Nothing but Darkness (Darkness Series Book 1) Page 7

  “You’re out of it. I think you need a nap.” Jason doesn’t look concerned at all. Instead he looks like he’s happy that, for once, I’m the one a little off my game.

  “A nap on a day off,” I say. Not to rest, but to continue this internal debate. I won’t be able to focus until I’ve come to some sort of solid conclusion.

  “Lucky you, the week is almost over. Then you can zone out all weekend.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks a lot. What did you need, anyway?” Hurry up so I can help you and go back to the deliberation inside my head.

  “Not much. I was just seeing how you’re doing.” Jason slowly looks me over with a twinkle of mischief behind his eyes, making me a little annoyed. Why does he get to be so carefree while I’ve been tormented for days since Blondie? Why doesn’t everyone feel exactly as I do, and why doesn’t the world revolve around me?

  Okay not actually, but I’m still jealous he’s in such a good mood.

  “I’m great. Now get the hell out of here, so I can go back to doing nothing in peace.” My tone is soft, so he can see I’m kidding.

  “Okay, okay. You better beware, though, Mel’s been hounding me to have you over soon. So watch out for an invite.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Hey, what time is it?” he asks.

  I look down and when I see skin instead of metal I remember my watch grew legs and ran away.

  “Hey, you haven’t seen my watch anywhere, have you?” And the jerk laughs.

  “The nice one Amelia and I gave you on your thirtieth birthday?”

  “Yeah, I can’t find it.”

  “She’s gonna kill you.” Jason smiles his annoyingly happy grin again and trots off to who-the-hell-knows-where, leaving me alone to go back to stewing in indecision.

  ****

  The couch feels lumpy, uncomfortable, though I know it’s only because I’m frustrated. It’s a four-thousand-dollar couch; it can’t be uncomfortable. Still I refuse to sit anymore. Instead I stand up, start to pace the living room. Damn it, now with all this movement my sweater feels scratchy and restrictive. So I whip it over my head, chucking it to the floor. There, now I can breathe better, sort of.

  Nope…I’m cold.

  Realizing I can’t be happy with anything right now, I groan.

  For almost a week since the eventful night I’ve deliberated, and now the weight of my unmade mind is starting to affect me. I need to figure it out. Tonight. Now. I need to stop being a little bitch and just fucking decide one way or the other what I plan to do about it.

  Will I sweep it under the rug?

  Or will I say fuck you to norms, fuck you to conventions, and feed my carnal, insatiable side?

  Instead of making a decision, like a man, I stomp to the bedroom like a child having a tantrum. I rip a shirt at random off a hanger, shoving it over my head. In the process I pull on my ear and yell incoherently. This shitty mood has got to end. Grabbing my keys, I get the fuck out of the house, heading to Spot Z for a drink. Hopefully it’ll calm me the hell down.

  Way too many drinks in and nearly falling off my stool, I’ve finally replaced my crappy temper with a much better one. I may be hitting on everything with a slit, but it beats the surly sulk I’d been doing. A few girls have caught my eye, but in the fumbling way I’ve asked them home no one’s said yes.

  Well fuck them, then.

  I’ll be leaving my car at Z tonight. There’s no way in hell I could drive; I can barely walk. And I can’t die on the way home, I still have a decision to make. It’s time to go before I hurl on the floor. So out I stagger.

  I know I should feel cold walking outside, but the alcohol has made it hard to tell. At least it’s a short walk, so hopefully I don’t get hypothermia or pneumonia or some dumb shit like that. As I look up at the sky, I feel my nausea bubble up. The stars are spinning. I don’t think they’re supposed to do that.

  I should’ve stopped a few drinks before I did. I’m in for a rough night.

  When I unlock my front door and stumble inside, I can feel the sick sweats start, my mouth beginning to water.

  Fuck. I run to the bathroom, and luckily I make it to the toilet just in time. Even better, I got the lid up. I’m in no shape to clean.

