Darkness Within

by Isabel Lucero

Me: You saying he’s the one who cut your tire?

  Analeigh: Well, obviously I don’t have proof, but I’m sure it was him. He’s been calling and coming around. I’m sorry.

  Me: Why are you apologizing?

  Analeigh: Because we were kinda still dating when you and I first had sex. We didn’t break up because of that, but he probably thinks it has something to do with you.

  Me: So he knows about me and he’s harassing you because he may suspect that you cheated on him with me?

  Analeigh: Yeah.

  I light up another cigarette. I’m not mad that she had a boyfriend, because we were just fucking around for a while. Plus she said she didn’t have time for a boyfriend. Well, another one, apparently. But the fact that he’s been hanging around her house probably means he’s seen me come and go. There’s no way of knowing whether he followed me home. Maybe he’s the one who I chased away the other night.

  Me: Have you talked to him today?

  Analeigh: No.

  Me: Let me know if he goes by again.

  Analeigh: Why?

  Me: Because I’ll stop by and talk to him. I’ll make sure he stops fucking with you.

  I don’t bother to tell her that I’ll threaten him to within an inch of his life and find out if it was him who came by my house. If it was, then he and I may have a bigger issue, because I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he is.

  Analeigh: Okay. Are you mad?

  Me: At you? Why would I be?

  Analeigh: I don’t know.

  Me: I’m not.

  We send several messages back and forth, both of us feeling like everything’s been squared away. I hate that she has to deal with an ex who continues to bother her, but she swears she’ll be fine and that her roommate has promised to stay the night there or bring her boyfriend over, so Analeigh isn’t left alone.

  I fall asleep early knowing I have to wake up at the crack of dawn and work all day tomorrow just to head out to Kathy’s and make sure she comes home like she’s supposed to.

  I wake up at six in the morning, throw some work clothes on and shove some toast in my mouth while I pour coffee into my tumbler. The TV runs in the background as I walk through the house, throwing my dirty clothes in the laundry room, and searching for some clean socks in the dryer.

  As I swallow the last bite of toast, I find a pair and pull them on. As I’m leaving the laundry room, I glance at the back door and quickly do a double take. It’s closed and locked, but something about it caught my eye, so I walk over and take a closer look.

  This door has a window, but I fit it for both blinds and a curtain, making sure nobody could see in. When I walk up on it, I can both hear and feel a slight breeze as the wind blows by, moving the curtain in the process.

  My heart rate picks up speed, thundering against my chest. Anger boils in my veins because I already know what I’m going to see.

  I push the curtain aside and raise the blinds, exposing a broken window. Shards of sharp glass are still in place, but there’s no broken pieces on my floor. Unlocking the door, I pull it open and see that the broken pieces have been swept out onto the grass behind the door.

  The remaining glass spreads across the floor in tiny, sharp fragments as I slam the door closed. My skin prickles with a dark rage and my fist flies through the drywall as I let out a monstrous roar that fills the house.

  Someone was in my house. No. Someone broke into my house.

  I’m beyond angry. There’s no use trying to figure out if I’m still Donovan—the guy who hides his monster, or if I’m the monster himself. I know who I am. I think I’ve always known. I wanted to believe there was separation, but there never was. I am the darkness and I’m perfectly fine with that. I’ll no longer try to control it by using some fucking list.

  Someone was in my fucking house! They came in while I was gone and tried to sweep away the evidence. Who fucking knows what they took or went through. It doesn’t even matter. I will fucking kill them. Whether they know it or not, they’ve fucked with the wrong motherfucker. I won’t let it go. My rage burns deep and it burns forever.

  I fly through the house, looking for something to cover the window up with. As I’m about to head to the workshop, hoping I still have some plywood, I hear a name that stops me dead in my tracks.

  I turn the volume up on the TV and can barely believe what I’m hearing.

