Deeper into Darkness

by Maria Ann Green

  When I get outside, changed and feeling better than when I got here, it’s dark.

  I stop just past the mats on the side of the door with fresh, non-sweaty air, looking to the sky. I honestly didn’t realize I’d stayed here so long. I’m surprised.

  He worked hard too, no doubt—he’s probably as fit as Aidan now, which is saying a lot considering he was on his way to clogged arteries and worse when we met—but I don’t think his mind was in it.

  Jason’s car is gone, and most of them are, when I head toward mine. He used to walk me to my car until I threatened to beat him up the last time he did. He thought it was some pride thing, but really I’ve killed people bigger than Jason, and he was just annoying doing it.

  There are probably less than ten cars in the lot, but my eyes flit over one in the far corner as I walk toward mine, and it stops me dead in my tracks.

  It looks like Eva’s car—the one she stalked Aidan with. The one…my heart catches in my throat as it tries to commit suicide by running out of my mouth. My temperature goes up like I’m back in the hot tub as everything threatens to crash down around me.

  It can’t be. There’s no way.

  And the world stops, my head completely empties as my legs prepare to run. I plummet into pure panic until a beep sounds and I jump higher than I knew I could. My muscles all spasm as I flinch, a little sound making it past my lips.

  My mind is still reeling when the lights of the car flash on as a man—a man—walks up to the car. He eyes me, still rooted to the same spot I was standing in when I noticed his car, but he looks away quickly and revs his engine. Then as he drives away, under the lamp in the lot, I can see the damn thing isn’t even the same color as Eva’s was.

  I let out a strangled laugh, barely a whisper, and start walking to my own car again.

  I need to get myself under control, stop letting stupid ideas take over and paralyze me. I take a deep breath, still shaken but trying to move past it. And the little beep after double-clicking my own unlock button sounds louder than normal. Letting the mood get to me, just a little more, I look to the overhead light and the tiniest shiver overtakes my shoulders.

  Then it happens.

  I breathe in, deep and panicked, because a hand touches my shoulder. Fingers push on my collarbone, and I feel like ice is dumped over my head.

  I need to scream.

  Someone is grabbing me.

  Someone is going to take me and do god knows what with me because I was too stupid to look around before walking toward my car, because I’m too lazy to attach pepper spray to my keys, because I was a horrible person today and I deserve this.

  My brain races through possibilities, a million miles a second, as oxygen fills my lungs and my body prepares to scream for the second time in way too short of a span. My eyelids squeeze shut as the sound starts to come toward my teeth.

  Maybe it’s my worst nightmare. Maybe this time it is Eva, back form the dead to get her revenge, a ghost from my past come back to collect the blood I spilled, the blood I took that wasn’t mine to take. Maybe she’s been hiding and waiting until I was alone in the dark, waiting until now.

  Then

  Fear gripped me tighter than it ever had before, and it was hard not to explode from the pressure, hard not to let a scream erupt from deep down, but I knew it wouldn’t help. I wasn’t sure anything could help.

  I’d been lucky. The woman exited the elevator and walked the other way, never once glancing up from her phone to see me. I’d been too lucky, and I couldn’t panic like that again. Ever.

  So I started running. I took the stairs two at a time until I was outside. Outside. I made it outside. It felt unreal, but the chill of the air lapped at my skin, and I knew there was nothing else to do. I had to keep moving.

  Then suddenly I was on my way, heading toward my own apartment, not sure what route I’d take home, or how long I’d take getting there. Because I was walking instead of driving, my car neglected. I couldn’t trust myself behind the wheel anymore tonight. And the leaves crunched beneath my feet, but those were the only sounds, other than my own breaths, misty and adding to the building fog.

  As I walked, a sense of hopelessness started to sink deeper and deeper into me, pockmarking my soul and leaving shrapnel behind for good. How could I move on from there? How could I ever look into a man’s eyes again?

  How could I look at myself again?

