With sporadic breath, I get out, “I dare you.”
His eyes flash again, and then he’s jumping over the back of the couch, which I didn’t anticipate, and he’s too close. I scream, barely staying in front of him, and I scramble back to the bedroom, through it, and into the bathroom.
“Well, that was dumb,” he says, and he’s right. “You’re trapped, Bumble.”
“Come and get me.”
I waggle my finger, pulling it toward me in a gesture mimicking my words, and lift my eyebrows. Shaking my hips seems like too much, but as he comes closer I do it anyway. And then I’m in his arms, lifted up like I’m as weightless as the mood, getting just what I wanted.
Our faces mirror one another, but I don’t indicate anywhere on mine that I’ve won, that I’ve successfully distracted him.
“You’re going to pay for that, you know,” he says as he lowers me onto the bed, following right behind.
“Give me all you’ve got.” It doesn’t sound like a threat, and it’s not really, more of a challenge. And if I know Aidan, he can’t resist a challenge.
***
“Anything else?” I ask as I head to the front door, purse in hand.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? Because I’m not going out again. This is it. I swear.”
“Oh, wait,” Aidan says, running from the kitchen to meet me.
“Of course,” I pretend to mumble, and Aidan narrows his eyes at me as he gets closer.
“You made the deal—I clean the bathroom, you get the groceries.” I glare at him, waiting for whatever he wants to add to my list. When he hesitates like he’s forgotten, I start nodding my head and rolling my wrist for him to hurry up. “Shit,” he breathes.
Like a ragdoll, a marionette with an enthusiastic master, I do it again.
“One, two,” I say.
“Oh,” he starts, clearly remembering. “Booze. Get beer and wine, too.”
I kiss the corner of his mouth as soon as he finishes his thought, and then I’m out the door before he can add anything else to my already-long shopping list. “I’ll call when I’m in the driveway, so you can help me carry it in,” I yell over my shoulder as the door closes.
Digging in my purse for Aidan’s car keys as I move down the steps, my brain is juggling too many ideas—if I should stop at my house for my laptop first or after groceries, what piece of writing I should work on tonight, how many more days I can feasibly get away before doing laundry. As I skip from one thought to the next, almost to the car, I see a flash from the corner of my eye.
My breath catches in my throat as my head whips upward to look closer at what I hope I didn’t just see. It’s dark, and I was preoccupied, so it couldn’t be. It was only a flash of hair in the moonlight, soft feet flying through the grass silently, a glimpse of white and black. A wicked grin and intense eyes.
Even thinking it sends a shiver down my spine as my eyes move to the spot, but for a moment I had sworn it was Eva running by.
Dead Eva.
But when my eyes flick over again there’s nothing there, not even a disturbance in the grass. I try to sigh with relief, but the air gets lodged somewhere in my chest, and I feel more anxious than before.
Speed walking the last few steps to Aidan’s car, I hold my breath and don’t let it out until I’m inside with the doors locked. I don’t believe in ghosts, I swear I don’t. But if I did, hers would be the vengeful one come after me, I know it.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, before I flick the headlights on. But once everything is lit up, I start to feel foolish. Maybe it’s the bet, all the time since my last release, building up tension inside. I look to my fingernails, spreading my fingers wide on the steering wheel. The polish is all chipped away now save for two navy blue slivers left on one thumbnail, and the sight does nothing to help my growing unease. I feel worse. Not even twisting my engagement ring helps my heart or head to regulate.
“Shit,” I say to the stale air in the car. And I tilt my head back as I turn the key. Music from the radio fills the car as I back down the driveway and try to forget the flash of dead woman I can still picture when I close my eyes to blink, wondering if she’ll ever leave me the hell alone.
Then
He would pay, if I was right.
As I drove to Parker’s apartment, where I hoped he wouldn’t be, all I could think about was what I’d put into him, into us. I thought about the time we spent together, both changing for the better. I thought about everything he’d said to me.
Was it all lies?
Tears fell down in anticipation, and I hated myself for being this way.
But I was his. I had sunk down into him and parts of me had been changed forever.
Twice I had to pull over and collect myself before getting back onto the road. I forced myself forward. I had to know, one way or the other. But then I sat in the parking lot, not quite ready to go in once I parked.
I was heavy.
My brain took me to better places again as I sat there chilled but motionless. I watched the moments I’d cherished playing in my mind, reminding me of all the good times I’d already had with Parker, of what I was possibly about to lose.
I loved the way he’d pinned me to the bed when we were beneath the comforter so many mornings. He’d hold me down and cover my face in soft kisses, in a cocoon of white fabric and words unsaid and hours that passed like minutes.
He wouldn’t let me up until he was satisfied, until he’d kissed me enough times to feel warmer, to feel more. Sometimes it would last so long, his need to fill himself up with me, that I was sure we’d be there forever.
And when he let go, I never did. I let him lie on top of me for hours more, for all time.
But it was easy.
It felt right.
And I couldn’t wrap my head around how that could be fake, or where it had changed if it had been real after all. I didn’t understand, but I just had to know.
So I took a deep breath, and walked toward his building, my hands shaking at my sides until I balled them into fists, preparing myself.