  “Breaking news this morning. In a bizarre twist, Kathy Weber, the grandmother of homicide victim, Stanley Keen, was found dead last night by her housekeeper. Ms. Weber was contacted by police while she was on vacation, and flew home early to be able to identify the body of her grandson. The details of her death haven’t been released, but police suspect foul play.”

  What. The. Fuck.

  I CALL WORK and tell them I’m sick and won’t be able to make it. There’s no way I’ll be able to concentrate on anything besides my fucking broken window and whoever had the audacity to do it, and also the fact that someone took Kathy’s death from me. Someone beat me to it, but who? Who else had reason to kill a sixty year old woman? My list is complete, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I had been waiting weeks for Kathy to return. I wanted—no—needed to be the one to do it.

  Maybe I need to find out who Stanley Keen was. There’s clearly a reason someone wanted the both of them dead. They must’ve pissed off the wrong person, which means there’s someone else out there who’s like me. Someone is seeking revenge. I know that’s what this is. It’s too much of a coincidence to be otherwise. I need to find out who killed them.

  I sit down at my computer and google both Kathy and Stanley and try to find out as much as possible. My phone rings, but I don’t answer. I don’t even look to see who it is. I don’t have time for anybody right now.

  The hours go by, and I only realize just how long I’ve been on the computer when my stomach growls. I get up, stretching my muscles as I walk to the kitchen to make a sandwich and grab a Coke.

  So far I’ve found out that Stanley used to live in San Bernardino, but moved away two years ago. He had been living in Sacramento, which is about six to seven hours away. His parents died in a car accident when he was eleven, and he lived with Kathy from then on.

  Apparently he was a bit of a troublemaker, getting arrested for simple drug possession, speeding, public intoxication, and other non-felonies. Kathy, on the other hand, was never in trouble with the law.

  I find the number for Kathy’s most recent ex-husband and call, posing as a reporter.

  “Hi, is this Fred Petachi?”

  “Yes, this is Fred speaking,” his deep and refined voice responds. “Who is this?”

  “Mr. Petachi, my name is Marshall Kelly,” I lie. “I understand this may be a hard time for you, but I have a few questions regarding your ex-wife, Kathy Weber. Do you have some time?”

  “Kathy?” he asks in a bewildered tone. “Are you with the police?”

  “No, sir. I’m an investigative reporter.”

  He clears his throat. “I’m not sure how much information I can give you. We divorced on bad terms and I haven’t spoken to her since we were in court fighting over money.”

  “Sir, do you know anything about her grandson, Stanley Keen?”

  His raspy laugh turns into a small coughing fit. “Stanley? He was a pain in the you-know-what. Also one of the main reasons Kathy and I divorced. Nothing but a disgusting delinquent if you ask me, but Kathy thought the world of him.” I can hear the repugnance in his tone.

  “Do you think he might’ve gotten in trouble with some drug dealers and that’s why both he and Kathy were killed?”

  “The news hasn’t reported that Kathy was murdered,” he states in a stiff tone.

  “I know, sir. Foul play is suspected, and between you and me, I think the coincidence is too big to be anything but murder.”

  After a slight pause, he concurs. “I thought the same thing. Stanley dabbled with drugs, but nothing too heavy. Marijuana mostly. I doubt he’d get in enoug
h trouble to have someone murder both him and his grandmother. Petty drug dealers don’t care about your extended family members. Plus, he’d been living in Sacramento. I don’t even know what he was doing here. I don’t know if he moved back or was just visiting.”

  “I know you aren’t his blood relative, but do you know anything about his other family? Would they know anything about what he may have been into?”

  “Stanley’s grandfather—Kathy’s other ex-husband—died a few years ago. Stanley’s parents died when he was a child. I never knew anything about Stanley’s father’s parents. The only other family member I know wasn’t really considered family at all, but she lived with us for a while.”

  “Who’s that?” I ask, getting my paper and pen ready.

