Deeper into Darkness

by Maria Ann Green

  These people, these two, they have no idea. It’s laughable, and honestly sad. But it depends on the perspective, because from my shoes it’s also exciting. The surprise of it all, they have no idea of the trap they’ve fallen into. It’s delicious, even if they as people aren’t.

  I hear Aidan talking, loudly for my benefit close behind, and I walk slower, swaying my hips to the music.

  ***

  “Please stop. Please. Let me go.”

  It used to be “us.”

  At first these two were begging together, begging for each other as well as themselves. But that didn’t last long, and the fun hasn’t even started yet. They’re only tied up, barely awake fifteen minutes yet.

  Aidan and I aren’t visible to them. We tied them up while they were knocked out, then left them near enough to each other to know they weren’t alone, while we did have some fun of our own.

  I undressed Aidan slowly, lingering with each piece of clothing. I kissed all of his skin before I ever let him touch me.

  Then when it was his turn, I think he took it as a challenge to go even slower than I did. It was a spiritual experience. My head didn’t stay connected to my body, I’m sure of it. And the two on the ground, the two with an expiration date marked tonight, surely heard the sounds we made, are making.

  Because it’s not over yet.

  Aidan’s inside of me, and my arms are around his neck, but I won’t let him finish. This is only foreplay.

  I kiss him, hard, as the woman starts in next.

  “I’ll do anything. Please. I won’t go to the police.”

  The begging ramps me up, and I can feel the moisture start to run down the thigh I have angled down—the other is wrapped around Aidan’s torso.

  Rocking, I slow Aidan down. “Are you ready?” I breath the words into his ear, nibbling the bottom of his lobe afterward.

  “Always.”

  I let him thrust into me three more times, before I place both palms on his steaming chest, stopping him, reminding him of what comes first, before he can. When he leaves me, I’m surprised I don’t feel cold or empty.

  But that’s probably because it isn’t over.

  Together we walk over to the couple, and Aidan leans down to tighten their blindfolds, having reached them first. I get there next and hold Aidan’s hand before anything else happens. I count to ten, not willing to let go before then.

  One: this is it

  Two: we are really doing this together

  Three: I never want to be without this feeling again

  Then ten comes too soon, and I let my fingers drop to my own leg, skin on skin.

  We agreed before we even left for the bar that we’d make it quick. We hadn’t had a ton of time to plan, and we couldn’t drive out as far as we normally would for an abandoned spot. So quicker is better tonight.

  Just this once.

  I stand over the woman, and he over the man, each with a weapon in our hands. Mine is sharper than his, but his is bigger, and it seems fitting, perfect even. I let my head fall to Aidan’s shoulder for just a moment, savoring everything around. Then I lift my head, and my arms go above it before falling back down.

  “Goodbye, Samantha.”

  “Goodbye, Ethan.”

  It’s quick.

  It’s loud.

  She screams, and he gags on his own blood, the sounds mixing and melding in a way I hadn’t known was possible. Then the silence replaces the sounds of death, until our, Aidan’s and my, breathing fills the gaps of stillness. Even our panting syncs up before fading away.

  It’s fast, but it’s the most satisfying thing I think I’ve ever experienced. Trading hands, I make the one closest to Aidan available for him to hold again. We still need to clean up, there’s a lot to do, but I take just a second to look into his eyes.

  He has spots of blood on his cheek, and I swallow the urge to lick it clean.

  Then he smiles, big and loud and all the way to his eyes; Aidan’s happiness is written in his face in neon bold letters. I wonder if I look the same to him, or if there’s a new light shining from inside me.

  ***

  Walking to the car, dressed, clean, and impossibly happy, Aidan grabs his phone from his pocket with the hand he doesn’t have inside my back pocket.

  “Voice mail,” he says.

  He doesn’t bring it up to his ear to listen right away. Instead he opens my door for me and waits to close it again until I’m sitting in the passenger side.