The lobby smelled like bleach. The lights were too bright, and I almost turned back, preferring blissful ignorance. But then a dinging sounded across the room, and a couple came off the elevator, bringing me back into myself.
The ride up five floors felt like a thousand, and the hallway down to his apartment seemed like miles. My feet carried me to his door, but I was pretty sure my heart was back in the elevator, the lobby, the car; maybe it was back on the sidewalk where he started lying to me. I wasn’t sure.
“Oh yes, yes, ride me. God, you’re amazing.”
The words were muffled as I stood in front of number 535, but I’d know his voice anywhere.
Parker’s praising was followed by his moaning, and then high-pitched shrieks from someone else.
“Oh, oh, oh,” that someone else yelled, and I started gagging.
I wanted to run away from the horrible sounds that were still ripping me to shreds. But my body rejected the wishes of my brain, and my hand moved to the doorknob as I swallowed down the pain and the panic. It was unlocked. I knew it was stupid as I turned and opened the door. Everything got louder then, and I dug my nails into my palms to keep myself from screaming. I felt the skin break, but I kept digging, kept walking forward.
“Right there.”
“Harder.”
“Yes, yes!”
And then I could see it all. I saw him on top of her, his eyes fixed to hers. I saw my Parker in bed with someone else as my world fell apart around me, crushing me beneath the weight of his lies.
She could have been anyone, it didn’t matter. She probably didn’t even know about me. But there she was—faceless but loud, anonymous but impossible to ignore.
I don’t know how long I stood in the shadows of his bathroom, looking into a scene I’d never forget, but eventually I retreated back the way I’d come. And once I was gone, once I was running
down the hall and splashing the carpet with my sorrow, I could still hear those sounds from that scene inside my ears when I knew it was impossible to anymore. They sounds were carved into the cartilage there, and I worried I’d be plagued by her voice forever. I worried I’d never stop seeing the face he made while inside someone else.
Everything inside me hurt.
After turning the corner of the hallway, I walked past the waiting elevator. I knew I should get on, go home. I knew I should cool down and let the fury drain from my body. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t force myself back to my car.
Not yet.
Instead I waited. I waited for her to leave, so I could talk to Parker alone. It would hurt, it might even hurt more than what I just saw, but I wanted it done so I could move on. I deserved that much at least. And I didn’t have to wait very long, it turned out, because less than ten minutes later a messy-haired little thing made her way down the hall. I still didn’t see the features of her face as she bounced out of my life. All I could see was the red fire inside me.
As soon as she was gone, I walked back to his door.
I told myself that I would say goodbye and leave. I told myself, over and over, that just because I’d put so much work into our relationship, that I’d spent so much time charming and seducing him, trying to make him love me, that didn’t mean I deserved anything now. It was done. I would tell him that and then leave.
A frost skimmed the inside of my body, glancing over bones and diving into muscle tissue as I knocked on Parker’s door. I hear him stumble from bed and rush to the door, and the smile was evident in his voice as he opened it to me.
“Hi,” I said, my mouth parting to show my teeth in what I hoped resembled a smile.
“Oh. Hi, babe. What’s up?”
He stoked the fire, pushing me right to the edge and yanking away what little control I still had left, until even his eyes looked red to me.
Now
It feels like I’ve been bathing in dread. So much so that it’s hard to focus on anything, even my reflection.
When I do, when my eyes focus, I move my hand to my hair. A crown of white flowers drips petals over my cheekbones, falling down my dress, into my eyelashes and mouth, over everything I can see or touch. The room is filled with them. My dress is made of the velvety texture, layered white petals in cascades over my curves.
“It’s time.”
I stand in answer, no reply forming on my nervous lips, no feeling in my shaking hands.
A blood red bouquet is shoved into those hands, my hands, and they still can’t stop trembling. The flowers are huge, each bigger than my fist, and there are dozens. It’s heavy, but I know I’m not allowed to set it down. It’s integral to the part I’m playing.
Music starts, from somewhere very far away, I’m not sure which direction, and my pulse quickens to match the beat.
It’s starting.
A feeling bubbles up within me as my feet carry me forward, through halls and doorways toward the sound of rising music. I can’t quite name it, but fear is close. Maybe more like apprehension, doubt, panic tied into a pretty little bow and infused into each petal caressing my skin, clawing their way inside, seeping into my bones.
I’m not ready.
But my mouth won’t open, the words won’t form, my lips won’t part for air to carry sound.
Chairs sit before me, heads turned away. Somehow every single one is occupied. Though, my eyes glide over them, heading to one single person, the only one that matters.
Aidan.
Looking for him, before our eyes meet, I expected a calm to wash over me. But instead I just feel numb once we connect. His eyes are blank, and his mouth is hard. This isn’t right.
I’ve done something wrong, forgotten an important part, screwed this moment up, too.
And then the moment passes and his face lights up, everyone in those seats turning toward me, standing and looking expectantly.
“Oh, no.”
The words escape my lips, the ones I thought were sewn together, before I have time to suck them back into my throat.
Every guest here, on the day about us, about me, is…dead.