  “Kathy’s ex’s daughter. She was the product of an affair, and showed up when her mom up and left her. Apparently, her mother told her who her father was and she arrived on Kathy and Mitch’s doorstep when she was fourteen. Kathy was furious. She hated Mitch for the secret affair and love child it produced. Mitch, to his credit, took responsibility for her and brought her into their home. Kathy eventually left him and met me. When Mitch died, the girl came to live with us. Kathy wasn’t happy about it, but I insisted, because the poor girl had nowhere to go. She was sixteen at the time, and Kathy was planning on kicking her out as soon as she turned eighteen.”

  “Did she know Stanley?”

  Fred’s quiet for a while, and as I begin to wonder if I lost him, he clears his throat and speaks up. “Unfortunately, she did.” His voice is tinged with a sadness that clearly weighs heavily on his heart, and it piques my curiosity.

  “Did they do drugs together?”

  “No, no. She never did drugs. She was a good, quiet kid.”

  “Sir, do you think she and Stanley stayed in contact? Would she know anything about him?”

  “Stanley tormented her, Mr. Kelly. Kathy and I fought over it constantly. Eventually, I began to suspect sexual assault, and when I brought it up, Kathy became irate. She couldn’t believe I’d say something like that about her grandson. Look, I have no proof, but I’m not stupid. The signs were there.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Jayden Marie.”

  “Did you speak to Jayden about your suspicions?”

  “I did. She was uncomfortable talking to me about it. She didn’t feel comfortable talking to anybody, really. She denied anything was happening, but I think she was scared.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “I brought up my suspicions one more time right before she turned eighteen. She was terrified anytime Stanley came around. They were about the same age, but Stanley was quite big. She flinched anytime he walked by. She left the room when he entered. He enjoyed teasing her, but she never said anything to him. I brought it up to Kathy again and she wasn’t having it. She kicked me out that night. I left, knowing we should probably have some space before things got out of control, and when I returned the next day she wasn’t home. She and Stanley had left Jayden there. When I checked on Jayden, she was packing a bag with tears running down her face.

  “I asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn’t talk to me. I pleaded with her not to leave, because I knew she didn’t have any money or anywhere to go, but she was a few weeks from turning eighteen and already had her mind made up. When she went to the bathroom, I slipped a few thousand dollars into her suitcase. I would’ve given her more, but it was all I had, and I knew she’d be gone before I could go to the bank. Kathy had left me a note saying she wanted a divorce and would have her lawyer contact me soon. Jayden slipped out at some point while I was in my room reading the note, and I never saw or heard from her again. That was two or three years ago.”

  He exhales, and it sounds like he had been keeping that in for so long that it felt like a relief to tell someone else. No wonder he doesn’t sound too upset over the deaths of Kathy and Stanley.

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your time and the information you’ve passed on.”

  “Not sure it will help you find who did this, but you’re welcome.”

  He’s right. It’s not too helpful, but interesting nonetheless. If his theory is true, then who knows how much else she covered up for her grandson? Perhaps Stanley crossed the wrong person and Grandma Kathy came to the rescue, putting her in the crosshairs right along with him. They both pissed someone off, and I have to find that someone, but that will require a lot more work.

  “Have a good day, Mr. Petachi.”

  “You too.”

  I hang up and try to figure out where to go from here. Google searches for Jayden Marie are useless. Most of the results are social media pages, but I have no idea what she looks like, and most of the locations of these people are anywhere but California. She may have moved far away, but again, I don’t know for sure. There are some obituary articles, but the ages don’t match up. Jayden Marie seems to be a first and middle name, and I didn’t think to ask what her last name was. Fuck.

  I spend the rest of the day getting my window fixed, doing more internet searches, and keeping the news channel on the TV, waiting for any new information regarding Kathy’s death. It isn’t until nearly six when I finally check my phone and find messages from Analeigh and Nick.

  I don’t respond to either of them, choosing instead to walk out onto my deck and light up a cigarette. The wheels in my head turn as I think about the last forty-eight hours. Someone was creeping around my house and had someone waiting to drive them away, and then presumably the same people came back to break in. But as far I could tell, nothing was taken, so what were they looking for? And finally, someone killed Kathy. The final name on my list.

