20. Feed the dark, your panic, engage. I know what you are. You’re desperate like me
20
Feed the dark, your panic, engage. I know what you are. You’re desperate like me
Moth
I was dazed.
When he walked away, leaving me panting and alone, a painful confusion had taken up residence at the forefront of my mind. I twisted—or tried to—to untie the remaining rope. Instead, I slipped and yanked on my wrist painfully, whimpering at the pain.
Struggling to right myself, I felt the breeze of a cool late summer’s night slither up my dress and shivered. He’d left the front door open, but the screen door clapped closed behind him. With trembling hands, I finally managed to untie the rope and stumbled to my feet. The night enveloped me in its cool embrace as I stood there, disheveled and shaken.
The dim moonlight cast long shadows across the porch, reaching out like Lovecraftian tendrils, to wrap around my throat and drag me down. The only sound was the faint rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. I could still smell him, the scent lingering and intermingled with iron and lust. Gritting my teeth against the pain in my wrists, I took a tentative step forward, my heart pounding.
As I reached the front door, I peered through the old rusted screen, listening for any sign of his return. When none came, I pulled the door around and snapped it shut, not bothering to flip the lock. The world outside was dark and unfamiliar, and even if I was still scared, it didn’t matter. The darkness could get in any time it pleased, and after tonight, there was no point in keeping it away.
I felt the tacky, slick heat pooling against my thighs and sighed. With one last glance at the door, I moved to the stairs.
The house felt foreign, each creak and groan echoing through the empty rooms. My mind was a jumble of thoughts, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Twice now, he’d done that to me, taking nothing for himself and leaving me soon after.
Why? What was in it for him?
Up the stairs, every creak seemed to echo through the house. I clung to the railing, my knuckles bleeding white with tension. The only light came from the moon filtering through the dusty windows, casting eerie shadows on the walls that seemed to dance around me. I took a deep breath and pushed open the nearest door. I recognized the room beyond, even though it was cloaked in darkness—the bathroom. My reprieve.
Slipping the dress off over my head, my bra quickly followed, and I hurried into the bathtub, pulling the curtain closed and encasing myself in a den of secrecy, somewhere I could hide from the world.
The cool porcelain against my skin washed away the scorching memories that lingered in my mind.
When I started to shiver, I lifted and gripped the tap, twisting until the water poured out and slowly went warm. I plugged the drain and the tub slowly began to fill around me. Closing my eyes, I let the water cascade over me, washing away what remained of his touch.
The sound of my breathing filled the small space, a reminder that I was still here, still alive despite everything.
As the minutes ticked by, a numbness settled over me, cocooning me in a fragile shield against the outside world. I knew this respite was only temporary, that eventually I would have to face the harsh reality. But for now, I allowed myself this moment of solitude, this brief escape from the chaos and uncertainty that had become my existence. In the confines of the bathtub, with nothing but the sound of water to keep me company, I tried to piece together the fragments of what my life had become. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the memories, and his words. His absence now felt like a weight pressing down on me, suffocating me in its silence.
Why? Why was it bothering me?
Using the heel of my foot, I twisted off the water and let it fall into silence as I sank lower in the water, until only my nose and mouth broke the surface, and my breath came in shallow gasps.
Time seemed to stretch and warp in that small, enclosed space. The world outside faded away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the steady rhythm of my heartbeat. I focused on that sound, letting it anchor me in the present and chase away the ripples of the past.
But somehow, some of it still clung to me.
His words, the domination he held over me, the way he chased me, only to pull away the moment he caught me.
Why? Why did he leave?
Was it all just a game to him? A sick, twisted game that he played with my emotions as the prize? For what? To break me? To push me to the brink of insanity and then snatch it away, dangling it in front of my eyes like some demented trophy?
The water in the tub had grown stifling around me, but the chill in my bones refused to dissipate. Somehow, I drifted away, and before I knew it, the world around me had faded to black.
Behind closed lids, I dreamed of faces, of faceless horrors reaching out to grab me. I dreamed of my mom reaching out to hold me and tell me everything was okay. I dreamed of the way she smelled, and the feeling of her arms around me, but when I opened my mouth to speak to her, she faded into blackness.