  “Thank you,” I say. And my eyes tell him I want him to take me again, but he doesn’t do it. Instead he walks around the front of the car, looking at his phone screen the whole time. When he gets in, the look on his face is hard to read. It’s cold but amused at the same time.

  “Who was it?”

  Aidan says, “Harwell.”

  “Ahhhhh.” Now it makes sense, the look.

  “Should we listen to it?” he asks, holding up his phone over the console, ready to hit the speaker button.

  “Why not?”

  So he clicks play, and the detective’s voice fills the car.

  It’s even deeper than I remember coming through the phone, and I wonder if Aidan’s skin is prickling like mine is, but I don’t ask. The gravel in Harwell’s voice is still there, and I can hear him scratch the scruff on his cheek as he speaks.

  “Aidan, this is Detective Harwell. I heard something funny today; I heard you’re taking some time off work. Well, I just wanted to call and say I hope you have fun on your vacation, and that I sure hope it’s not too far away.” His voice changes, from a fake friendly tone to hard and immovable. I can’t imagine being the one at the receiving end of that voice. He never spoke to me that way. “I want to see you when you get back. Eight am next Friday.” The detective didn’t ask to meet; it was a command.

  Then there’s a small click, and the recording stops playing.

  Aidan smiles and shoves his phone in his pocket, unperturbed.

  “There have been few developments into the missing person’s case from late last year. Eva Westfall spiraled out of control shortly before disappearing, and the police think the unique circumstances could help point to her whereabouts. But they need your help. The police are asking for anyone with information in regard to the whereabouts or disappearance of Eva Westfall to please call into the station. There has been a tip-line set up, and you can speak with a detective on the case by calling 1-800-555-2325. Additionally, there will be a search party organized by Detective Harwell, the lead investigator on this missing person’s case, to take place throughout the weekend—in an attempt to reinvigorate the case. Volunteers are still needed for the search, so please contact him at the station if you are willing and able to help. More on this story, tonight at ten.

  “Up next, more information on the devastating explosion aboard Caribbean cruise….”

  The air in Colorado is somehow fresher.

  It’s crisp today, but the sun is blinding, and the breeze cuts through the two layers I’m wearing. I rush Aidan inside, tugging him behind me until we’re into the grocery store.

  “What do we need?” he asks, grabbing a cart.

  “Basically everything. Drinks, snacks, and stuff for a couple meals.” It’s not the answer he wanted, clearly, as he groans in protest while slumping over the moving cart. “Oh, grow up,” I say, swatting his butt.

  “That’s harassment,” he says. “Ma’am,” he calls, loudly, to a nearby cashier. “This woman is harassing me, can you please remove her from the store?”

  “Oh my god.” I duck my head in shame. “You’re the worst.” And I jog to the first aisle, getting away from Aidan’s embarrassing shenanigans. Hearing him joking with the cashier before joining me to shop, I smile at his irresistible charm, and I know she won’t take issue with his inappropriate outburst.

  Scrolling through my phone as he catches up, I grab a few items and toss them into the cart with my other hand, then I leave the rest to Aidan. I can make most anything work for a me
al, so I let him get whatever he wants.

  But…oh, god.

  “Another email,” I say.

  “Let’s hear it.” Aidan always asks me to read them out loud, and it’s become sort of a routine, a little game we play lately.

  I nudge Aidan so he looks at me, then roll my eyes, all head movement and exaggeration. “It starts like the rest,” I say.

  He giggles and grabs a flatbread pizza crust.

  I clear my throat.

  I start reading, trying to mimic Jason’s voice, though it’s pathetic—which possibly makes it even better, I’m not sure. Aidan loves it anyway, and he’s cracking up as I go over the words from his former best friend.

  “From: Jason Moore. To: Aidan Sheppard,” I say, all baritone, somber-faced. “Subject: I miss you.”

