My mother, while she was a pathetic excuse for a mom, was still my mother, and when she died, I wasn’t afforded the opportunity to see her be buried. At the time, I was with my final foster family before being placed in a group home, and Kathy was my caseworker.
I never understood why she had that job. She appeared to despise children. Her pinched face made it seem like she was disgusted by whoever was in front of her. She had an air of superiority about her. To her, I was just a snot-nosed, trouble-making kid who nobody wanted. I acted out, causing these families to give up on me. When in reality, these families had their own fucking problems and had had enough of someone else being around. Or for the perverts, I just got too old for them.
When I tried telling her this, someone I’m supposed to trust, she told me not to talk like that. Especially about a good Christian couple who went to church every Sunday. It’s laughable really. Susan and Steve were probably better than me at putting on a different façade. Just because people go to church doesn’t make them good people, and they were some of the worst I have met.
Steve with his affliction to young boys, and Susan with her capability of turning a blind eye to the horrors he inflicted. But, oh no, they went to church with Kathy. They could never do such things. Get the fuck out of here. What bullshit.
Anyway, I need to calm down, because just thinking about that shit pisses me off. Kathy moved me from them, but not for my sake, but because after a while, they didn’t want me there anymore.
My mother died after being in the hospital for two days, and Kathy took it upon herself to keep that information from me. She claims she found out too late, but I know that’s bullshit. She later tried saying she was protecting me, because she thought me seeing my mother in the hospital would cause me pain. She didn’t think I’d want to go because I was out of her care for so long anyway, and that seeing her in the hospital could possibly hinder any progress I was having.
Again, bullshit. I should’ve been told as soon as they found out, because by the time I was told, she died. There was no funeral. I don’t know what happened to her parents—my grandparents. Nobody was there to have any say in what happened to her. I was too young to make decisions, and we didn’t have money, so she was cremated. Kathy is the reason I wasn’t able to say goodbye to my mom, and she’ll pay for that.
Perhaps having one final moment to say my piece to her, to say goodbye, to see her one more time, maybe that would’ve helped me. Nobody will ever know. But Kathy will know that she fucked up.
My phone rings, pulling me out of my thoughts, and a look at the caller ID tells me it’s Tim from work.
“Hello?”
“Hey, man. Sorry to bother you on the weekend, but I need to ask a favor.”
“What’s up?”
“I need to get in touch with Nick, because the boss is asking questions about how this foundation was laid.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Tim huffs. “I don’t fucking know. It’s not perfect. It’s uneven or some shit. Since Nick was the lead on that particular one, he needs to answer some questions. Anyway, I can’t get in touch with him. His phone’s been going straight to voicemail, and I can’t get over to his place right now. My sister’s having a baby right now, and I’m at the hospital, so I was wondering if you could find him.”
I run my hand through my hair, instantly wondering if this particular foundation is the one I buried Steve under. Could that be reason why it’s uneven? Will they dig it all up, finding him in the process?
“Yeah, sure. I’ll do what I can and let you know.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Yeah. Talk to ya later.”
Since I hadn’t planned on leaving the house today, I have to get dressed, choosing to put on a pair of jeans that have seen better days, a black t-shirt with a white skull on it, and a black cap. With my feet in a pair of black combat boots, I grab the keys off the table and head out to my truck.
Before I back out of the driveway, I light up a cigarette, leaving it between my lips as I call Nick’s phone. Like Tim said, it goes straight to voicemail, so I leave a message as I’m driving down the road, the cigarette still between my lips. “Nick. Call me, man.”
I take the cigarette between my fingertips and blow a stream of smoke out the open window, dropping the phone next to me. Nick isn’t usually unavailable, so I’m wondering if he’s with a girl, because that’s generally the only time he’ll ignore phone calls. It just doesn’t seem like Nick to ignore multiple phone calls from co-workers, because he tends to be responsible when it comes to work.
