Darkness Within

by Isabel Lucero

  “I think you left these.”

  His eyebrows move up. “Those could be anybody’s,” he says frantically.

  “But they’re not. They’re yours.” I throw the sunflower seeds in his face. “The nearest neighbor is about seventy-five yards away. My house is backed up to the forest and nobody walks back there. There’s no reason for anybody to be behind my house, so I know it was you and your goddamn seeds that you take with you everywhere.”

  “Donovan, I’m sorry, man. I was just curious.”

  “Curious about what?” I roar, getting in his face. “My life? Why? Why the fuck do you care? What did you take from my house?”

  “I didn’t take anything. I swear.”

  “Then what the fuck were you so curious about?”

  He doesn’t answer, instead he starts taking a few steps back. “Do you really promise to let me go?”

  I don’t think about it. I drop the knife and hit him right in the temple. He goes down and I hit him one more time to make sure he’s out. Once he’s lying motionless on the ground, I grab the duct tape and bind his wrists and ankles together. I sit him up in the passenger side of my truck, buckle him in, and start driving while I wait for him to wake up.

  “WHAT THE FUCK?” he asks, trying to move further away from me. “Where’re we going?”

  I don’t answer him, choosing to let him sit there in fear. Out of the corner of my eye I see him trying to wriggle out of the duct tape, but I’m not worried about that happening. He keeps looking out the window, trying to get an idea on where we’re at and where we’re heading.

  Ten minutes later, I find a place to pull over and park. “Where’s your phone?” I ask.

  “What? Why?”

  With a huff, I lean over and pat down his pockets and pull it free. He doesn’t have a passcode on it, which is incredibly stupid, but helpful for me right now. I go to his text messages and type in the number of our boss, telling him that there was a family emergency that will be taking him away from work for a little while. Now I don’t have to worry about anybody at work looking for him when he doesn’t show up.

  I don’t bother sending anything to his family, because I don’t know what would be believable, and in any case, someone will call the cops after he doesn’t show up for a while anyway. There’s nothing I can do about that but make sure I cover my own ass. The fact that the text to our boss is coming from a different location than where we were hanging out earlier gives me one out. I’ll have to take his keys and move his car later, but maybe I should text Nick from his phone, too.

  A quick message to Nick asking him to come back out for a drink gets just the response I thought it would. No. At least Nick thinks Miguel is still out and wanting to drink some more, but he thinks he’s alone, and that’s what I need him to think.

  I toss the phone on my dashboard and start driving again, ending up at a murky looking lake that nobody would want to visit. When my headlights hit the water it makes it look more like a swamp, making me believe this a place where people come to dump their trash. Hmm. Fitting.

  Cutting the lights and ensuring nobody is around, I turn in my seat so I can face Miguel, and finally speak to him.

  “Your future isn’t looking too bright, Miguel,” I say, giving a slight nod towards the water. “I need you to tell me what you were doing in my house and who you were with. That was you that I chased away before, huh? You were scoping the place out and didn’t expect me to be outside. Who was your getaway driver?”

  He backs up into the door, trying to look apologetic. “I’m sorry, man. I was just curious about you. Nobody knows anything about you, and . . . and you almost never leave your house. The only time we got you out was for Nick’s birthday. You didn’t even show up to his last one. We were just wanting to, you know, know what’s so special about your place that you don’t want to leave.” He tries to laugh, but it comes out shaky. “We were taking bets on what was going on. Some guys said you might still live with your mom and she didn’t let you out.”

  I don’t let on what I’m thinking, keeping my facial expressions in check, but that one was really fucking stupid. I let him keep talking and don’t interrupt. His nerves will have him saying every and anything, hoping it will help.

  “And somebody else thought maybe you were gay and lived with your boyfriend. It was stupid, man. We were just fucking around and wanted to know what was up with you. That’s all.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I tell him honestly. “I think there was another reason you were there.”

  “Like what?” he asks, looking for the knife he knows I have. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Miguel’s eyes are showing me how terrified he is. They’re also telling me that he’s full of shit. There’s something he’s not telling me, and he’s not telling me because he’s afraid.

  I smile at him. “Come on, man. You can tell me,” I say, changing up my tone, hoping to disarm him a little. “I’m not gay and don’t live with my mom. So, what did you think? You said that’s what other people thought. I wanna know what you thought.” I smile again.

  “I . . . I didn’t know what to think. Really.”

  With a point to his taped up wrists and ankles, I say, “This is so you won’t try to run. Don’t worry about that. I just want to know why you went to my house and who with. Was it Tim? You can’t tell me you wouldn’t want to know the same thing if it happened to you.”

  He stays silent for a while, trying to figure out how to respond, probably confused by my behavior. “Yeah, sure. Of course I’d want to know. I understand that. I’m being honest, though. We didn’t go for any other reason than to see if you lived with anyone.”

  My frustration is starting to get the best of me. I’m going to have to step this up. He’ll never admit to anything right now. He’s too afraid, and he’s still not telling me who he was with, which makes me suspicious. I already know what I’m going to do, so telling him my secrets doesn’t mean anything.