  Aidan throws in peppers, blueberries, and potatoes. I snag garlic and onions before continuing. He doesn’t contribute, but waits impatiently for me to go on, to get back to the story I was narrating.

  “Aid,” I say, and he sighs. “Thought of you today. I saw that new action movie we’d been talking about going to together, and knew you’d like it.” Aidan sighs again, a criticism of the words and who wrote them. “I bought coffee, and before I realized what I was doing I ordered for both of us. But I was too embarrassed to admit my mistake, so I paid for both and took them. It’s been a hard day.”

  We start to walk toward the front of the store as I get to the end of the email.

  Aidan sighs before I even start talking this time. The air fills his lungs, and comes out all vibrating sound, his shoulders heaving with the exaggeration of the whole thing.

  “Okay, okay, do you not want me to finish?” I ask, goading him.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he says, smiling as I eye him. “Finish, I’ll stop.”

  We get to a lane, and I start piling out food onto the conveyer as I read the last few lines. “Anyway, I miss you. Cheers, Jase.”

  The emails form Jason, we get them daily. Despite no response, despite complete and total silence. He still sends them. And every day I read them to Aidan. He openly mocks the best friend he used to care so much for but no longer does. He laughs, or sighs like today, and at first it made me sad. But now, I’ve crossed over to the dark side.

  “Paper or plastic?” the cashier asks, and Aidan lets the kid choose.

  “Any fun plans for the weekend?”

  They talk back and forth, the cashier making small talk and Aidan reciprocating. I don’t really pay attention, looking out the windows to the gorgeous sky instead. It’s prettier here; cooler, but so much prettier.

  And worth it.

  “Well, have a good one, Ethan. You too, Samantha,” the kid says to us, waving. “See you soon.”

  New hair, a new name, and a new me with a fresh slate to start racking up a new body count. I smile as we make our way into the new house, my whole new man in front of me.

  “Oh, I missed an email from yesterday,” I say as we walk with the groceries, one hand carrying too many bags and the other trying to open the reason for the little notification bubble on my phone. “Read or delete?”

  “Read.” Aidan closes the front door behind him and starts to put the food away. I sit on a barstool at the island and read to him while he does all the work.

  “From: Jason Moore. To: Aidan Sheppard. Subject: It just gets harder.”

  “That’s what she said,” Aidan interrupts. I wad up a paper towel and throw it at him before taking a break and starting again.

  I read the same opener for every email from Jason since we left. Usually Aidan has me skip them, but since I’m reading two today, I figure I’ll throw it in there, remind him. “Aid, I miss you. And even though I don’t want to believe it, I know you’re dead.” Aidan sighs, but it’s quietly this time, and I don’t roll my eyes.

  I feel a little guilty for doing it earlier, but really, it’s a bit much email after email.

  Though, to be fair, Jason has no idea we’re reading them—obviously.

  He started this email journal thing almost right away. He saw a therapist, which honestly was brave if you ask me, but if you ask Aidan it was a waste of money and just one more reason to be annoyed with his ex–best friend. And the therapist suggested writing letters to Aidan.

  He could have written them down in journal, or even left them as drafts in his email. But Jason decided to send them. He said something in the first one about how it made everything more real, more final for him—to see the words written down and sent off, knowing he would never get a response. I’m not sure exactly, but if it’s working for him then that’s good.

  “Detective Harwell has been to see me,” I read, “to check on me and see how I’m doing, I guess. I told him I was fine, but I think he saw through that, because he gave me his card again.” I read the words, slowly, then look up to Aidan.

  He raises his eyebrows toward his hairline, and one side of his mouth goes up.

  “Well, now I guess Jason’s found a new best friend,” he scoffs. I can hear the twinge of jealousy in his voice. I can see the anger at being replaced. But I don’t say anything about it.

  That’s what good wives do, they let the little stuff go and pick their battles. And I’ve been preparing. Although it’s a little hard to get married without having the right paperwork, we’re working on that. And a date is set for a few months out—everything is finally falling into place.