  ****

  Several hours go by, and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet. One of the last thoughts going through my mind before I drift off on the cold hard tile is, I’m never fucking drinking again. Ever.

  But how many times have I said that in my life? Probably too many to count.

  When I wake up too early the next morning, there’s drool crusted on my cheek, and my entire left side is red from sleeping on the floor. Terrible fucking night. The best thing for me right now is a hot shower then a couple more hours of sleep, in my bed this time.

  I hop in without glancing in the mirror. I’m positive I don’t want to see what I look like right now. It’ll be bad enough after cleaning up. When I finish and dry off, surveying the damage, I’m taken aback by what I see reflected.

  I look different somehow.

  Nothing looks wrong exactly, but there’s something different in the face I see now than the one I saw yesterday. Something’s changed. I rack my brain for an answer, still coming up blank.

  I get halfway to my bed when realization hits me.

  I run back to the mirror and am greeted by a devilish grin on the face looking back at me. It doesn’t even look like me. This face, the one that looks different than it ever has before, is the face of a killer. A ruthless killer. He’s waving goodbye to the control that held the impulses at bay. The moral side lost out to the deep dark desires at some point during the hours spent drunk and sick.

  I wasn’t even aware I’d made any decision, but here I stand, completely sure in the new path I plan to walk. There’s no looking back, and I’m more excited than I should be.

  ****

  I’m flush with adrenaline and endorphins, and it takes a great deal of willpower not to begin giggling with sheer glee. My decision has been made, and with all of this surprising conviction it’s pretty much sealed in stone. I’m ready to become what I must have been marching toward, unknowingly, for a long time. I’m ready to take the fork down the hidden path most people don’t even know exists.

  I’m ready to kill.

  And I’m ready to enjoy it.

  Minutes go by while I revel in the knowledge that I’ll do it again.

  The only thing that mars my elation is when I think back to Blondie. She was essentially an accident. She wasn’t planned or intentional. She was a dream. Nothing more. There are so many people I’ve wanted to kill, but restrained myself because that’s what’s expected. How could I let an accident be my first?

  And it’s surprising we aren’t all killers, that the world isn’t made up of more people just like the new me. I know everyone has these thoughts. We are just taught to squash them. But no more squashing, no more restraint. And no more accidental killings, either.

  I clench my teeth, balling my hands into fists as I make another quick decision. This one takes no deliberating since I’ve already jumped off the deep end. I’ll make up for what I lacked last time, and I’ll know what I’m doing with the next. I won’t watch from above as if I’m outside of my body this time. I’ll be inside of myself, fully conscious, watching and aware. I’ll kill with a plan, with intention. And only then will I regain the satisfaction I should’ve let linger before.

  When I do accomplish what I now intend to do, I’ll allow myself to keep something. I’ll save an item, but when I actually deserve it.

  It’ll be a donation from the recently, and dearly, deceased. I’ll start a collection of donations. Donations from each pretty woman. Donations they’ll give to me.

  For days I’ve been trying to brainstorm plans for my next adventure. The trouble is every time one begins to form I quickly find drawbacks. There’s always a loophole, some way I’ll surely be caught. Which i
s why everything I’ve come up with so far has been scratched. I never knew there would be so much to consider when planning to off someone.

  Off someone…that has such a nice ring to it.

  Kick their bucket for them.

  Help them bite the dust.

  Dim the light in their eyes.

  Deliver their soul to the devil.

  Send them to swim with the fishes.

  Put them six feet under; food for the worms.

  Take their life.

  Murder them; kill them; destroy them; end them.

  Okay, so I have no shortage of cliché sayings, but I’m still at a loss for my next plan or victim. Despite the number of days that have gone by since last Saturday, my excitement has yet to dwindle. Every time I picture The-One-Who-Doesn’t-Count and her lifeless body, that it was my actions causing her exsanguination, I feel a sharp tingle in my scalp and my heartbeat picks up the pace. My endorphins are still in excess, and I just haven’t hit my baseline from before that night. I know I’ll come down eventually, but not yet.