The darkness gave way to a sudden, sharp realization as my senses kicked into overdrive, dragging me back to consciousness like a slap in the face. I woke up in water that had grown frigid, clinging to my body like the shroud of death, gasping, coughing, and sputtering.
How long had I been there? Minutes? Hours?
The faint grey light filtering in from the small window over the bathtub told me it had been the latter. My skin was wrinkled, goosebumps erupting on my arms. I shivered violently, every muscle quaking and jolting beneath goosebumped flesh. I clambered out of the bathtub, my joints protesting against the sudden movement after lying still for so long. Grabbing a towel, I wrapped it tightly around myself, trying to ward off the chill that seemed to have settled deep into my bones.
With shaking hands, I rustled in the bag that still lay on the bathroom floor, finding a tampon. I shook so hard that inserting it was nearly impossible, but after several tries, I finally had it in place. With fast steps, I rushed down the hallway and into the bedroom, forcing the door closed harder than I’d meant to, and threw myself into the bed, wrapping myself in the towel and the comforter.
I needed the warmth to chase away the confusion.
I needed a place to hide.
I had that dream again. I hadn’t had it in years, but when I woke up, I had a strange kind of nostalgia writhing around in my head that I didn’t know what to do with.
In the dream, I was in a room by myself, surrounded by hospital equipment. Looking down, I was wearing a tattered, burned hospital gown, and my legs were covered in blood. Looking up, a faceless nurse walked up to me and handed me a baby, bundled in blankets and cooing softly. She had big, beautiful brown eyes and a face full of freckles, just like mine .
Laying in bed now, I could hear the sounds of the birds’ chirping and flittering outside. I stayed where I was, feeling the deep ache in my pelvis and the itch of going to bed with wet hair. It felt late.
What did the dream mean?
I didn’t know.
Carefully, I pushed myself off the bed and landed on the floor on my hands and knees. I feel dazed, almost drunk—or at least the day after a night of drinking. What the fuck was wrong with me?
Forcing myself to my feet, I looked at the wet outline on the bed and sighed. I’d need to change the sheets… the pillowcase…
Maybe I’d burn the entire house down, instead.
Turning from the room, my eyes caught the outline of the closet door and I floated over to it like a specter and peered inside, almost expecting nothing to be there. Maybe there was no camera at all. Maybe he was just fucking with me. Stepping up to the door, I pushed it open with my toe and looked inside. It was littered with bags and boxes, and random stacks of folded clothes that all looked normal.
Except…
Along the second shelf, the clothes had been disturbed, leaving drag marks in the unbroken blanket of dust. Poking my finger beneath the pile, I picked it up, and there was the camera. It was a tiny, white thing, with no lights and no blinking red light. It was small and unassuming.
With a sigh, I dropped the clothes back into place. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. After everything he’d done to me, who cared if he saw an ass cheek or two?
Or three, even. Who knew at this point ?
Padding from the room, I wobbled down the hallway and into the bathroom. I needed a proper shower. Glancing in the mirror on my way past, my ghostly reflection scared me more than the camera ever had. I had huge dark circles, makeup smeared around my eyes, and dripping in lines down my freckled cheeks. My hair had come loose from the braids, matted, tangled, and stuck to one side of my head.
The reflection in the mirror seemed to mock me, a stark reminder of the unraveling mess that had become my life. I turned away, not wanting to face the truth that lingered in those haunted eyes. Peering into the bathtub, I was greeted with pink-stained, ice-cold water. Reaching in, I shivered as I pulled the plug and watched it swirl away.
Kind of like my life. It was going down the drain.
I chuckled at my own joke, and at first, it was dry and humorless. Then, it slowly began to morph into something else, a deep, hearty hyena laugh that had me questioning my sanity.
I shut my mouth with a snap and stepped into the shower, ripping the curtain closed and twisting on the tap as hot as it would go.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
Had something in my head finally snapped?
As the steam filled the room and wrapped around me like a comforting embrace, I closed my eyes and tried to float away. The sound of the water pounding against the tiles drowned out the thoughts that clawed at the edges of my mind, desperate to pull me back into that dark abyss .
I needed out of this house. I needed a break. I needed to see the sunlight and talk to people.
A sudden thought struck me.
Talk to people.
The journal.