I try calling him two more times during the twenty-five minute drive to his apartment, but he never picks up.
When I finally arrive, I instantly notice that his car’s gone. It’s usually parked right in front of the complex, but I decide to try knocking on the door anyway. I wrap on the faded wooden door for nearly five minutes and get no response. I try peeking into the living room window, but the blinds are closed, blocking any view.
An older Hispanic guy comes out of his apartment and eyes me up and down, clearly aware that I’ve been knocking on the door for too long.
“Hey, you know Nick?” I ask him.
He stares at me for several seconds before answering. “Sure,” he says with a shrug. “What you want with him?”
“I work with him. I’m just trying to get in touch and he’s not answering his phone.”
“He’s a grown man. If he wants to talk to you, he will. Now why don’t you get out of here,” he says, shooing me with his hand.
My brows furrow instantly, offended by his gesture. “I’m not a fucking dog. I’ll leave when I goddamn want to.”
He puffs out his chest in a maneuver to look intimidating. “You’ll leave right now or I’ll call the cops.”
“And tell them what? Your neighbor’s friend is looking for him? Yeah, I’m sure they’ll rush right over. Now tell me, have you seen Nick today?”
Once again, he pauses and studies me for a while. “Yeah. Couple hours ago maybe. Left with someone.”
“A girl?” I ask.
He sighs dramatically, letting me know he’s annoyed by me, but I don’t give a shit. “His dad I think. Now that’s all I know. Leave me alone.” He turns and goes back into his apartment, leaving me to wonder what the hell Nick’s dad’s up to this time.
With no idea where those two could’ve went, and since he’s not answering his phone, my only option is to wait for him to get back. In the truck, I turn on the radio and settle in for what I hope isn’t too long of a wait.
The last time I look at the clock, it reads five-fifteen, but apparently the wait is long, because after closing my eyes for what I think is a blink, I open them up to the clock reading six o’clock. Fuck. I really need to get more sleep at night.
When I finally shake the remnants of sleep from my brain, I look across the street at Nick’s apartment and see that his car’s back in its normal parking spot. I quickly exit the truck and jog across the street, knocking on his door once again.
It doesn’t take long to realize more than one person is inside. The voices come from the back of the apartment, because their muffled, but they slowly get louder and louder. When I hear a crash, I know him and his dad are fighting again.
The door’s unlocked and I push it open with a force so strong it smacks against the wall and swings back closed. I rush through the living room which looks like a tornado went through it, and straight to the back room.
“Get the fuck off me!” I hear Nick say through a labored breath.
“I know you have more! Where is it? Give me the fucking money, Nicky boy. You owe me that much.”
“I don’t owe you shit!”
I hear the unmistakable sound of fist meeting flesh before I step into the room they’re fighting in. Nick’s down on one knee, a hand covering his eye. His dad kicks him hard in the side, making him topple to the ground. All I see is the black vest he’s wearing, and on it is the Naz
i eagle spread across his back. Fucking prick.
When he moves, I get a better look at Nick and realize that his dad has already done a number on him. His dad, Terry, is probably just under fifty, and not a small guy. He’s not built by any means, but he’s got some stock to his frame, and it looks like he’s had a good ol’ time beating on his son.
Without another thought, I fly across the room and pull on his dad’s shoulder, spinning him around to face me. My right hand smashes into his jaw and he stumbles back, his arms outstretched, ready to catch himself. I grab onto him, keeping him upright, and punch him in the nose. Blood splatters across his face and my fist, and he roars in anger.
“What the fuck?” he yells, bringing his hand to his nose.
I don’t answer him with words, allowing my fists to do that for me. Hit after hit, I pummel him in the face, but he’s a strong son-of-a-bitch, because he doesn’t go down. He puts his head down and rushes me like he’s a football player. Once we’ve hit the wall, I bring my knee up, smashing his face once again, feeling the blood soak my jeans.
