Meet Me In The Dark: (A Dark Suspense)

by J. A. Huss

  Looks the same as ever. My desk is a mess of bills and delivery receipts. The walls are decorated with pictures of various ribbon-winning 4-H livestock that I’ve purchased at the state fair auction over the years. Boxes of unopened liquor bottles are stacked in one corner. My coats are hanging on wall hooks near the door. There’s a nice layer of dust covering everything too. I think I love that the most. It makes me feel better that Brett didn’t come in here after I was gone. It makes me feel like he never cared about this place like I did, like it really did belong to me and only me.

  That’s something, I guess. Not much, but something.

  I make my way downstairs and head over to the cash register. I know it’s empty, but a girl can hope. I don’t dare take any money out of my bank account. I did, after all, just kill Brett Setton. Some precautions are in order. It makes me feel like I’m making an effort to live through this and not give up.

  There’s not many windows in the bar. And the ones it does have are all high up and small. Like basement windows. But there’s enough light to see. The bar is clean and the chairs are stacked on top of the tables. Like it would look any morning. Like all that shit never happened and this is just another day.

  But it’s not. It’s my last day as Sydney Channing. I don’t want to be her anymore.

  I press the buttons on the cash register to make the drawer pop open and then stare down at it for a few seconds before I can come to terms with what I’m seeing.

  Stacks upon stacks of twenty-dollar bills. All neatly tied together with one of those paper ribbons the bank puts on them.

  “I figured you could use it.”

  I turn to a dark corner where the quiet voice came from. Merc is sitting in the shadows, his face hidden until he leans forward and a beam of dim sunshine decides to give him up. He hasn’t shaved. There’s a weathered cowboy hat on the table, his arms are stretched around it, and his hands are folded out in front. He looks as tired and sad as I feel.

  “I don’t need you,” I say.

  “I know that.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because I need you.”

  I back away from him, even though he hasn’t moved and he’s all the way across the room, until I bump up against the liquor cabinet. “Get out.”

  “I will,” he says, standing up but not taking a step forward. “But I deserve a chance to tell the story my way. If you want me to leave, leave knowing why I really did all those things. Not because you’ve conjured up some story in your head.”

  “Oh my God.” I laugh a little. “I might not know everything, but there are a few indisputable facts that can’t be ignored about you, Merc.”

  He squints his amber eyes at the name. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why not? That’s who you are, remember? The man you made yourself into. Own it, Merc. You’re a killer. You’re a liar. And you use girls to do your dirty work. Just like Garrett did. So stop with your holier-than-thou attitude and just own it.”

  He shrugs, but looks away for a moment. Doubts, that’s what that look says. “I deserve that. But if you’ve got me on a timer, I’d like to have my say before you verbally punch me in the face and tell me to get out.”

  His hands are folded in front of him now. He’s standing still and tall as he waits for my answer.

  I throw my hands up. “Talk then.”

  He clears his throat and lifts his chin up. Steadying himself for something.

  It makes me more nervous than I’d like to admit. What will this monster tell me next? What bad news does he have to deliver now?

  “I take it back, Sydney. Leaving you behind like that. I made a mistake—”

  “Fuck. You.” I feel the tears well up in my eyes. “After all that shit you talked to me? You think I’m going to let you walk into my fucking bar and fill me up with more of your lies? Fuck you.”

  He stands silent.

  “You fucked up.”

  “I know.”

  “You never chose me, Merc. You never put me first. You only helped me to help yourself. When I said I hated you, I meant it. My verbal fist just punched your time clock. Get the fuck out.”

  He lets off a huff of air and nods. “OK.” And then he grabs his hat and walks around the table towards me. I have a moment of panic that he will both come towards me and leave for good. But he doesn’t do either. He stops about fifteen feet from me, in the middle of the room, pretty much.

  “That word, though, Syd? Hush? I gave you that word the summer after I left you. I’d already started watching you. I saw some things that Garrett was doing. I didn’t know about the brainwashing. I swear I didn’t know. Not until I got you out to the cabin. That’s when I figured it out, and the whole hush thing, it was just…” He hesitates. “Fate, I think. I mean, I felt a lot of guilt about leaving you, believe it or not. But my decision to save Sasha had nothing to do with you being unworthy. I need you to know that.” He shakes his head. “You were never unworthy, I was. I never should’ve left you there. I fucked it up, Sydney. I fucked your whole life up. And I take it back. I’d do it different if I could.”

  I am speechless. But I’m not sure why.

  “I gave you that hush word when I saw you crying once. You weren’t even seventeen yet. Garrett left you in an apartment you shared out on Bowling Street—”

  I picture that place in my head. He was there?

  “—and so I felt like it might make things better for you. You know, if you could talk yourself out of being afraid—”

  “It was you in my head.”

  He shrugs with his hands, his knuckles white from clutching his hat. “I don’t think so, Sydney. I mean, maybe it started that way because I was messing with your mind with the hush. But I think that in your head was all you. It wasn’t me getting you through the hard times or teaching you how to survive. You knew what to do, and you came up with a coping mechanism to get you through. I didn’t try and make you love me using that word. I only wanted to ease your pain. The pain I caused by leaving you behind.”

