Nothing but Darkness

by Maria Ann Green

  I need another unknown. That’s what worked so well before. I had no connection to her, no links, no ties. That’s why there haven’t been any unexpected knocks at my door, and why I’ve never felt the need to look over my shoulder in suspense. I got away with it.

  So to be able to again I need to be smart.

  My picks must stem from coincidence instead of motive. I need little or no association to each. I don’t mind waiting for my next rush, I just want to set my sights somewhere so I can start watching.

  I’d like to stalk my prey a little this time before pouncing.

  Pacing around my room, the walls feel like they’re moving inward. It seems the creative juices have ceased to flow, and I still need to get ready before driving over to face the ogre. Man, I hope she isn’t as hopeless as I’ve been picturing. And if she is, I genuinely hope Amelia does something unexpected to liven up my evening. Or there better be lots of beer.

  I look to the clock in my bedroom, groaning. I need to be there in half an hour. Guess I can’t rub one out like I’d planned. Poor time management on my part.

  Searching through my closet, I do a double take at the label on a button-up shirt. Grabbing it off the hanger to throw on over my dark jeans, I lift an eyebrow. At first glance I swore it said Kristi. But I don’t have any shirts by Kristi, not to mention I don’t even think it’s a real brand.

  Taking a second look, I realize I wasn’t even close. The only matching letter is the K. Duh.

  But, “I wonder…,” and then the thought that was dancing around in my mind without landing anywhere in particular finally stops to plant itself for growth. Kristi, the waitress, she’ll be my next adventure.

  Yes.

  I smile, knowing I can let the fantasies begin.

  Perfect.

  And with that I put on the red shirt that’s still dangling from my hand. Since it was a clear sign it’s now my lucky shirt.

  I doubt it’s a coincidence it’s red, either.

  ****

  I breathe one last steadying breath before punching the doorbell at Jason’s. This night will be awkward. I already regret agreeing to come. But there’s no time to change my mind and run as the door swings open.

  “Why hello, handsome.” Amelia’s grin stretches from ear to ear as she ushers me inside.

  “Hi yourself, Mama.”

  Her face glows in response as she gingerly touches her stomach. “Isn’t it wonderful? Such a happy accident.” I definitely read too much into her exhibitionist exposure the other night. “I’m so glad you’ll be Godfather for another round. We’re just making sure you’ll never get away from us.” Her eyes linger on mine for a bit too long before she spins me to take my coat. After I’ve handed it over I’m startled by a smirk then a wink.

  Or maybe there is something devious going on inside Mel’s head? I don’t know. She’s too hot and cold to make sense of. I don’t get women. Either way, I should be more opposed to the idea of her flirting with me, but that’s hard to remember as her fingers run down my arm while we walk to the dining room.

  “Hurry up, dinner is almost ready. Plus I just can’t wait for you to meet Bessie.”

  “I’ve been waiting all day.” I cringe toward the wall, my features out of her line of sight.

  This should be a hoot. Turning back, I return her wink with one of my own, hoping to disarm her as she’s done to me. But if my attempt works she doesn’t show it. Calm and cool as ever. Bravo, Mel. She only smiles coyly, I see out of the corner of my eye, as her nails breeze across my lower back just before we reach our destination. She’s so subtle I still don’t know if I’m imagining or exaggerating these gestures.

  My eyes scan the room for the new face of Bessie, or Bee. Whatever the fuck her name is. But all I see is Jason as I walk into the dining room. The ceiling is high, and it’s clear Mel has been redecorating. Must be that nesting thing knocked-up women get. Everything looks crisp and new, in a warm color palette of honeys and chocolates.

  Mel disappears into the kitchen, off to find Bee.

  “Hey, we’ve been waiting on ya, kid.”

  “Jesus, I’m only five minutes late.” Jason’s brows knit together in concern. The sarcasm flies above his head, and he only gets I’m joking after I laugh.

  “I hope you’re hungry. I’m grilling steaks. The good ones.” I guess as a father of 3.5 children he has to think about how much he’s spending on food. I, on the other hand, have one mouth to feed, so I always eat what I like, meaning I always have “the good ones.”