  I don’t know what down will feel like, either. The thought sends fear rushing through me.

  Jason even noticed an extra bounce in my step this week, though he attributed it to my mysterious lunch with Eva. I didn’t give him any details after I returned, so my silence has led to dirtier and dirtier insinuations. He couldn’t be further from the truth. But for obvious reasons I haven’t corrected him. Instead I just smile, walking away. Every time. It’s driving Jason crazier by the day.

  He has no idea that instead of sex with the boss his best friend is happier than he’s ever been because he assaulted and killed an unsuspecting victim. He’ll never find out, either.

  Ever.

  ****

  It’s Friday again. Somehow the week got away from me. I haven’t gone above and beyond in my work like I normally do. I haven’t gone to Spot Z, either, not once. I can’t even remember where the hours have gone or anything specific I’ve done outside of the office. I stare at my computer with distinct lackluster. I need a plan. At the very least I need an idea I can run with.

  Okay, maybe I just need a break so I can think straight. I can almost see my thought as it quietly fizzes out to die. And as if on cue I hear Jason next door heave his heavy frame up from his chair to stomp over to me. He makes a lot of noise these days. I wonder if he’s gained even more weight. It’s that damn marriage.

  “Wanna get lunch? My treat.” Despite the extra pounds he seems to be lugging around, Jason appears incredibly happy. The exuberance in his voice is apparent too as he hangs over the precipice of my office.

  “Sure thing. Ready now?” I watch Eva walk past my office as I answer. I hope she backs the fuck off. But on her way to the kitchen she eyes me with suspicion written in her furrowed brows.

  He nods. “Where do you want to go?” His eyes have a brightness to them that they only take on when he has good news or a secret to share.

  “Let’s do Delta’s. They have a few new items. I wanna try their prime rib dip,” I say. Plus I want to know what the hell he has to tell me. Please god, don’t let it be anything about me. He doesn’t keep track of his mileage on the muscle car, does he? I don’t think so. Fuck, I hope not.

  “Yeah, let’s go now,” he says.

  Eva pops out of the kitchen as the doors to the elevator begin to close, and she moves as fast as her heels will allow. Is she trying to catch it?

  “Can I join?” She sounds desperate.

  Seriously?

  “Sorry.” I mutter as the doors close without her inside.

  Please don’t let her try to follow us.

  We ride down in the death trap, without commenting about Eva, then head through the lobby with chitchat that feels forced. I can’t remember the last time our conversation didn’t flow freely. What the fuck’s going on?

  Stamping the snow off our feet inside Delta’s, the warmth does wonders for my nerves. Oddly enough Kristi is our waitress again, though we aren’t seated in as secluded of a table. We don’t look as if we need privacy today, I guess.

  “Hey guys, I’ll be helping you today. My name’s Kristi. What can I get for ya?”

  “Two beers, please.” Jason answers before I get the chance. It’s a beer kind of afternoon. No arguments from me.

  “Coming right up.” Her hips sway as she scurries to the bar. Something about Kristi strikes me, giving me the spark of an idea, but then it’s gone just as fast.

  “So…I have something to tell you.” I knew it. My ability to read people will come in handy with my new hobby. The pause grows. He’s waiting for me to respond before he spills.

  “You’re killing me. What is it?” I lift my eyebrows in anticipation, giving him the reaction he’s expecting.

  “Amelia’s pregnant again. It was a total accident, but we’re having another baby!” Each of his words is punctuated with an exclamation. To Jason this is good news.

  To me it would be torture.

  I don’t react as quickly as I should, and the smile isn’t instant. His starts to fall. Before I can stop myself I ask, “But what if you have another girl?” Jason laughs, thinking I was joking, trying to trick him even with my hesitation. Then, finally, I realize what’s expected of me and I put on the correct mask to fake it. “Wow, that’s so great.”

  Well, great that it isn’t about me, anyway.

