by Rob Heinze
Might be he would have to help Eve remember that she was his.
He stood in the kitchen facing the refrigerator. There was a picture of Charley in a basketball uniform. He was smiling stupidly and holding a ball. That was when John saw the light shift on the refrigerator, a desultory reflection too quick to have been there. He spun. Those of the Dark stood in the kitchen. He saw them in that brief, fleeting moment—saw the shape of their bodies, impossibly tall, heads (heads?) gracing the ceiling and leaving smudges there—
Shadows shifted and John was alone.
Hallucinating, he thought.
The dead body they’d seen still bothered him. He couldn’t get that image of the man’s face out of his mind. Stains. Black stains. If they touched John, would his interior plumbing go black too?
“Stop it,” he said shakily. “Just stop it.”
He touched his knife involuntarily. He touched it, remembering the man he’d killed, and he wondered if this—being here and being prey of Those of the Dark—was God’s retribution.
12
“I feel bad for him,” Eve said.
She and John were in one of the spare bedrooms with a dozen candles burning to illuminate the darkness that had settled down around them.
“Coming home’s not the way out,” John said vaguely.
He had undressed and lay in just his boxers. Eve was still in her jeans and T-shirt. He looked at the slight curves of her body longingly.
“Why don’t you undress?”
She did obediently. She spoke while she took her clothes off.
“I knew it. I knew it wasn’t the way out. But he just wants to see his girl again. That’s so sweet. I wish—”
She looked at John and smiled weakly, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed.
Want not and live happy, she thought oddly.
He didn’t care about her comment. He watched her take the jeans off.
“What are we going to do now? Stay here?” She asked.
She came towards him and sat down on the bed.
“I don’t think so. We have to move on.”
Eve, suddenly startled, looked down at John. His face was ghoulish and frightening in the candlelight. She knew it—knew it by the look on his face. And she had known it as soon as his voice articulated that: he wanted to leave Charley.
“Alone?” She whispered.
He nodded. She swallowed. She didn’t think she liked that. It wasn’t fair…to Charley or her.
“To where?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. We will figure it out.”
His hand went to her legs, up her thigh, to the breast that hung free from her torso. It was a small breast, but John had never really judged a woman by her breast size. Usually women with bigger breasts thought they were God’s gift to men anyway. He squeezed, loving the soft dimply feel of it against his palm. She didn’t respond. Her face was distracted and distant.
She doesn’t want to leave without him, John thought.
He felt that dull ache of jealousy in his gut. He squeezed her breast, hard, and she responded with a small exclamation. She tried to shrug away from him, but he wouldn’t let go. She relented and looked off at the wall again. John played with her breasts, slowly, carefully, exploring all the little bumps and curves.
“Maybe we should follow Those of the Light? Just follow them?” Eve said hazily.
“Why don’t you take your panties off?”
She hesitated for a moment, looking down at him with something like disgust, and then she slid them off. She was completely naked. They kissed briefly, but only briefly. He took her hand and put it to his crotch, where she dutifully rubbed. She did it absently, the way a person watching TV might dust a table with their hand but not their mind. Suddenly she was not in the mood for this. There were other things here, and John was talking about leaving Charley but they couldn’t leave Charley.
I couldn’t leave Charley, Eve thought. I couldn’t be alone with this man.
“Roll over,” he whispered.
She looked at him. His face was strange, slack—a monster’s face. She shivered. She did not want it.
“John,” she said. “No. Not now.”
“Roll over.”
His eyes were large and in them she saw insanity. She thought: what can I do? She thought: I need him. She thought: do I? She did, didn’t she? Even with Charley here, didn’t she need John?
She lay back. John stood watching her. She had not done as he had said, for she had not rolled onto her belly. For a moment, he was certain that his hand was going to fly out and smack her face. Eve seemed to sense that thought. If she stayed on her back, and his eyes came open during the sex, would he go soft again? Would he beat her? Kill her? So she rolled slowly over, the motion that of someone surrendering and John grabbed her around the waist and situated himself so that he, John, would find pleasure. Oh, but there would be no pleasure for Eve, because this was not normal and she could not even get wet.
John closed his eyes and began to thrust. He was an incubus and Eve was his prey. The friction was bliss. The control was heaven. God, good, so good, it felt so good; it—
She’s mine, she’s mine, Oh, God she’s MINE! MINE!
—felt like nothing he’d ever felt. There was a clear vision of her hips, lower back, his sex…power, Those of Power and Dark…Those of the Dark, now falling down around him with green-yellow eyes that poured out acid fumes—fumes that would choke and kill him and their crooked, gaseous fingers coming out to touch his cheek, and when they brushed his skin that black poison would flood his body, spreading out like frost from a demon’s touch and he would die—
I killed that man, he thought in utter, disturbing clarity in the instant before the orgasm broke his body.
As his seed poured hideously into her, he saw the face of the victim lurching up, lurching up with wide eyes as he fell on him with the knife.