  It felt unthinkable. Especially with the blood soaked so deeply into parts of my white dress that it stained my skin beneath. Maybe my bones were a dark rust color too. It seemed possible. There wasn’t anything in the world that could erase the fear bleeding into me.

  It hadn’t gone right.

  I should have stopped.

  Walking away was always an option, and I didn’t take it. Instead I took a life.

  My feet moved beneath me, carrying me along the street like they weren’t actually a part of me, like they were controlled by a brain that was truly functioning. And dark buildings loomed over me, watching me, waiting for me to make another mistake, another in the series strung together behind me.

  I didn’t even know where I was going, or how I’d gotten there. I just kept going.

  I was empty, and I was lost, and I was so close to falling over the edge.

  Raking my shaking fist over my eyes, I ground them in to shock my system, hoping it would help wake me up despite the clock on my phone telling me I should be asleep. It only kind of worked. And wiping that fist, still trembling, across my chin, I tried to slow my breathing. That did work, but only until I saw more, new, blood on my knuckles afterward, pulled from my chin.

  Had it been there the whole time?

  I was so stupid.

  How could tonight go so wrong?

  Looking down, I saw painted toenails. My painted toenails. On just one foot. But I was past the point of rational thought, and as it swam into focus it was the only thing that mattered. Wherever the blood came from, the things that went wrong, whatever I looked like, what I would do next, none of it could matter. Because the only thing that mattered anymore was that the sole shoe left was now only half of a pair.

  A sole without its mate.

  I spun around, looking for it behind me, wildly. But it was nowhere, nowhere close at least.

  Who cares about a lost little shoe, you idiot, when a person—a person—is dead because of you? Another, another, another, another.

  “Shut up,” I hissed in the chilled, still air all around me, not able to stop myself from cringing at my own broken voice.

  The only reason you should be worried about a missing piece of clothing is because it could…

  “I said SHUT UP!” This time the words came screaming from my throat and past my lips. They startled a mouse that squeaked before scurrying from the dark corner and right over my now-bare foot.

  I shivered.

  Looking around, I was glad that no one seemed to have come running toward my outburst. But I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky again, so I started moving, silent, past houses, toward main street—darker corners and a place to think. I ran toward the possibility of hiding in plain sight.

  Toward a place to not think.

  Not think about the dead body. Not think about my numbness.

  Then, before long, I was in an alley, in the spaces between buildings. I was shielded in the dark. I went from being a killer to a nobody, lost inside herself. And it was the second time tonight I stood in an alley, only this time felt a lot different.

  I cried without wiping my tears. I let everything wash over me, and I closed my eyes.

  The only thought left was that without both of my shoes I could cut my foot, and then where would I be? In that dirty alley, not sure what to do next, bleeding my own blood instead of that of another.

  Parker had given me those shoes, I remembered. I’d loved them, like I’d loved him, and now half of both pairs were gone forever.

  I cried harder.

  Snap out of it. The voice burie
d deep came up for advice again, and this time I listened.

  I shook my head, taking a red smeared hand down the length of my dress, which only made it worse. And when the smears on the white fabric shouted up at me, I only shook harder. I did need to snap out of it, though, so without thinking about it for too long I lifted the same hand and slapped my cheek, hard.

  That shook everything loose, including my tenacity. My problem-solving skills seemed to have been held under the fear. But with the crack of skin on skin I was more myself again.

  I couldn’t clean off the blood, not there and then. But I could hide it. Wrapping my leather jacket tight around my torso, I covered up as much of the red as I could. The rest could pass for patterned fabric—if no one looked too close.

  And if someone was looking close at all, I was screwed anyway.

  But I added some water, from the puddle next to my bare foot, to the short skirt—let the red bleed into the white.

  After a deep breath, I started moving again. This time I walked instead of ran, purposeful. I was confident, I was ruthless, and I wasn’t going to let one mistake, well, one string of mistakes, stop me from being me. It was easier to play the part with confidence.