  “Yeah, we’re excited. Just found out yesterday. Though I don’t know how long she suspected, she just peed on the thing, and then confirmed it at the doctor this morning. God, I hope this one’s a boy.” He elbows me, and Jason’s face is so full of joy some of it rubs off. I can’t help to be happy that he’s happy. Jason deserves to get what he wants. He’s a good man.

  “I bet this one is.” There’s too much estrogen in that house.

  “Well, Mel and I were wondering…and you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but we were wondering…if you’d be Godfather again?” Considering both Amelia and Jason are only children there must be a shortage of acceptable candidates. Why else would they choose a bad influence like me? Twice?

  “Of course. I’ll be there.”

  Great. It takes all my brain power not to roll my eyes.

  Through the rest of lunch we chat about the upcoming possibilities. Jason’s excitement never ebbs. Not once. We both suck down two beers before we realize we should stop, knowing we’ve got to go back to work.

  I can feel a little bit of a buzz, and I find myself considering Amelia’s actions from the other week in relation to this revelation. Were her newly raging hormones driving her to bend the rules with me? Or was she just trying to do something dangerous, understanding how wrong it was? I can’t decide which I’d prefer.

  While Jason babbles on, and my focus fails a little, I swear I see Eva through the windows of the restaurant. For a brief moment I think I see her peering in, shivering without a coat, looking for someone. But then after nudging for Jason to look there’s no one there.

  And I don’t see or imagine her again.

  “Thanks so much; you two have a wonderful rest of your day.” Kristi winks as she takes the paid bill and tends to her other tables. The ghost of an idea still lingers on the tip of my tongue, but again it slips away as Jason interrupts my thoughts while we stand to leave.

  “So how about coming over tonight to celebrate? You said you’d meet Mel’s friend. Mel’s cooking dinner, and we can play drinking games after. I’d say let’s go out dancing afterward, but I didn’t line up a babysitter.” Jason rambles on from one thought to the next, barely pausing for a breath while we make our way back to the office. His attempt at distraction is more obvious than he intended. And the fact that he won’t let me answer between questions is another dead giveaway.

  “Sure. But what friend was that again?” For the life of me I can’t remember who I was supposed to meet.

  “Umm…remember our neighbor?” I can see the slight cringe in Jason’s features despite his effort to hide it. He refu
ses to look my way while we walk, preventing any possibility of eye contact.

  Wait. Oh shit…

  “Bessie,” he adds. Yep, I remember now. How could I have forgotten? Jason’s eyes stay forward as we enter our building and make our way upstairs. He changes his answer after thinking about it though. “Bee.”

  He never should have told me Amelia calls her Bessie. Twice now.

  After a significant pause, I say, “I guess I said yes before. But may I remind you I’m doing this for you, not Mel, and definitely not Bessie. I’ll be there to celebrate your little parasite growing inside of your wife, but don’t think I’ll meet her again after this.” I look at him and wait for him to turn. “You. Owe. Me. Don’t even think for a second I’ll let you forget it.”

  Jason smiles and the gesture’s catching. He is one happy son-of-a-bitch right now. “Remember no one except Amelia calls her Bessie. It’s Bee. Tonight will be so fun. Thanks.” He drops his heavy hand on my shoulder to add, “Awesome. This will be so great. Yeah, yeah, I know. I know I owe you.”

  “Good, you better know.” If he forgets I won’t hesitate to remind him.

  “I do.”

  “What time should I be over?”

  “How about 7?” Just enough time to shower, get ready, and brainstorm how to plan my next kill before heading over to celebrate the great news of his next little brat.

  “Yeah, that should work for me.”

  ****

  When I get back to my office it feels off. I sense it before I even turn on the light. Someone was in here. Maybe I should start locking it. Then I find it. There’s a sticky note smack in the center of my computer. It’s scribbled in angry red marker.

  Aidan, you could be a better team player. Work on that.

  Fuck you, Eva.

  ****

  The shower’s hot spray begs me to linger underneath the restorative pressure. I can almost hear the “please” sighing from the pipes. It’s calling to relax every muscle, every nerve, every stressor. My thoughts seem to flow freely while the water cascades over me.