  “Starving.” I nod.

  “So am I.” A new, warm, slightly breathy voice comes from behind me in the hallway. I don’t want to turn around. I really, really don’t want to. How long can I wait before I’m the asshole? Jason’s about to speak, looking so nervous. Not a good sign.

  “Aidan, this is Bee Iverson. Bee, my best friend, Aidan Sheppard.”

  Okay it’s now or never, Champ.

  I turn around as she waddles toward us. No wonder she’s hungry. She must always be hungry. Okay, don’t be such a mean fuck, that’s unfair. She isn’t waddle-worthy. But she’s no Amelia.

  Maybe she only looks wider because she’s standing next to Amelia?

  “It’s nice to meet you, Bee.”

  It’s easy to tell she was once prettier. Her face does have beautiful features; she has a nice rack on display, her eyes are big, round, and bright; her smile is straight and white, her hair is thick, swaying down past her shoulder blades. She just looks like those features have been slowly filling out for a few years. I bet she was skinny in high school. She dresses like a girl who was once skinnier.

  She ate that prettier self.

  Granted, she’s better than I’d feared. She could be worse for sure. But to be fair she could also be better.

  “Hi, Aidan. I’ve heard so much about you. I’m glad we’re finally meeting.”

  I’m sure you are.

  “Absolutely.” It’s all I can muster for the moment.

  We chat about the basics, covering all the typical surface questions, and I warm up the more we talk. Bee may be bigger, but she’s funny too. Her wit is surprising, and the more she makes me laugh the better she looks.

  Plus she’s legitimately intelligent. Her knowledge of politics, current affairs, and even history catch me off guard. She calls me on my bullshit answers a couple times, though not in an annoying way. In a surprisingly charming way.

  ****

  Eventually, as the steaks sizzle above the charcoal, Jason and I wander into the back yard to talk on our own while the girls make their way to the kitchen. Somehow dinner parties like this always seem to separate by gender for a while.

  After a lull in our conversation Jason’s face pinches in anxiety. I know what’s coming. “So…what do you think? Do you hate me?”

  “Actually, no. I mean I probably won’t be calling her, but she’s not bad.” I chuckle. “She’s funny. Good company for tonight at least.”

  “Yeah, well, you fuck models, man. Your standards are way too high.”

  “Fair enough.” I do have a nice spank bank of material. Though, it’s not like I’ve never had a drunk evening, taking the best of the bad options home at bar close. But those aren’t the things you counter with when given a compliment. Seems to be one of those smile-and-nod moments.

  “Seriously, I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Just lucky, I guess.” He scoffs, shaking his head as if he’s disappointed in his shallow friend, though it’s obvious he’s jealous. Sometimes I can feel his envy radiating off him, and I know if he could switch places with me temporarily he would. He didn’t have a lot of luck before Amelia. Then he hooked her and that’s all he ever needed. Rookie move. But trading places would only be temporary; he’s such a romantic, clueless sucker.

  “Yeah, epic luck apparently.”

  “We all have something.” I think for a second before adding, “Tonight could’ve been a lot worse. You still owe me. Just not as much as I tho
ught you would, I guess.”

  “How about I bring the beer Sunday and buy lunch Monday?”

  “That’ll do.”

  We make our way back inside to the ladies when the meat is ready. Dinner consists of way too much talk about babies and families. Boring. Even Jason participates more than I expect. I’ve nothing to contribute, so I find myself nodding a lot while zoning out. My mind begins to wander toward gruesome thoughts of Kristi the waitress. What can I do with her? What can I get away with? And how should I cover it up?

  I want to do something different this time. Since I’ll be fully present, and she’s my new number one, I want to have an exciting experience. Monotony has never been something I’ve strived for, so I want something altogether new. Plus I don’t want to buy more sheets again.

  “What do you think, Aidan?”

  Shit. Why does my opinion matter? I don’t give a flying fuck about kids. I take a gamble. I have no desire to be lectured for not listening by either of the ladies.

  “Absolutely.”

  “See, Jason, I told you he was ready to settle down.” She points to him, shaking her finger before turning back to me. “You could only enjoy the bachelor life for so long, right?”