  Slipping off my other shoe, a breath caught in my throat, stuttering.

  Sometimes, to get what we deserve we have to let go of something else. A means to the end.

  And that had been true of so many things, for me.

  Importance, as with so many things, was relative; it shifted and fluctuated with the fluidity of water. But the importance of staying calm, of not getting caught, wasn’t movable. It was the sun and moon and stars all put together. It was rigid, and took every top priority.

  Don’t ever forget that.

  The chiding probably wasn’t necessary anymore, but it helped.

  I stopped in another dark corner, after a maze of wandering alleys, and pointed my face toward a black window. The reflection, like a mirror, showed me the smears on both my chin and my cheek that needed wiping clean.

  I scrubbed. I scrubbed hard and fast, until I was sure I could pass for normal.

  My hair wasn’t stained, and now neither was my face. It would have to do.

  Looking to the sign above the glass and the door, I laughed. I couldn’t believe I laughed, but there it was—quiet peels of the sound hung in the air as my shoulders rattled.

  Broken Heart.

  It was a strip club, my strip club, that I found myself next to. Of course it was.

  Thinking of the dirty floor inside, the stickiness of the counters, and god knew what in the bathrooms, I shuddered. I’d never been inside without shoes, but I had no choice now.

  Fate had a dark sense of humor, that was for sure. It might as well have been a blinking red sign with an arrow, saying, “He was here.”

  But he wasn’t anywhere anymore.

  Everything was gone.

  Yet I was there, standing in front of a neon sign boasting girls girls girls.

  I was about to walk by, down an alley one or two over, somewhere easier to get in unnoticed. Somewhere that wouldn’t give me flashbacks of him, of before. But before I could step forward, time froze. I stopped in my tracks, with ice crystalizing in my chest and halting all airflow. The blood quit pumping, everything getting suddenly stale and starting to decay.

  Blue.

  Red.

  No.

  Now

  I kick, screaming, and don’t even think about what I’m doing, I just do it. For the second time, I react on instinct and self-preservation. I can’t let it take me, whoever this is with hands on my body and fear poisoning me.

  This can’t be the end.

  I send an elbow backward, but it meets night air instead of a body, so I turn, not sure what I’m expecting to see.

  The fear paralyzes me after turning; it takes away my sight and wipes my mind clean. I see nothing, hear nothing, know nothing.

  And then it shifts, his face moving from shadow to light, and I stop breathing.

  “Aidan?”

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  I almost fall to the ground as the blood starts moving inside me again, a rush of relief so overwhelming it cascades over the adrenaline, leaving me woozy and possibly more confused than ever.

  Twice. How has this happened twice?

  Aidan’s hands are up, and he’s several feet away from me. He isn’t cowering, he would never, but his shoulders are rounded, while his torso is angled backward. He’s protecting himself. From me.

  “Oh my god.” But then I stop. I have no idea what to say.

  His posture is protective while waving a white flag, and I’m the bad guy. Again. He snuck up on me and scared me to the point of breaking, and still, somehow, I’m the bad guy. Again. I can’t always be this person, I can’t always be the one doing everything wrong.

  But I can also admit it when I have.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally say.

  Then I fall apart. I start crying, and his face softens, no longer shocked, and he comes to me. I watch as he walks, surveying for damage. His nose is still bandaged, black and blue around the gauze, and I feel the guilt take me over again, crying harder. He doesn’t seem to have any new issues, though. He’s walking fine, and nothing else seems to be damaged, other than his poor face.

  With his arms around me, I cry harder still. Twice in as many days, he’s scared me, and twice I’ve lashed out hurting him, or nearly hurting him. The one person I don’t want to hurt. It’s too much, and I do that ugly cry where I sniffle and snot.

  It’s all catching up to me, the stress, and I break a little.

