Meet Me In The Dark: (A Dark Suspense) (18 page)

“Sometimes it’s the thing you’ve been running from that can help the most.”

– Sydney

I
close my eyes so he can’t see me, but his mouth is back on mine, his tongue searching for the things I’m hiding. He knows where to find them, too. I know he does. Of all the secrets I’m keeping, that’s the only one I
need
to keep. I need to do whatever it takes to keep that secret.

“I can find Garrett,” I say. “I can find him. Just tell me to hush. Tell me to hush and start asking questions.”

“No,” Case says sternly, but in a low voice. “It’s a lie, Sydney. He’s pumped you up with so much misinformation you have no idea what’s real. But every trigger has a release. And that’s the first thing I need from you. Once I get the release, we can try this all again. You know the release, Sydney. You’ve heard it many times. All I need is for you to remember. And if you tell me what that word is, I’ll back off. I’ll let you keep that dark place. Feel free to go there for an extended visit. Hell, never come back for all I care. How’s that for a deal?”

My mind is whirling. I might even black out, because the next thing I know Case has me wrapped up in his arms. Holding me tight. His fingers are between my legs, gently stroking up and down. They push inside me, then draw back. He kisses me. So, so softly. His lips cover my mouth, then retreat, and enter again. My tongue reaches for him. We tangle together like that for a few moments until he pulls away, his hands cupping my face. I suck in a breath, trying to make sense of things.

“What’s the word, Sydney? What’s the word Garrett uses to bring you out of it?”

I open my eyes and stare up at Case’s face. His fingers are back inside me, easing in and out, his thumb strumming my clit like it’s an instrument. It feels so fucking good. His other hand goes to his belt. A few jingles later I’m released, his pants are open, and he’s got my palm over his hard cock.

I squeeze it…

I’m in my bedroom sitting on the edge of the bed. Garrett is looking at my stuffed animals. “You’re too young to be a cat lady, Syd.”

I laugh a little and stretch my legs out.

“You must have two dozen of them.”

“So I like cats,” I quip back. “Sue me.”

He stands in front of me and takes my face in his hands. I look up at him with complete trust. “I like dogs.” I just blink at him. “They’re loyal. They’re obedient. And they don’t judge me.”

“I don’t judge you, Garrett.”

“I know, Syd. You’re a dog, baby. You’re a dog if there ever was one.” He pets my hair. “You’re good, and loyal, and soft.”

My knees hit the hard concrete floor, my hands on Case’s hips. The tip of his cock slips between my lips and I swallow.

He moans, his hand fisting my hair.

My tongue begins, my palms working their magic as I suck him off, twisting their way up and down his thick shaft.

“Way too many cats in here,” Garrett says, pointing to the shirt I’m wearing.

“It’s a football jersey,” I explain, eager for his touch and focus to remain totally on me. But he’s staring at the cartoon picture of a wildcat on my jersey.

“Wildcats?” He says it like a question.

Case pulls his dick out and pumps it hard a few times. I open my mouth and stick out my tongue, my eyes only on him. He shoots his come on my face, squirting me in the eye, making me blink. It’s warm and maybe a little comforting as it settles on my cheek.

“No,” I tell Garrett. “That’s not it. Try again.”

He smiles at me from above, both hands cupping my face again. “What is it, Syd?”

I smile back, a warm feeling taking over my body. And then I tell him.

“Bobcat?” Case asks, still breathing hard from his release. I look at the floor. Case puts himself back together. “That’s it? Bobcat?”

I hang my head and feel the tears slip out. I am ashamed for the things I’ve done. I am ashamed for the things I do. I am nothing but shame.

Case walks out of the room, leaving me there on the floor. I look up at the table where he said he killed my father, and then over to the fire. Everything about me is cold. So I crawl over to the fire and lie down on the stone hearth.

I watch those flames and they remind me of my life. Rising, falling, some sparks here and there. Warm.

Not this life, though. That life. The one where this girl named Syd lives in that pretty teenage bedroom. And all the cats are dogs now.

I don’t know how long I stay this way, living half in my dream and half in my nightmare. But the door remains open. Case never bothered to lock it when he left. There’s lights on out there too. Some of it leaks into my cell.

I don’t move. Not even a little bit. He might not even be here. He might’ve left already. Got whatever it was he needed and left.

I fall asleep wondering which is more real. Which one holds more promise. Which place holds my escape.

“S
ydney?”

He calls me Sydney. This is how I know it’s the nightmare and not the dream.

“Sydney? Are you hungry?”

I have never felt less hungry than right at this very moment. I reach up to scratch an itch on my face and realize it’s his dried come.

I close my eyes again after that. I prefer the dream Garrett to the real-life Case.

Sometime later he comes back. Again with my name. Only this time when I don’t answer, he lifts me up in his arms and takes me to the bathroom and places me on the counter.