When it was over, he lay curled into a ball and feared for his sanity. Eve didn’t even seek comfort; she lay on the other side of the bed and looked off at nothing. She hated him. She wished she’d never found him.
But I needed him, she thought, hating herself.
When he turned around to her, seeking comfort and trying to give it, his monstrous arms slapping down around her shoulders, she went stiff.
She decided something then: she would never be comforted by this man again.
13
Charley didn’t sleep that night. Though he was in his own bed, there were too many bad things in his mind. The pillows felt hard and the mattress lumpy. He lay and looked at the ceiling. He had heard the grunts and groans coming from the next room over, most of the noises that of a male. He didn’t feel good about hearing those noises.
They’re doomed, he thought.
As dawn broke, Charley slipped out of the room, stopping once in the hall and looking at the closed door. They were probably sleeping. There was no sound in the house. He slipped down the hall and down the stairs. He was hungry, and the cabinet was still filled with food. He took out a Ramon cup of soup, a small pot, and brought them outside. He gathered some kindling from a pile his father had cut over the years. He lit a small fire off of the deck, in the driveway, and he put the pot on it. The smoke crackled as it found the water clinging to the side of the pot.
He wondered if he could just stay here, stay at the house. He’d be like Ray; he’d be Charley Allen, 24, possible assault victim, alone in Streamwater, NJ. So what? He’d be home and he’d be safe.
The water boiled quickly, and the noodles cooked even faster. He ate his soup directly from the pot. It was good. When it was done, he sat on the deck and looked up at the sky. It was growing brighter and bluer. Charley had always thought that dusk was more beautiful than dawn, but there was something special and wonderful in watching the sky lighten in successive shades.
He sat that way for a long time. Sarah was on his mind. It felt so strange to be apart from her…sadly (and frighteningly) it felt as if he had almo
st never known her.
That decided him.
He got up and went over to the three bikes in the driveway. He got on his. He began to peddle down the driveway. He breeched the street, heading right. The wind was in his hair, against his face. He had to see if she was home. He knew she wasn’t, but he had to be sure.
He didn’t notice Eve following him.
* * * * *
Sarah’s house stood silently, and he came to a halt on the front walkway.
“Baby,” he whispered, hoping she would hear.
He went around the house and broke into the back door, which was wood with glass panes. The sound of the glass tinkling to the floor was deafening. He jimmied the lock and entered. He stood in the kitchen, listening to the silence and feeling like an intruder in a place that had once felt like home.
It’s not fair, he thought.
He went up the steps towards her room. The emptiness sat heavily on his shoulders. That annoying lump was already poking around in his throat. Tears over-spilled his eyes and plummeted down his cheeks. He was at her bedroom door. He pushed the door inwards and the sweet scent of Yankee Candle came wafting out to him. He didn’t cross the threshold to her room; for some reason he thought that doing that would finalize her absence.
He wasn’t in Sarah’s house for more than five minutes. It was too depressing. He peddled down the driveway and out to the street. Eve was standing on the front walkway of Sarah’s house, and Charley didn’t even see her. His eyes were blurred with tears.
Eve saw him passing her, oblivious to her presence. She almost called to him but decided against it. She watched him fade away, confused (she had no idea whose house this was), and then she jumped on her bike and peddled hard after him. She was panting by the time she caught sight of him again.
Suddenly Charley veered off to the right and disappeared into a heavy copse of trees.
She slowed and approached the spot he’d veered into. There was a make-shift asphalt walkway that ran down into the thick trees. She jumped off her bike and walked down the walkway. She thought she heard trickling water.
The path went into trees, which now stood tall and protective around her. The path dipped further, and down near the bottom she saw Charley. He was standing on a tiny wood bridge, no longer than four feet in length. He was hunched over on the wooden rail and staring down at what she thought was the source of the trickling noise: a small brook.
Sarah and he had come here countless times, and each time they had, they had kissed. It had become a tradition. It was their place. Charley had always felt as if no one else knew about the place, that it was truly and absolutely theirs. And now it was wrong; it was wrong because he was here alone.
He began to cry, long loud sobs bursting from somewhere deep down inside of him. He put his head down into his hands. Eve got off her bike and walked up the little path towards the bridge. He didn’t notice her coming, and she hesitated. When he finally sensed her, he looked at her through his tears.
“Sarah?” He asked.
She felt her heart break for him. She shook her head.
“It’s me. Eve.”
He nodded weakly, as if he had known all along. The cries burst out of him again. She went to him and put a comforting hand on his back. He cried while she wondered what it would be like to be that in love.
14
John stood watching them.
He had come out for a bike-ride this morning, feeling odd. He couldn’t precisely describe the way he felt. It was light and carefree, but there was an underlying feeling of trouble and paranoia. Upon finding the house empty this morning, he had decided to take a ride. His girl, the woman whom he had controlled since he had found her, had gone off somewhere and so had Charley. Coincidence?
Hmmm? Hmmm? Hmmm?