  When I collect myself, after way too long, I step back. Aidan looks so uncomfortable. His face is set into the most awkward assemblage I’ve ever seen, and it hits me: I don’t think he’s ever seen me cry, not really, not like this. He lifts his shoulders up and down a couple times, like it might help, and then he reaches out and pats the top of my head.

  Like a child.

  Like a puppy.

  And then I laugh. It’s so ridiculous and weird it finishes calming me down, for now, clearing the rest of my anguish and salty tears. A chuckle comes out of my mouth, and then his joins mine and they frolic into the cool night air together. We don’t laugh hard, it’s not like my previous hysterics, but it’s enough to lighten everything, to take the weight off my shoulders.

  But as the worry leaves me, so does the rest of the adrenaline, as fast as it crashed into me, and I’m left exhausted. Feeling utterly and totally empty, I back into my car and lean against the door.

  Nothing has been resolved, or said, since my apology, and I haven’t even heard Aidan’s voice. But still we hesitate. His eyes search mine, and I’m willing to go high. Looking down, I open my mouth, but I smile when he beats me to it.

  “No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry for my shitty behavior. I did everything wrong the last twenty-four hours, and I’m sorry.”

  He steps forward, his hands going to mine, and he squeezes my fingers with his. I see my completely naked nails, and a thought interrupts everything else in my mind—I don’t know the last time my nails were completely devoid of polish. I know it’s not the thing I should be thinking about now, but I get stuck. I can feel the tension crawling up every vertebra of my spine, making its way to my brain.

  Then Aidan lifts our hands, still attached, until he can lift my chin to meet his eye, pulling me back to him, stopping me from spinning my ring absentmindedly. He always knows how to tug me back into the conversation, back into him. His stare softens me, like he knew it would. I can’t resist his eyes; in them I see us, I see how we’re the same. I see me in his eyes, and his wants, and a future.

  “It’s all been getting to me. The cops, the questioning, the bet. It’s been a while since I’ve had a playdate, since I’ve gotten what I need. I’ve gone out to watch, you know, but then nothing. I haven’t gone through with anything in so long, and it’s all been building. Plus the shit with Harwell, with
Eva…” he says. And my heart breaks for him a little.

  No wonder he’s been so off, so far from himself.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “I know. You couldn’t have. I wasn’t saying anything. I was just bottling it up, and letting the pressure multiply. Then last night, and, well, I don’t know. It all finally got to me. I’m sorry I lashed out.” He sounds sincere. He looks it, too, and I believe him. He’s not just apologizing to win, to get something he wants.

  He feels as sorry as I do, and that feels good, to be on the same playing field as my teammate, after somehow being separated for too long. It’s good to be looking at him, really looking and seeing, in this deserted night.

  “I haven’t had the release I’ve needed.”

  “I get it,” I say. His eyes flick back and forth, searching mine for something, like he has something else to say, something that’s stuck in his mouth and isn’t ready to come out. “Screw the bet. It’s off.”

  Aidan breaths out. He drops my hands.

  For a moment I get cold. A breeze ruffles his hair and chills my now-sore body. I’ve said the wrong thing, I know it. The bet was to keep us safe, out of the spotlight, to follow his rules. But when I’m sure he’s about to tell me how bad of an idea calling it off is, he hoots. His hand balls into a fist, and it flinches at his side as he actually makes the sound of a drunk college kid scoring a goal.

  “That okay?” I ask with laughter in the words.

  He sighs. Of course it is. It’s what he needed to hear, and it’s what I’ve been too stupid to realize. Aidan nods, obviously, and kisses me. His lips pull me forward to meet them, two magnets finding their other half, what they needed to be complete. I don’t know how I mange to smile while his tongue is inside my mouth, his teeth pulling at my lip, but I do. And god, it feels good. He feels right, touching me, running his fingers through my hair.

  So I lean back, into the car, and I let him press his entire body against mine.

  I rock my hips, just a little, getting even closer to this man I love.