  Wrong.

  But it’s too late to argue now, so I just go for short and sweet, hoping to move on quickly. “Right.” Nothing else to add to that load of shit.

  “Well, I’ll be your best man, of course.” Jason’s in on it, too? What a bunch of traitors.

  “Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I’ve been ambushed.

  Bee leans forward, blocking Amelia from my line of sight. For a brief moment I wonder if she’s going to say something stupid about getting me to settle down, too. But I’m shocked to hear her ask, “Do you guys play fantasy football?”

  Wow, another bonus point for Bee. I wink at her and she smiles before leaning back to let everyone into the new conversation.

  This chubby bitch may be pretty cool. Who knew?

  ****

  Several board games and beers later, it’s definitely time to head home. I need the cool sleek lines of my house to focus my mind toward a new goal. I need to plan. I need to be alone.

  There was no awkward exchange of phone numbers with Bee or promises to call when we both know I won’t. And thankfully Mel keeps her dirty mouth shut this time while Bee packs up, leaving before me. But I know Mel will badger me the next time I’m here. She’ll ask questions about how much I like Bee’s personality, then chastise me for begrudging her weight, but hopefully it won’t be in front of anyone else. I linger while Bee leaves, not wanting to have a forced conversation outside alone. I got away without false promises in the safety of numbers inside, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be as lucky twice, especially if cornered.

  “We’ll see you Sunday?”

  “No, honey, I’m going to his place this weekend. Guys football day, remember?” Jason’s voice kicks up a notch in anticipation of being told no. He’s so whipped. And whiney.

  “Oh, I forgot. Well, hopefully we’ll see you soon, then.” Jason tries not to sigh, but I can see the tension relax from his face as he got permission from his pregnant wife to leave the house for a mere few hours.

  Sad.

  “And you’re bringing the beer. I plan to get shit faced, so don’t skimp.”

  “Nice.” Mel always gets judgy when she’s knocked up. I forgot that.

  “What a sad single life I lead.” Remembering, I turn the antagonistic sarcasm up to push her buttons, keeping her in check. I don’t berate her life choices, well at least not to her face, so she should keep her nose out of mine too.

  “Play nice, you two.” Jason, always the moderator. I wonder if his head would pop off if there were too much tension in a room. “Night, man. See you Sunday.” He gives me a tipsy half hug and marches off toward the bathroom, leaving me standing in the entryway with Mel.

  Alone.

  I think back to the last time we were alone. Just a few feet away upstairs. I struggle to breathe calmly and give in to a small gulp before waving my hand in feigned nonchalance, looking like a spaz.

  “See you when I see you.”

  Mel leans in for a hug, and I catch the ghost of a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. The hug lasts just a little too long. In that moment all I think to do is smell her hair. It smells spicy, like cinnamon. As I pull back her hand grazes my ass gently.

  Whoa.

  That couldn’t have been an accident. Could it?

  “Come back soon. We really, really miss you when you stay away too long.” She plants a kiss on the corner of my mouth, and with nothing to say in response I nod, turning to leave.

  What the fuck is going on?

  As I lie in bed I can smell the rank undertones of cheap beer tinged with potent garlic lingering on my stale breath. I should get up to brush my teeth. But I won’t. The bed is too warm, and my limbs refuse to move. The relaxed state of inertia is too powerful. Hygiene can wait until tomorrow. A lot can wait.

  Despite valiant efforts to fall asleep, I’ve been lying here for hours. My new sheets are soft. The house is warm. I should be able to drift off to dreamland. But I can’t, and the longer sleep eludes me the angrier I get, making sleep even more elusive in a vicious circle. So I continue to look around the room, hoping for some inspiration. Nothing strikes me, though.

  The streetlights outside make shadows dance around my room. Odd patterns creep along the walls in a slow, eerie waltz. I imagine them marching to their death and shudder. The dim glowing of orange gives off a sinister feeling. Anything could be lurking within those shadows. Anyone could be biding time to strike against me.

  Settle the fuck down.