  I mull this over. But I’m still too confused. I’m so far away from figuring that shit out.

  He clears his throat again. “And I don’t know what you think I was doing that last time I drugged you, but I wasn’t trying to kill you. I knew you were about to give up the answer I needed and I just didn’t want you involved when I faced Garrett. I didn’t plan on you coming out there…”

  “Obviously,” I snort. “You counted on me being helpless.”

  “… I just wanted you to be far away from that final moment. And I failed at that too. I didn’t save you when you were sixteen and I didn’t save you the other day. I made you save yourself both times. I’m sorry for not being there. I’m sorry I fucked it all up. So I’ll leave, but I left more than just cash in that drawer. If you ever want to see me again, you have a way.”

  And then he puts his hat on and walks towards the back room. He stops just before he passes through into the dark hallway, but he doesn’t turn. “Can I ask you one thing? And you can tell me the truth, no matter what.”

  I swallow down so many things I want to say right now. I want to stop him from leaving. I want to scream at him for leaving me when I was counting on him to save me. I want to run away and run into his arms at the same time.

  “Are you looking for the hard truth or the soft truth?”

  I mean it as a joke, but he looks over his shoulder at me and I can tell I just cut him deep. But he recovers and turns his body a little to answer me. “Both. If you have time.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Would you still have wanted me if I did save you?”

  “What?”

  “You know. If you hadn’t made me out to be some hero and lived for the day that I came back to kill you. If I never gave you the hush. If none of this ever happened and we didn’t spend those weeks together the way we did. Would you still have wanted me?”

  I think about this for a moment, and I have the hard truth on the tip
of my tongue. But he came here and put himself out there. Took it back. And I made him a promise of sorts, back at his house in the mountains. I told him all he had to do was say it and I’d believe him. He could’ve said it then and he didn’t. But people can change.

  I give him the soft truth instead. Because I can change too. It’s my only hope and I’m gonna hold on to it. So I walk over to him and take his hand. And then I lean up on my tiptoes and plant a kiss on his cheek. “No,” I whisper softly.

  He drops my hand and walks out.

  “Judge a man by how he treats his children.”

  – Sydney

  For some reason my little act of revenge doesn’t feel as sweet as I thought it would, and the emptiness he leaves behind—both in the bar and in my heart—is overwhelming. Maybe I really did love him? Maybe he does have feelings for me? But how in the hell am I supposed to sort that out now?

  It’s unwinnable. I cannot win. If I trust his word right now and I’m wrong? Then what? How many pieces will I break into then?

  But if I let him walk away and he really is sorry. If he is the man I truly love and I don’t at least try to find my way through these feelings of betrayal… how many years of regret and sadness will come from making the wrong decision because I’m scared?

  I sit in the chair at the table where he waited for me to come back. I have no idea how long he waited here. It could’ve been days for all I know. It took me long enough to get home.

  And after I wallow in sadness I brought on myself for what seems like hours, I remember that he said he left me something besides money in the cash register. So I get my ass up and walk back behind the bar. I take out all the stacks of twenties and count it up in my head as I go. Twenty-five thousand dollars.

  He didn’t really leave me money. He left me another chance. Maybe to make up for the one he took away from me that night eight years ago. Maybe just to ease his guilt a little. But it’s more than nothing when I add in the way he delivered it.

  Humble.

  Apologetic.

  Sincere.

  There’s a phone in the drawer too. Maybe the one he gave me back at the cabin when he wanted me to take the Snowcat and leave. I had in my coat pocket, but when I remembered it when I was on the road in Garrett’s truck, it was gone. Must’ve fallen out when I was running through the woods.

  I flick my fingers across the screen and it comes to life.

  It’s just a generic background picture with all the standard icons on it. But the green messages icon has a little number one up in the corner.

  He had something more to say. Something he didn’t want to say in person.

  It scares me a little, if I’m being honest. There’s a very good chance it’s bad news.

  But there’s no way I can’t read it. My finger tabs the icon and the message appears.

  It’s a video of Merc.

  I press play and he gives me a weak smile. “I know the hush made you think you loved me when you didn’t. I can’t change that. I can say I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I’d be lying. Because I love you so much right now and I wish you still felt the same. And I lied about something we talked about back at my house too,” he says, looking down so his dark hair covers his eyes. “No surprise there, I guess.” He looks up again and all I see is pain. “I can do more than kill and cook, Sydney. So I’m gonna show you something genuine. And no matter what you choose to do from here on out. This is real.”

  He reaches out of the view of the camera and pulls a guitar in his lap. “I’m a pretty good player.” He smiles and I smile with him. “And I can sing. So I’m gonna sing you this song, and then, just so there’s no misinterpretation of what it means from me to you, I’m gonna tell you.”

  He clears his throat, something I now realize he does when he’s nervous, and begins to strum the guitar. His voice is… well, it’s hard to believe that that hard man can sing so soft.

  The song is Daughters by John Mayer.