“Donovan, stop!” Nick cries, struggling to get his broken body off the floor. “He’s not worth it.”
“Fuck off, boy!” his dad yells before throwing a punch at me. I move my face at the last second, feeling his fist glide across my cheek and hit the side of my neck. I sidestep him, pushing him face first into the wall and bracing myself for his next swing.
When he turns around, he stumbles, looking weak on his feet, but before I see it coming, he uppercuts me.
My head snaps back and I bite my tongue, tasting blood in my mouth. I stare at him and something shifts. He knows it and I know it. Donovan goes away, and the darkness takes over.
Faintly, in the background, I hear Nick shouting. But it’s too late.
HE’S ON THE ground using his arms as shields to protect his face. My fists know no mercy as they crash into him over and over again. My ears don’t register the pleas. My mind doesn’t care about the pain I’m inflicting. I can’t rein it in. I don’t want to. He’s long overdue for karma, and I’ll happily deliver it.
“Donovan. Come on, man. Stop.” Nick’s voice isn’t panicked. Nothing in his tone tells me he’s worried about his dad, but he continues to try to get me to stop. I feel him pull on me, but it doesn’t do anything. The only thing that can stop me, is me.
“He deserves it,” I growl, letting my fists rest as I look down on the bloodied piece of shit.
“I know he does, but you’re gonna kill him.”
“So?” I question, looking over my shoulder at him, fury still running through my veins. When I went at him, it was because I knew Nick wouldn’t be able to defend himself, but things changed when he hit me. It’s not in me to allow someone to abuse me. Not anymore.
Nick stares back at me with a blank look in his eyes. “We talkin’ about this?” he questions.
I get up, leaving his dad unconscious on the floor, and walk up to Nick. “Talking about what exactly?”
“Killing him,” he states matter-of-factly.
“It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
He studies me again, unsure of what to say for a while. “I’m not a killer.”
Toe-to-toe, face-to-face, we stare at each other, waiting for what we both seem to know to be spoken aloud. He knows. I know he does. The question is how, and the other question is what do I do about it? Nick is the closest thing I have to a friend, but this isn’t a secret you’d tell anyone, no matter how close you are. The consequence for telling any regular secret is probably not being friends with that person anymore. The consequence for telling my secret is death. There’s no way around it.
I debate about what to say in response, finally deciding on, “I know you’re not. The question I ask you is, what do you know?”
He finally breaks eye contact with me, wiping blood from his lip and sitting on the mattress that’s half off the box spring. With a huff, he replies, “I know, Donovan. I know you’ve killed someone.”
Someone. He said someone, not people. That’s my first thought. My second thought is how is he so nonchalant about it?
“What’re you talking about?” I question, needing more information before I even contemplate entertaining the idea of admitting anything.
He looks over at his dad who’s still out cold before answering. “You told me. That night we both got drunk. You told me you killed someone.”
My brows furrow immediately and I cock my head to the side. “I don’t think so.”
“You did,” he says, more adamant. “You were drunk. We both were, but I wouldn’t forget that. I wouldn’t make it up either.”
“Who?”
“Who what?”
“Who did I kill?”
“Some guy you used to live with.”
Hump. I remember talking about our lives that night. That’s when he told me about his dad and how he’s always been abusive, beating on both him and his mom when he was growing up. I know I told him about my mom and how I was in and out of foster homes. I know I said I was happy to move out on my own once I became of age, but needing a roommate sucked, especially because he was such an asshole. I don’t remember saying I killed him, but I drank way too much as our conversation went on. Probably because re-living those memories pissed me off.
“I don’t remember ever saying that. I think you’re mistaken, Nick. I probably said I wanted to kill him,” I say, not feeling right admitting to it. Needing to keep this a secret.
“Okay, Donovan. If that’s what you want to think,” he says, groaning as he gets up.
My hand reaches out, grabbing him at the elbow. “You’re saying you believe that shit? Drunken ramblings?”