As quickly as I could, I washed. I scrubbed my hair and did what I could to get the tangles out. Some of them would stay, but I had to be presentable at best. I scrubbed the makeup from my face, washed what mattered and quickly jumped out, toweling dry.
I had to hurry up. I didn’t know what time it was, but I couldn’t miss her.
Twenty-five minutes later, I was in the car, dressed in another one of Mom’s old dresses, and a pair of wedge sandals. After looking in the mirror, I’d slapped some more makeup on, more so I wouldn’t look crazy than anything.
It was nearly three in the afternoon already. I’d slept most of the morning.
I pulled out onto the main road and whipped the wheel to the side, over-correcting and nearly fishtailing. Shaking out a deep sigh, I shook my head and eased up off the accelerator. I was too on edge. I needed to calm down, by the shaking in my hands and the whirlwind circles in my brain wouldn’t let me.
I pulled into Mae’s Diner, killed the engine, and reached into the passenger seat, grabbing my dad’s journal. I needed answers. I needed to know if I was right.
On shaking legs, I made my way inside, and somehow, in some glorious way, it was empty .
Moving toward the counter, I placed the journal on the granite and slipped into one of the stools just as Mae came around the corner, pad in hand. One look at me, and the cheerful look on her weathered face fell into a concerned frown.
“Hey, darlin’,” she said, leaning across the counter. “You alright? Look like you been chewed up and spat out half digested.”
I managed a weak smile, trying to shake off the lingering heaviness in my chest.
“Hey, Mae. I’m… okay, I think. Just had a rough morning,” I replied, my voice shaking.
I didn’t even believe myself.
Mae’s expression softened, her eyes full of concern.
“Well, you sit tight, sweetheart. How about I make you some of that peach cobbler you used to love? On the house,” she offered, already turning back towards the kitchen.
I nodded gratefully, watching her disappear behind the swinging doors before turning my attention back to the journal sitting in front of me. With trembling hands, I flipped it open to the page I’d marked. The familiar scent of old paper and ink wafted up to greet me as I flipped through the worn pages, each one filled with his precise handwriting. The words blurred together as my mind raced with questions and doubts. Was I really onto something with this journal, or was it all just a desperate grasp for something to make sense?
By the time she returned with my cobbler, I’d shut the journal and sat at the counter, contemplating my life choices.
“Here ya go, sweetheart,” she said, sliding the plate across the counter toward me. It was piled high with fresh peach cobbler that Mae made herself from scratch, topped with whipped cream—Redi Whip, from a can. Just the way I liked it.
I carved out a forkful but stopped before it got to my mouth. Something in my stomach churned.
“Alright, hun,” she said, pulling the chair from behind the register and sliding up to me. “What’s botherin’ ya? I can feel it all around you like a black cloud.”
I forced the cobbler into my mouth and chewed. It was good. It had always been good—the right amount of sweetness and the perfect temperature. I missed this, but my brain wouldn’t let me enjoy it. Swallowing hard, I looked over at her and sighed.
“I found something,” I started, pulling the journal toward me and sliding it her way. She took it up with a cocked eyebrow and narrowed eyes. “It’s one of my dad’s old journals. It mentioned something about someone and I’m just wondering…”
“You’re wondering if it’s true,” she asked, and I nodded.
She sighed, gently placing it down on the counter in front of her.
“Pumpkin,” she said, folding her arms in front of her. “Are you sure this is something you oughta be pokin’ around about?”
I took a deep breath, the weight of Mae’s words settling heavily on my shoulders. Was I sure? No, I wasn’t. But something inside me, some deep-rooted need for answers and closure, pushed me forward despite the doubts that gnawed at the edges of my mind.
“Mae, I… I can’t shake this feeling that someone in this town is hiding something. Something big. Maybe really big…” My voice trailed off, the unspoken questions hanging in the air between us.
Mae let out a soft laugh, and I jumped at the sound .
“Is that all? Sweetheart,” her aged eyes sparkled with mischief. “Everybody’s got secrets.”
I had been afraid she was gonna say that. Carefully, I leaned my fork against the side of my plate and opened the journal. Flipping to the page I’d marked, I turned it towards her and slid it across the counter. Sighing, Mae plucked a pair of wire-framed reading glasses dangling from a chain around her neck from her chest and slid them on. They perched on the end of her nose as she read, silently mouthing the words as she read them. I watched her eyes rove dark patterns across the page, going over some of it over and over again.