  I begin playing with my knife again, twirling it around in my hand. “You want to know me?” I ask. He doesn’t answer, but when I look at him, he’s watching me warily, his eyes moving from mine to the knife. “I’ve killed people,” I say in a low, rough tone. His eyes widen, but he still doesn’t respond. “Does that surprise you?” No answer. “You wonder why I’m different and like to stay at home, but it’s not because of an overbearing mother or gay boyfriend. It’s because I don’t like people. I don’t trust them.” I look out the windshield. “The people I’ve killed were people who made me like this. The people who took away my childhood. The people who abused me and made me this,” I say, gesturing to myself, “this person who lacks normal feelings and emotions.”

  He begins to shake his head. “No. Don’t tell me this, man. Come on,” he screeches. “Don’t tell me this shit. I know what this means. I don’t want to know.”

  I chuckle. “Why? You traveled all the way to my house to try to find out about me. I’m telling you, Miguel. I’m revealing everything you ever wanted to know.”

  He continues to shake his head. “No. Not like this.”

  “Like this?” I question. “Then how? By finding out on your own and using it against me? Calling the cops?” He looks away, eyeing the door handle. “You’re going to tell me who went with you that first night. Was it Tim? Was he there when you broke in too?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Tim. It was Tim. Okay. I’m sorry, man. If you let me go, I won’t say anything. I promise.”

  I cock my head and study him. “It wasn’t Tim.”

  “Yes! Yes it was. Fuck!” Panic really starts to set in.

  “When was it? Saturday? Sunday?”

  He shakes his head at first, then nods. “Yeah. Sunday.”

  “How did you find out where I lived?”

  Tears start rolling down his cheeks. “Man, I don’t wanna talk about this. Please. Just please.”

  “Who are you protecting?” I ask. “You’re so full of shit, I can smell it. You’re gra
bbing onto everything I say and not coming up with your own answers. You think I don’t realize that?”

  His phone buzzes on my dashboard and his eyes grow two sizes as he looks at it. Hope? Fear? Who knows? I reach for it and see the name Al flashing across the screen.

  “Who’s Al? He the one you were with?”

  If I thought he was afraid earlier, it’s nothing compared to how he looks right now. His face goes pale and his jaw goes slack. He doesn’t want me to know about Al. When I narrow my eyes and bring the phone to my ear, he starts shaking his head.

  “No, no. Al has nothing to do with this.”

  I answer it but it’s too late. Al hung up already, but I keep the phone in my hand and all Miguel can do is cry and curse.

  The phone lights up in my hand with a text message from Al. Miguel snaps his head in my direction, his eyes trained on the phone. He looks up at me, terror radiating off of him.

  “Al,” I state, sliding my finger across the phone to unlock it.

  “No, no. Please, no! Oh god,” he cries.

  I read the message aloud to him.

  “Hey, baby.” I look up at him with questioning eyes, but continue. “Just wanted to check in and say everything’s fine. We don’t have anything to worry about, but we should probably be more careful. I talked to him today and he’s not mad, so he doesn’t suspect me. Anyway, call me. We need to figure out where to go from here. I love you.”

  I read it two more times before I look up. “Al?” I question. My brain processes all the words. I talked to him today. He doesn’t suspect me. I love you. Before I say anything else, I scroll through the previous texts between Al and Miguel.

  Al: Haven’t heard from him. He’s ignoring my calls. I’m worried.

  Miguel: I’m sure everything’s fine. No evidence was left behind.

  Al: Maybe he didn’t buy the ex-boyfriend story. He’s smarter than you think. He hasn’t brought up the window, but he told me about seeing someone outside his house. Does he suspect me??

  Miguel: Calm down. And calm down with the compliments. He’s not smart, and you better not be trying to fall for this guy. He’s a fucking weirdo.

  Al: I’m not falling for him. How could I? We barely talk.

  Miguel: Then what the hell do you spend all that time in your apartment doing? It better not be fucking. I told you not to cross that line, Al. I’m already pissed I have to find somewhere to go whenever that fucker comes over.

  Al: Oh stop. I’m not fucking him. I’m doing this for you. I’m just worried he’ll figure out that when I called him to fix my tire was when his house was broken into. It’s too much of a coincidence. Something’s definitely wrong with him.

  Miguel: You think he did it?

  Al: No proof. Gotta ask more questions about his past, but he gets pissed. Probably, though.

  Miguel: Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.

  Al: Love you, too.

  When I look up from the phone, I don’t look at Miguel right away. Instead I process what the fuck I just read. Analeigh. The girl I tried having a relationship with. The girl who got me to say more than I’ve said to anybody else. The girl I liked hanging out with. The girl who’s been playing me this whole time. The bitch who lied to me over and over. The cunt who was prying information from me for her boyfriend, Miguel. That stupid, fucking whore.

  “YOU AND ANALEIGH?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  “Donovan, man. Look, don’t blame her,” he begs. “It’s me. It was my idea. Don’t take this out on her.”

  I try my best not to break the phone that’s still clenched in my fist. “You tell me every single fucking thing. You hear me?” I release the blade of my knife and put it at his throat. “You will answer every question I have or I will slit her throat from ear to ear. You understand?”