  I need to watch the paranoid stuff or I’ll end up getting caught and hung in the street for everyone to see. They’ll groan in disgust as my body starts to leak what was once contained inside, those closest gasping or screaming as they notice my eyes open and hollow, void of emotion and forming red lines of petechial hemorrhaging.

  Snap out of it.

  I need to get planning for this Kristi thing tomorrow or my mind may start to have a mind of its own, taking over when I don’t want it to. That could get pretty inconvenient at work. I don’t need to be that creepy guy people avoid.

  I finally give in, realizing I’m not going to get to sleep without pharmaceutical assistance. So I take a sleeping pill and count the seconds until I fall asleep.

  2,978 of them.

  ****

  I watch as rusted monsters march around my room. They’re chanting something, but I can’t seem to make it out. Their tongues sound too big for their mouths.

  One of them has two heads; one for watching where he’s walking, and the other for watching me. Another has dozens of hands, each wielding a different weapon.

  As they circle the room, I’m paralyzed. I want to yell for help, but when I open my mouth only air rushes out. My limbs even move in slow motion as if I’m being weighted down.

  One of the monsters, the size of my thumb, jumps onto the foot of my bed, starting to scream the chant the others are still mumbling. He scrambles across my body to shout in my face. And finally I can understand what he’s saying, no longer sounding foreign. It’s crystal clear.

  “We will kill you if you don’t kill soon. You must kill or we will. You must kill. You must kill. Kill now. Kill now.”

  Then it cuts my throat.

  ****

  Fucking nightmares.

  I take a shot of Jack, popping another sleeping pill. Hopefully the combination will slow my unconscious down so I can go dreamless for once.

  ****

  Saturday morning arrives, and I finally get out of bed, heading into the shower. Again the water seems to bring out my best ideas, but I cut it off, jumping out quickly so I can write each down before forgetting. I move to the porcelain throne, writing furiously.

  If anyone were to walk in on me sketching out ideas for violent murder while shitting on the toilet
, I don’t think I could come up with a believable excuse. I guess I could just go with the catchall: it’s for a novel I’m writing. Totally believable, right?

  I bark out a burst of laughter. I’ll have to remember that one.

  Looking down to my scribbling, I know my plan is somewhat elaborate. Okay, pretty elaborate. I wish I had someone I could brainstorm with. Someone who was like me that could look over my ideas and tell me where the drawback or mistakes are. It would be easier if I could collaborate with another killer.

  I wonder if there’s a website directory I could sign up for. Definitely not. So I could be the creator of the idea: Coldbloodedkillersnetwork.com, “A place to socialize and network with other psychos just like you.” I could make some money off that idea. Right before getting thrown into prison, or right off a cliff.

  I shake my head, leaving the bathroom in search of clothing.

  Without someone to look over my plan, it’ll just have to do. I’m going to wait a few days though, taking time to rethink everything through several times. At least. Have to work out any bugs I can catch on my own before jumping in. Plus, it never hurts to sleep on an idea before deciding or taking action. Especially when freedom and safety are at risk.

  After fleshing out my special plans for Kristi the waitress, my Saturday goes by without anything else noteworthy occurring. The sky outside remains gray. The wind chill drops a few degrees. My phone never rings. Basically, I sit on my ass watching TV, relaxing. I have the vague feeling I’m missing something, but it isn’t an urgent feeling, so I dismiss it.

  Afternoon fades into evening, and evening saunters into night.

  This is why I love being single. I can sit at home all day, like today, in peace and quiet without ridicule or nagging. I can walk around in my underwear, or naked if I choose (though I rarely do, because, well because it’s drafty). I can eat anything I want, watch anything I want, and do anything I want without ever asking for permission, forgiveness, or consultation. When I want entertainment I leave the house. If I need human interaction I walk to the bar.

  Maybe everything I’ve done up to this point has been leading to my new hobby. This lifestyle, my personality, everything. I think I enjoy what I’ve done because of who I am on a deeper level. There may be something missing from me that others have, and that’s why I feel no need to pair up with someone. I don’t want to be stuck with someone I’ll eventually hate. And being alone just makes it much simpler to continue with my new adventures, my playdates. I’ll never have to explain odd behavior or lengthy disappearances to anyone.