Jealousy was a gut-wrenching thing. John had ridden around the wealthy neighborhood, with these huge fucking houses sitting so far back on their property as if they were special. That was when he had started to have some fun with his situation. He had gone into a few houses along the way, mostly ones that looked appealing. He had smashed through the windows with whatever rocks he could find and had climbed in. One house had really large rooms. It had been decorated nicely, and he had wrecked the place. In one house he hadn’t touched a thing. Instead, he had gone in and sat on the couch in the living room which had been filled with warm morning light. He couldn’t imagine it, having a place like that—waking up on Sunday mornings and sitting on the couches and letting the piss warm light fall around his face. Eve would be with him, would be his, and she would come down sleepy and sit next to him and he would take his penis out and she would play with it and he would groan and leave an ass-print of sweat on the couch seat.
Howdy-fucking-do!
That, friends and neighbors, was what he thought of. Of it being his place. Of everything his. The world should have been his. Why did everything have to be so hard in life? Why was Eve un-submissive? There was more, so much more that he needed from her. Emotionally, she was not attached to him, and John knew that was very, very bad for him.
He had stayed on the couch in that nice house, thinking these thoughts and stroking his knife sexually. John couldn’t mistake the motion now: it was erotic to him.
He had pushed thoughts of Eve from his head. What he had to do was simple: kill Charley.
He had noticed the erection at his crotch. Feeling as if he should oblige the house, he had stood and masturbated onto a nice cherry oak coffee table in the living room. His semen had thumped down onto the table, forming pearly globs against the dark wood.
Gems from my Jewels.
God help me.
He had put his diminishing penis away, leaving his spend on the table, and walked towards the back of the house. He gazed out the window and saw Those of the Dark.
Terror locked his legs.
He stood, frozen, wide-eyed, looking out at the spacious lawn on which stood the shadows. God, they weren’t even shadows, were they? No, they weren’t…they were—?
Death.
He had turned and ran towards the front, bursting out and stumbling to his bike. They had been in the driveway too, hugely over-imagined shapes that stood twenty feet in the air. They had watched with whatever passed for eyes. John had peddled the bike frantically off the lawn, riding fast and hard and wishing that Charley and Eve where with him. It hadn’t been until he was down the street that he glanced back and saw one of them flying at him, its head-shape opening and showing long silver fangs. He had screamed and swerved, bumping into a curb and spilling himself onto the grass.
He had spun around, waiting for the bite on his neck—
But there had been nothing there. He had simply hallucinated.
After he had calmed down, he got back on his bike and pedaled down the road. That was when he had heard sobbing. And since the world was empty, sound traveled particularly well. He followed the noise down through someone’s backyard and onto a path that led through a swath of trees. He had seen the bridge. Eve and Charley had been standing on it. The thing that his jealous eyes had focused on, like twin homing devices, was Eve hand on Charley’s back. He stopped and watched them, and he vowed that if they so much as kissed, he would gut the man right there on that bridge. He didn’t care. He would do it. His fingers nervously went to his knife and stroked, stroked.
He would kill Charley. As long as someone else was around, there was a chance that Eve might become emotionally-attached to that other person. John could not have that.
He couldn’t.
15
“We need to make a decision about what we should do,” Charley said, finally finished with his sobbing. His throat hurt.
“I think we should follow Those of the Light,” Eve said, hoping for a positive response from Charley.
He looked pensive for a moment, staring down at the trickling water.
“We could,” he said. “If we could find them.”
“They want us to follow,” Eve said.
“Look at the message they left you.”
“We haven’t seen them since the Turnpike.”
She nodded, and then shrugged. She didn’t know how to find them. And Charley felt that they only came when they wanted to.
“We’ll wait here,” Charley said suddenly. “We’ll wait until Those of the Light come, and then we will follow them. If there’s a way out, it’s with them. I think I’ve known that since I first learned about them. But we can’t go looking for them aimlessly. At least we have shelter here.”
Eve nodded reluctantly. She glanced to the right, saw John watching them, and a cold dread filled her belly. She hadn’t noticed him before, and clearly Charley hadn’t noticed him either. Their eyes locked across the distance, and in that brief moment she knew that he was, beyond a doubt, crazy. None of the stuff he had previously done to her could contend with that haunting, vacant look in his eyes as he stared down at them.
He was heading towards them. She tapped Charley on his back, unable to say anything. He looked up.
“I thought I’d lost you two,” John said.
Be calm, John told himself. Be calm and sane.
“I woke up and you were gone.”
“She followed me,” Charley said cowardly. “I was just going to see Sarah’s house.”
“We’ve been talking about what we should do,” Eve said, as if in defense.
Charley looked up at her reassuringly, then over to John.
“My thought was that we should stay here until Those of the Light show up. Then we’ll follow them. They’ll lead us home.”
“What about Those of the Dark?” John said casually. “What if they come?”
Charley said nothing. John was being spiteful; that much was obvious.
“Let’s go back,” John said, his gaze resting on Eve. She felt a low, terrible contraction in her stomach.