I’m not asleep. I have doubts that any of that was sleep. So I just watch him as he wets a towel and starts cleaning my face. I don’t say anything, but he talks here and there as he works.

“It’s a good start,” he says once. Then, “We won’t need any more drugs. So you’ll feel better soon.”

What did he have me on? I think I remember Versed. But I’ve been given drugs my whole life. Whatever this is, it wipes my world. Versed doesn’t wipe a world away.

“I’d like to keep taking the drugs, if you don’t mind.”

I think my voice startles him. He stops his washing, but he doesn’t answer.

It doesn’t matter. The answer is no. Whatever I want, they give me the opposite. Sydney wants a mother? They give her a father. Sydney wants a boyfriend? They give her a monster. Sydney wants to go to college? They give her a bar.

The only good thing they ever gave me was that bar. And even though I didn’t want it at the time, it was a nice prize.

I like to work long hours. I hate going home. And once Garrett disappeared, there was always a fear that one night I’d go home and he’d be back.

And then Brett came. And we fit together like we were made for each other. Like two pieces to the same puzzle. His light to my dark. His easy smile to my tight scowl. His muscular upper body to my soft breasts. He was perfection.

Why did I leave the lodge that night? I could be married now. I could be living back in Cheyenne in the house he has. No more sleeping above the bar in the office because I was afraid to go home. I could be sleeping next to him right now.

I want to cry.

I want to cry so bad.

“We can try the truth instead.”

I don’t know how Case can read my mind like that.

“After he disappeared, how many times did Garrett meet you in the apartment you shared?”

“He never came back.”

“He did, Sydney. He came back. You disappeared a few times. And those were just while I was watching. Who knows how many times he came and took you away when I wasn’t watching.”

I picture my life after Garrett left. I really wanted him to be dead. But a part of me always knew he wasn’t. “Sometimes I’d stay at the bar so many nights in a row, when I got home I’d just crash out.”

“Did you have insomnia?”

I’m on the couch now, but I don’t remember getting here. Case is sitting on one end and I’m lying down, taking up too much space. My feet are in his lap and he’s tracing a line up my ankle.

“Always.”

I have clothes on too. A man’s t-shirt. Black. And a pair of sweats. Gray. My feet are cold because I have no socks.

“So when you fell asleep, you’d just crash out? Did people at the bar miss you?”

“I have days off.”

He’s silent after that.

I slide my feet out of his lap and pull them up to my chest. I don’t want to be touched. The flames dance along inside the fireplace. I can see through to the other side. I picture my body lying there. This is his view of me. This is my view of me now too.

I close my eyes. Because I’m ugly.

T
he next time I open them, I’m back in my cell. I’m on a soft rug—not covered in vomit like the last one—so that’s an improvement.

The guitar music floats across the flames and soothes me. His fingers squeak along the strings. He strums and hums and I hear the lyrics in my head. It’s a song about nothing. About being nothing. About wanting nothing. About having nothing.

It’s a pretty good song.

“You hungry yet?” he says, his fingers never missing.

I close my eyes again. I’d like to think I’m Zen enough to want nothing. But I’m not. I want more.

“More what?” Case asks.

“Drugs.”

“I stopped the drugs two days ago, Sydney.”

I realize my hair is damp and I wonder how much I missed this time.

“We need to continue. I have more questions.”

“I have no more answers.”

“You have all the answers, Syd.”

I smile at him. Standing there out on the riverbank, pole in hand. “I thought you left me.” A sob escapes with the final word. “I’m so tired of being alone.”

“Words can be poems, or songs, or gifts. Words can also be threats, lies, and broken promises. You should learn the difference.”

– Case

“W
here would I go?” I ask her. She’s distant, as usual. But she’s talking again, so that’s good.

“It’s me who leaves.”

She’s gone. I’m not sure she’s got anything left to tell, and even if she does, I’m not sure any of it will be reliable.

I was in the army for four years. Just enough time to change the course of everything. I came straight out of South Boston, a strange kid with a mind most men would covet and a body that could be molded and trained to back his shit up.

I’m the first to admit I’m sick and twisted. Kicked out of every school in the neighborhood. Truant for weeks and months at a time. A blight on the schedules of every social worker I ever encountered. And yet here I am. A player.

Did they see that one coming? Did MIT, and Harvard, and Cambridge see that one coming?

Of course they did. That’s why they all wanted me.

And if people want you, your best bet is to turn and walk the other way.

The army was where my feet took me. One enlistment, one army general classification test, and one fucked-up mission later—not in the desert, no. In the US. That’s where I did all my field work. Where I did all my active duty.

That is what led me to this guy I am today.

They made so many mistakes with me. Letting me in the army was the first. But when someone like me shows up for a war and can wield the weapons they know exist, but don’t have enough manpower to use effectively, well, he’s in.