  “The girls are fine, the baby actually sleeps through the night now,” I read.

  “Okay,” Aidan interrupts me. “If I didn’t want to hear shit about his kids when I was alive, why does he think I’d want to hear it now that I’m dead?” Aidan finishes putting the last of the food away, then opens the door again after another thought. He grabs a few grapes then comes over toward me to rinse them off. He pops one into his mouth after it’s clean, chews it, then speaks again with his mouth full. “I mean, what grown ass adult wants to hear about the shitting schedule of a little lump that can basically only cry?”

  “Tell me how you really feel.” I laugh, because it’s exactly what I expected to hear, and that’s how well I know him.

  I know Aidan better than I ever did before. There’ve been no revelations, no deep or enlightening pillow talks, since our move. But still I know him deeper; I know the marrow in his bones, and I have a radar there always calling me home, always reminding me of where I am in relation to him.

  “I know you don’t want to hear much about the girls.” I bark out a loud, shrill burst of laughter then, and it pierces the air. It lasts longer than Aidan cares for and he narrows his eyes at me after a long moment of waiting for me to finish, then he stands to go back to the pantry. He pours himself a drink, offering me some too. I shake my head, then look back to my phone to continue. “I went out with Amelia last night. I know, you don’t want to hear it. I know what you’d say, but I don’t know…since losing you, I’ve been taking more stock in the other relationships I have, and ones I may be taking for granted.” I pause, looking up to interject, “Wow. Good for them.” And I sound sincere, though I’m not sure if I am or not.

  “Yeah.” Aidan sips from his glass, smiling once the liquid burns his throat and warms his stomach. “Go on.”

  So I do. “I don’t know what will happen, but I’m trying to be open. I’m giving us a chance. At least for now.” I actually hope he continues emailing Aidan, because I want to hear about what happens, as weird as that sounds. “Well, that’s all for now. I miss you, buddy. Cheers, Jase.”

  Jason ends his emails the exact same every time as well.

  I think the whole thing is cathartic for him, a means to an end of letting go. He clearly took it hard when we died, and I hope this is actually helping him, not just filling in the cracks with a new problem.

  Honestly, it’s better this way—I was starting to worry Aidan might do something to him if we’d stuck around.

  We planned.

  We planned, and we planned, and we planned.

&nbs
p; It wasn’t perfect, but we timed it the best we could, and in the end it worked out pretty well.

  We went to the bar that night and found a couple, not that they knew each other, but they would soon be a couple once our faces replaced theirs. We found them at the bar and did what we needed to be them.

  We buried their bodies, after doing a good amount of damage to them first to ensure they weren’t identifiable.

  Though, that was just the prelude, because we hadn’t even planned to kill anyone until the last moment when Aidan sprung the idea of going all in and finding people whose identities we could take.

  The real planning was with our vacation.

  We went on a cruise.

  We went on a cruise, and everyone knows that a lot of bad stuff happens on cruises. They’re notorious for it. Some sink. Sometimes people disappear on them, never seen again. Sometimes someone is thrown off.

  And other times, this time, explosions happen.

  We took time off, we packed our bags, and we got onto a plane which took us to a boat, and we really did get on that boat. We left. We took a vacation, sort of, and it was great. But others didn’t fare as well.

  The cruise, what we were able to see of it, was gorgeous. The waters were clear, blue and teals melting from the water into the sky. It was hot, but not a sticky hot—there were breezes to lift hair off shoulders and ruffle skirts.

  Then it stormed. The sky got dark, and the clouds rolled in. We docked and that was our chance. We knew the timing was perfect, and we set things in motion. It was delayed, so we had enough time to get off the boat—a lot of people did.

  We’d picked a medium-sized cruise, less cameras, and we positioned the explosion well.

  We strolled off the boat with hundreds of other people, leaving hundreds more behind to enjoy the dry activities inside.