He pulls away from me, looking at me like he’s disappointed that I won’t admit it. Weird. He wants me to admit I’ve taken a life? Nick limps into the living room. After another glance at his dad, whose chest is rising, letting me know he’s still alive, I follow Nick into the living room.
“Don’t you realize that I’m not gonna tell anyone?” he asks, not looking at me. “It’s been two years since you told me.”
“Don’t you realize you’re putting me in a really fucked up situation?” I ask, running my hands through my hair.
“How?” he says, turning around to look at me.
“Really, Nick? How? Come on, man. I’m not talking about this shit,” I say, turning to leave.
“Wait!”
I spin around and look at him. “What?”
“I know what happened to you when you were a kid. It was another confession you spilled. Look, maybe I wasn’t as drunk as you that night. I knew you were getting chatty with each drink, and you had been so secretive up to that point. I didn’t know you, Donovan. I knew nothing about you even though I had worked with you for a year already. I was hoping you’d open up, but I had no idea how much you would.”
“Okay, so you know my childhood was fucked up. What does that mean?” I ask, getting annoyed.
“That night, after telling you about a night my dad came home drunk, beat my mom and then me when I tried to stop it, I said I wish I would’ve killed him. I said that if I had killed him, he wouldn’t have kept doing it. Me and my mom could’ve been happy.”
“Okay, great,” I snip. “And?”
“You said, and I quote, ‘You still can. I plan to get back at every one of those mother fuckers.’”
After a brief pause, I laugh. “So, you think I killed all of my foster parents? That’s funny, Nick,” I say, shaking my head. Everything in me is telling me he can’t know. It’s for his own good. I have to play this off like it’s the most ridiculous thing ever.
“No, I’m not saying that.” I breathe an internal sigh of relief. “But you’ve thought it. I’m not the only one who’s wanted someone dead. You have too. But I do believe you killed your roommate. You told me as much, but I’m not saying I think you’re a serial killer.”
“What are you saying, Nick?” I question.
“
I’m saying, you’ve done it before, and maybe you could do it again. I can’t, Donovan. I can’t bring myself to kill him, but I want him dead. I need him dead. My mom needs him dead. Not only does he come around here, but he goes to her place, too. He’s harassing us both, and I know he’ll never stop.”
“Call the fucking cops.”
He shakes his head. “No. He won’t go away forever. He’ll get out and come back even angrier. He needs to die.”
I huff, shaking my head. I’ve yet to admit to anything, but he’ll believe what he wants. He doesn’t have proof, and that keeps me safe. And him. “I’m not gonna kill your dad, Nick. Whatever you believe I’ve done, you’re wrong. I don’t go around killing people.” Lies. Lies. Lies. “I will get him out of here for you, though.”
I walk back into Nick’s bedroom and lift his dad up in a fireman’s carry. When I get back into the living room, I see Nick standing there looking beaten. His face is swelling and bruised, his body is hunched slightly, but the look in his eyes looks more painful than any physical injury. But I can’t help him.
“I’ll drop him outside somewhere. Don’t let him in again. Get some more locks on your door or something, and call Tim or Gary. They have something to ask you about work.”
He looks up slowly and barely nods. I get through the house and carry his dad across the street, dropping him in someone else’s yard. He starts waking up, confusion coloring his cut up face.
I spit on him before turning and heading towards my truck. Fucking asshole.
On the way home, I find a gas station to stop at so I can use their bathroom. I need to wash the blood off of my hands. There’s quite a bit, from both his cuts and my own injuries, but there’s a cut somewhere on my knuckles that won’t stop bleeding.
I find one that doesn’t look like it gets a lot of customers, lucking out with their bathroom being on the outside of the building. The two stall bathroom is littered with toilet paper, but as long as the sink works, I don’t care. I notice the broken lock, so I need to make sure this is a quick clean up. The cold water runs over my hands, the blood and water mixing and filling the sink.
Darkness Within Page 11