Black eyes, red eyes, a hundred lifeless eyes stare at me as I make my way down the aisle to Aidan. But somehow I keep moving, keep gliding over the petals that fall from my dress to the floor, leaving a trail behind me. Somehow I walk past them without screaming, without scratching faces to prove they’re really here.
The waitress, Eva, they all stand with smiles on their gray faces—smiles that stretch against their waxy skin, pulling at the corners of their eyes. Every person, some I only vaguely recognize from Aidan’s stories, is someone we’ve killed, divided by the aisle. Griffin on the bride’s side, Blondie on the groom’s.
The music stops when I reach Aidan, but a flat note hangs in the air, just above my head. I’m tempted to reach up and swat it away, hoping for a sense of relief to wash over me. It doesn’t, but the minister starts speaking anyway.
“Dearly beloved…ladies, gentleman, deceased,” he booms, looking around with a smile as big as a painted clown’s slashed across his mouth.
I breathe.
I suck in air, trying to slow the flow, and let it go as slowly as I can. My head starts to spin a little, and the red flowers in my hands seem to grow even larger, heavier, redder. Peeking over my shoulder, they’re all still there, eyes fixed on me, unblinking. Not on us, not on the man speaking words I should be listening to. But only on me. Aidan squeezes my hand, and I look forward, willing myself to focus.
But a snapping sound startles me, and I turn once more to see dozens more guests lined along the aisle, and on either sides of the chairs. A second snap goes off, and I realize what the original sound had been.
Photographs.
There are paparazzi and media personnel taking photos, not of me, but of the dead guests and their oozing wounds. How had I missed the blood falling from knife wounds, the charred flesh, the bruises around throats? Each camera flash lights them up like spotlights now.
A strangled sound, somewhere between a gasp and a guttural moan, erupts from my throat as I hear a metallic clinking noise and locate the source of it.
Police.
Between the photographers are cops, clanking handcuffs and tapping their holstered guns.
This is not how it should be going. It isn’t right.
Aidan elbows me before I can look much longer, not harshly, but quick and determined. I turn back to the front to see holes forming in the minister’s skin, like Swiss cheese, and I look through his cheek to the movement of his tongue as he speaks.
“Beatrice, repeat after me.”
I nod, unsure if I’ll be able to speak coherently, to concentrate enough, but hoping I will. This isn’t about anyone else here, and they can’t really be here anyway. It’s just cold feet casting a lens, a dark shadow, over those in the seats.
Paper rustles loudly behind me, and I chance a glance backward to a cop much too close to the altar. He looks like Harwell, only he has no eyes, and he’s holding a paper with big letters typed across the top.
Warrant.
But he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t stop the wedding, only stands still.
“I, Beatrice,” says the wavering voice before me, coming in and out of focus, the volume changing and mixing with static, as his skin disappears.
“I, Beatrice.”
“Take Aidan,” he rasps.
“Take,” I gulp, looking to Aidan, realizing I barely have, “Aidan.”
Aidan frowns as he looks back at me, and the lines around his brows and mouth deepen as the downward turn increases.
“To have and to hold, until death binds us.”
“To have and to hold, until death…” I trip over the wording.
“Binds, solidifies, enthralls, creates…” the minister adds word after word, none of them right. And when he stops, he doesn’t wait for me to respond. Instead he turns to Aidan. “Now Aidan,
” he says.
Aidan speaks for the first time, but his voice is wrong. It sounds as if he’s speaking though a speakerphone, tinny and far away. And the movement of his mouth is a beat off, like the sound and picture aren’t lined up right. “I take Beatrice. I’ll take her to bed, take her to the grave. She will obey me, and I will worship her. Until death binds us.”
I tilt my head to the side, studying Aidan’s profile, feeling queasy.
“The rings?” The minister holds his hand out to Aidan, palm up with black, charred, circles in the center.
Aidan grabs them, and places one on my finger. It hesitates at my knuckle until he shoves it past, hard, and I hear a crunching.
I look down to see the symbol of our love, but instead I notice my dress. The petals covering my stomach are no longer pristine white. Some of my bouquet’s petals must have fallen, landing in patches together on my navel and hips, because my dress is scattered with red.
But then I see a spreading, a widening and darkening of the color, and there’s no flutter to the flowers. They’re leaking, covered in blood.
I shriek, glancing next to my hand where there should be a ring, trying to figure out how I could have gotten so hurt when there is no pain. Only my ring, it’s fallen off, with no flesh to hold it on. Just bone remains on both of my hands, my bouquet forgotten and lying at my feet.
“What’s happening?” I whisper, looking to Aidan.
And there’s no one else around anymore. No guests. No cameras, no handcuffs, no threatening letters. No chairs, no minister. There isn’t even any light left, everything blackening around the edges, engulfing us in the dark. Except for Aidan’s face; he’s lit up from within, and the honey of his eyes is sharp, cold.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Sheppard,” he says.
Then he lunges, hands out, fingers coming toward my neck. When he makes contact, the pressure I’d felt since the first sour notes of music started playing evaporates. Nothing is left.
“No! Wait.”
Deeper into Darkness Page 7