“P.J.,” she mouthed, snapping the book closed and looking up at me. Slowly, she stood up from the counter and made her way toward the swinging double doors. With a look back at me, she jerked her head, motioning for me to follow. Grabbing the journal and my cobbler, I rushed after her.
The back of the diner was a hustle and bustle of moving bodies and good smells, but with my emotions, my stomach flip-flopped.
She led me through the chaotic kitchen, with cooks shouting orders and dishes clattering all around us. Mae moved with purpose, hurrying me towards a nondescript black door leading to a break area out back. It was quiet and out of the way. No one would come back here unless they came through that door, and if they did, we’d hear them.
She took a seat at a small, weathered picnic table, and motioned for me to do the same. I did, sitting across from her with my book and my cobbler. As I waited, I piled another mouthful onto the fork .
“Listen here, darlin’,” Mae said with a sigh. There was something so maternal about her. “Ain’t nobody in this town that ain’t done somethin’ bad. Some of us aren’t who we said we are, and others got a dark past. You pick out anyone walking down this street and I will tell you they got lyin’, cheatin’, or maybe even blood on they hands. Sheriff Banner, your daddy. Hell, even me.”
I listened intently, the world around me seeming to fade away as Mae’s words echoed in my mind. Everyone in this small town had secrets, hidden truths that lurked beneath the surface. That much, I could believe. But my dad?
Her?
“Mae,” I began tentatively, sitting down my fork and pushing the plate of cobbler aside. “What do you know about P.J.? Why was my dad so worried? What did he do?”
Mae’s expression softened as she met my gaze, a mixture of pity and caution in her eyes. She leaned back on her bench, folding her weathered hands on the table before speaking.
“P.J. was… a troubled soul,” she started. “He had demons and lots of ‘em. He made mistakes, same as a lot of people do.”
“What kind of mistakes?” I asked desperately.
She was quiet for a long while, her eyes soft and narrowed behind her glasses as she studied the empty field behind me.
“Now, Vanessa Lynn,” she said, stuttering a sigh. “Why are you needin’ to know? You in some kind of trouble, baby?”
I returned to my cobbler, retrieving the fork and shoving the bite into my mouth to give myself time to think. How much do I tell her? Mae had never been a gossip. She’d always been more like a mother, or a badass grandma .
Could I trust her?
Why not?
If I could trust my stalker not to saw my head off, I could trust her with a small piece of my puzzle.
“Not trouble, exactly,” I said, and part of me wondered if that was the truth. He’d promised not to hurt me, and he hadn’t. That had to count for something, right? “Someone has just been hangin’ around outside my hou— I mean my dad’s house. I thought they were after some money he had stashed for a while, but it’s pretty clear they’re there for me.”
Mae stayed quiet for a long stretch, except for a hearty sigh that crossed her lips.
“Alright now, this ain’t public knowledge, so don’t go spoutin’ it,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself as if she’d caught a sudden cold chill. “When he first came to this town, he was real young. See, Parker ain’t from around here. He’s from up by Kansas City, the same place you moved to.”
She paused, looking over at me to make sure I was following. I nodded.
“He was fresh out of the academy, wide-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to go. He had a bit of a hard time fittin’ in at first because some of the guys around here?” She tutted and shook her head. “They still ain’t open to mixin’ folks of different skin colors. Stupid, if you ask me.”
Leaning over, she spit onto the ground and made a noise of displeasure in her throat .
“There was a girl, a nurse, at one of the clinics around here. He got sweet on her, but people around here got to talking as they ought not to do , and…”
She trailed off, turning to look at me.
“She says he stalked her and took advantage of her. Me? I say her daddy was a racist, and she was ashamed, so she tried to cover it up. Either way, we won’t ever know the truth.”
“Why not?” I asked, my voice a low croak in my dry throat.
“That girl left this diner in a huff one night, tellin’ anyone who would listen that he was after her. She sped out of here, and she flipped her car on that sharp turn out on Spring Creek road.” She shrugged, and there was a sadness in her eyes. “Died on impact.”