Austin said, “I don’t want to talk to your back.”

  With a long-suffering sigh, he stood, turned the lawn chair to face her, and sat back down.

  “So, didn’t fall for it, I see.”

  “Oh, but I did. I’m pretty stupid, you know.”

  “Yes. You never were as smart as you thought.”

  “Probably true.”

  “No probably about it,” he said, smirking.

  “How did you make it all work?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “Because I’m intrigued by your brilliance, and you like that.”

  “I know you think you’re being funny, but maybe you’re closer to the truth than you know. I am a genius, after all. Or did you forget that? The tests all said so. Our folks were proud of me once. They thought I’d be a doctor and discover a cure for some horrible disease. That’s what geniuses do, after all. He tossed his empty beer can into the cooler.

  “At least, they thought I was pretty great until…well, I’m sure you remember when.”

  Austin shook her head.

  “Come on now. It was right after you had your little dramatic moment. After that they had to spend all their time taking care of you, dealing with your emotional issues. Couldn’t be left alone. Couldn’t be in the dark. Be nice to your sister. Don’t pick on your sister. Don’t scare your sister. Remember the whipping I got that time I unscrewed the light bulbs and locked you in your room?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Typical. You don’t remember much, do you?”

  His voice was getting shrill, spitting words as much as saying them. She barely recognized the brother she loved under all that rage.