  My list. Where is it?

  I put the cigarette out on the deck and throw it to the ground below before flying back inside and digging into the pockets of my pants. I try to think back to the last time I looked at it. I know I crossed out Ned’s name after I killed him. That was about three weeks ago. Right before I saw Analeigh and met her in the hotel. That night we had sex, ate some food, then got into a fight and went two weeks without talking. The list was in my wallet then. Did she go through my stuff and get it while I was in the shower?

  No, I think I pulled it out again when I was starting to get antsy about too much time having gone by since my last killing. I looked at her name—the only one that hadn’t been crossed out. What did I do with it? Did I put it back in my wallet?

  It was after getting into a fight with Nick’s dad. I drove to that gas station to wash my hands, and when I was in the truck again, I pulled it out and studied the paper. I was feeling that urge again, and was convincing myself I could wait for Kathy. I needed to stick to the list.

  Maybe I left it in the truck. I was distracted by running into the cupcake Band-Aid girl near the college and then fucking her and going back home. I don’t know if I put it in my pocket or left it in the truck, but after searching all of my pants’ pockets and the truck, I don’t find it.

  I could’ve taken it out of my pants when I washed them and left it out. Did the people who broke in grab the list? Will they figure out those people are all dead? Will the police be coming to see me soon?

  Fuck.

  THE COPS DON’T show up, but I already know I won’t be able to make it to work again tomorrow, so I call my boss and tell him I’m sicker than I thought. I tell him it’s contagious and I don’t want to spread it to all of his workers. He agrees it’s best not to come in.

  With that out of the way, I can focus on everything else going on in my life. I think about calling Fred back and asking him some more questions about Jayden, like what the hell her last name is, but I wonder if he’ll start getting suspicious and start questioning who I work for. However, he seemed like a lonely old man who enjoyed having someone to talk to, so maybe I can get away with it.

  Telling myself I’ll call him if I don’t find anything else on my own, I sit back in front of the computer and do search after search. I find
Kathy’s ex-husband Mitch’s obituary. It took some time, because I didn’t have a last name to go on. Weber is Kathy’s maiden name, and she seems to go back to it after her divorces. After narrowing down the county in which he died and the time frame, I find a Mitchell McAllister.

  A couple hours, several cigarettes, more junk food, and a broken glass out of frustration later, I still have nothing. Then I realize my mistake. Mitch wasn’t in Jayden’s life until much later. I doubt her mom gave her Mitch’s last name. That means I need to figure out who the hell Mitch had an affair with, and that’s damn near impossible.

  I’ll have to call Fred and hope he’s as open with me this time as he was the last time, because I don’t have anything to go off of anymore. I look at the clock to see if I can call him tonight, but I’m surprised to see that it’s already a few minutes after ten. He may be asleep, but I’m so caught up in this that I can’t wait until morning.

  The phone rings a few times before it’s picked up. “Hello?” his scratchy voice answers.

  “Sir, this is Marshall Kelly again. I apologize for calling so late. I hope you weren’t asleep,” I say, sounding as sincere as possible.

  “Oh,” he says, surprised. “I wasn’t asleep, Mr. Kelly. I run my business from home a lot of the time, so I’m always up late so I can make calls to my international clients.”

  I don’t know much about his business. I just know he makes a lot of money, but the fact that he’s divulging this information lets me know he is desperate for someone to talk to.

  “Okay. Your story earlier about Jayden really moved me,” I lie. “I know I may not be able to find out much about Kathy and Stanley’s murders, but I may be able to track down Jayden. I’m sure you’d like to know that she’s okay, and quite honestly, sir, I’d like to know too.”

  I know I have a better chance at getting information from him if I let him think I care as much about this girl as he does. I don’t doubt the concern he had about her, so maybe he’ll want to know that she’s okay even if she isn’t his family.