  “Yes, yes,” he replies desperately.

  “You and her drove to my house one night. She was your getaway driver. Yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you find my house?”

  He licks his lips, trying to scoot back even though he can’t get any further away. “That night you met her at the lake. She followed you home.”

  My jaw clenches at the memory. I only agreed to see her because I had bailed on our date night due to having killed Nick’s dad. I didn’t want to see her. I wanted to go home, but she was in my town and I was trying to be nice. I fucking ate her cunt like it was a goddamn dessert buffet that night, and she followed me home just to tell her boyfriend where I live.

  “She cut her own tire in order to keep me from going home so you had time to break into my house. Yes or no?”

  He looks defeated as he drops his head. “Yes.”

  “You were alone then?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you two been dating?”

  “A little over a year.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “When I met her at the strip club. That was your plan?”

  He shakes his head. “Not at first. I didn’t even want to go there, remember? But when we ended up there, I ran off to go talk to her and told her to try to get your attention. The plan was hatched that night. I didn’t expect it to go as easy as it did.”

  “Why?”

  “Fuck!” he mutters, rubbing his hands together. “I knew you’d never talk to me about anything. You don’t talk to anybody. I figured if anybody could get you to say anything, it would be a girl, so I used mine. I know it’s fucked up, but we . . . I needed to know.”

  “Know what?”

  With a defeated breath, he says, “You know Michael Jenson?”

  I can’t hide the surprise on my face when he says that name. “How the hell do you know Michael?” I question.

  “The night you were over there, me and Al were across the street at a party. I saw you that night. She thought she saw you on the side of the house. Of course, she didn’t know who you were, but she told me she saw someone out there. Later, I went across the street to check everything out, because I knew Michael. Not well, but I spent a lot of time at my friend’s house across the street, and knew he was always getting in trouble with someone. Thought I’d see what was going on, but when I got over there, I saw someone walking away from the back of the house. I followed and hid behind a tree, and saw you get into your truck. I went back to Michael’s but he never opened the door. I assumed he passed out. It wasn’t until later when they found Michael dead in his house that I became suspicious. I wondered if you had anything to do with it.”

  The girl who stumbled out of the house that night. The girl I was worried I’d have to kill if she came any closer and saw me. That girl was Analeigh.

  “So, this was an elaborate plan to see if I killed Michael? If you found out I did, what was your plan then? To turn me in? Get rid of me forever?”

  “No, no. I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “After I told Al that I thought I knew who it was, she jokingly asked if I thought you’d kill her dad for her. It started off as a joke while we were drunk, but then she kept asking. She wondered if you were a hitman.”

  “So, she wanted to use me?”

  “What? No!” he cries, realizing his mistake. “Look, her dad is awful. She told me you know something about that. He treats her like shit and doesn’t help her even though he knows she’s struggling. He threatened to cut her from his will if she didn’t come back and live with him. Al would be better off without him, and with him gone she’d get some money out of it.”

  “You want me to believe that if you found out I killed someone, you were going to ask me to kill someone else, and everything would be cool?”

  “She was gonna ask you once you felt she was a trustworthy friend.”

  I laugh, but it lacks all humor. “Friend.”

  “Yes, a friend. I didn’t plan on turning you in, Donovan. I know we’ve never gotten along, but I’d do anything for her. If she thought you were a hitman who’d kill her dad for her, then I’d keep that shit to myself just for
her sake.”

  I give him a smile that can only reflect malice. “How romantic of you. I’ll tell you this. I did kill Michael, but I killed him for my own reasons, not because someone hired me to do it. Since Analeigh so generously told you about my experiences with fucked up parents, then you should know why I wanted them all dead. So, that’s why she questioned me at every turn? To give her names of foster parents to see if it matched up with Michael?” He nods. “I’m not that stupid, Miguel. I’d never give out those names. And now I know for sure that she was in on this plan just as much as you, if not more. She’s the one who needed me. She did want to use me. If she found out I was a hitman, she was gonna ask me to do her a favor, just because we were friends. I’ll tell you, that doesn’t bode well for her.”

  “You promised,” he whimpers. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “Did I?”

  “Please, man. We were never gonna turn you in. It was never about that.”

  “That’s not really a concern of mine right now. I have all the details I need, but I think I need to fill you in on some that you seem to be missing.”

  “Wh—what?”

  “It appears your precious Al was playing us both, because we weren’t just friends, Miguel. I fucked her the first night I met her. She took me home, and it worked out that you were drunk and went home with Nick that night. Anytime I was over at what I’m assuming is your apartment wasn’t so we could just talk. We fucked. She begged me to fuck her.”

  “No,” he says in disbelief.

  “Oh, yes. She pleaded with me to be her boyfriend. She told me how good I was every time I was inside her. She sucked my cock and swallowed my load, loving every drop. I wonder why she lied about that.”

  “She wouldn’t.”

  “She did. She loved it rough, too. You know,” I say with a grin, “she even sucked my dick in a restaurant, where we were on a date.”

  His head moves slowly from side to side like he can’t believe what I’m telling him. “Why would she—”