  I start crying in the first verse and by the time he’s done, I’m a sobbing mess. He sets the guitar down and folds his hands in his lap. Another gesture of nerves. And then he looks straight into the camera. “Those Company people, Sydney. They did this to you. They took away your right to a childhood. Your right to a father. I don’t have any daughters, Syd. But if we had daughters, I’d be good to them.” He stops for a moment, just enough time for my chin to start trembling as I try to pull myself together. “I’d be good to you too. I’d make everything up to you by breaking this cycle. And your daughters would never, ever have to have a conversation with a brutal killer like this. I would lay my life down for them.” He shrugs apologetically. “It’s all I’ve got to offer so I’ll understand if it’s not enough.”

  He reaches out and turns off the recording.

  And I have never felt so misled in my entire life. Have I been wrong about him all this time?

  Another message makes the phone vibrate in my hand. He must have seen the delivery notice when I opened the video.

  It says:

  I swear to God, I’d be good to you.

  “A real man knows how to treat a woman softly.”

  – Case

  I watch the message screen for several minutes, just hoping she will write something back. I hope, but I don’t expect it. Because nothing can make up for what I did.

  And I’m just about to put the truck in gear and give her the space she needs when the back door of the bar opens. She peeks out and I know immediately that she’s crying.

  She takes a step outside and sees me, waiting in my truck down the alley. I get out and walk towards her.

  “Syd,” I say, stopping when she’s a few feet away. “I can’t prove myself unless you give me a chance to be the man I know I am. And you can’t know if you love me until I give you a chance to experience it.” I hold out my hand to her. “I don’t have a guarantee and I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I want one, Sydney. I fucked up and I’m sorry. I take it back.”

  She walks forward and takes my hand and I pull her into a hug. I lift her up off the ground and let her wrap her arms and legs around me like an octopus.

  “I’ll be good to you, I promise. I’ll do whatever it takes to set it right. I think you’re amazing. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met because you did it all alone. You pulled yourself up with no help at all. You fucking astonish me with your strength. And you’re so beautiful. I don’t understand how they never loved you. I really don’t. Hurting you is the last thing I want. I want to make you happy, make you smile. See the confidence I know you have. When you drove away out there in Montana, you split me in half, Sydney. You said you hoped I felt that pain one day, and I did. I felt it. You ripped my heart out when you drove off and I knew I fucked it all up. My father never recovered after he caused my mom’s death and I came here to beg for you. Fight for you. Because I don’t think I can recover if you never forgive me. Even if you walk away right now, as long as you know I’m sorry—”

  She leans back from my embrace and stops me with two fingers over my mouth. “Hush.”

  I let myself crack a small smile as I squeeze her. “It doesn’t work on me, cowgirl. It doesn’t need to though. Because I already love you.”

  She kisses me on the neck and leans into my ear whispering, “It doesn’t work on me either. It never did, Case. I saw the man you could be back when I was sixteen. I just saw him eight years before you did. I put my trust in you for a reason. And maybe we didn’t fall into love the way most people do. And maybe it took us a lot longer than most to find our true selves. But I’m OK with that. We’re here. We made it. Together. I have always loved you and no word could fill me up the way you do right now.”

  “I owe you a happy ending.”

  “This might qualify.”

  “So I guess we’re even.”

  “I guess we are.”

  I set her down and we walk back into the bar to close it up. Maybe not for good. But for now. All the mistakes we made
need to stay where they belong. In the past. Because the only thing worth living for is the future.

  We slip out of the darkness like that. We get in the truck and back on the road so I can take her somewhere bright.

  We never look back.

  We only look forward, our eyes fixed on the sun.

  “You can live in the heat of hell and still be happy. As long as that hell is your home.”

  – Case

  “You know why we like the desert, Syd?”

  She’s looking at my safehouse on the outskirts of Palm Springs with utter disgust as I try to find the right key for the front door. I don’t blame her. I have a four-million-dollar log home up in Montana and this is… well, I think the whole thing cost me seventy-five grand after renovations.

  “Who’s we?” she asks, simultaneously shaking off a spider that is trying its best to crawl up her flip-flop and wiping the sweat off her brow. It’s ninety-seven degrees today. And it’s only late March. We’ve been traveling for weeks, just enjoying each other. And the freedom we have to be ourselves. But I’m ready to settle down, so I brought her here. My favorite place in the whole fucking world.

  Plus, it’s nothing but sunshine for as far as the eye can see.

  “Uhh…” Fuck. I’m not an assassin anymore, and I’m not here to dry out, either. But I already started to tell her that us assassins like to come to the desert to dry out after the kill. So I have to say something. “Me and you,” I answer back, recovering.

  “It’s hot here.”

  “It’s supposed to be hot. It’s the desert.”

  “And this place, Case… I’ve lived in the woods for weeks on end at times. But”—she fans herself now as I try another key in the lock—“it’s hot here. Is this house even up to code?”

  The door swings open and a rush of cool air hits her in the face. She remembers I was talking and looks up at me with a smile. I love that smile. “Why do we like it here?”

  I pull her inside and watch her face as she takes it in. She walks down the stairs to the sunken living room and with each step, the temperature drops. Three-feet-thick adobe mud walls will do that for a desert house. Especially one that is mostly underground.