Darkness Matters Read online

  Darkness Matters

  Jay McLean

  Copyright © 2017 by Jay McLean

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editing: Tricia Harden | Emerald Eyes Editing

  Cover Design: Jay McLean

  Formatting: Jay McLean

  Dedication

  For those who drown in darkness.

  Fight.

  Epigraph

  “There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart’s desire. The other is to gain it.”

  - George Bernard Shaw

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Also by Jay McLean

  Prologue

  There are several types of fluorescent lights. The one in our garage has a neon tube, and like many, it flickers before finally switching on. In general, the flicker is caused because the gas inside the lamp is still relatively cold and can’t establish a glow discharge between electrodes. It’s basic physics. In horror movies, they use this scenario to scare, to terrify. One second, everything is fine. Darkness hits. Then light. And suddenly, all your worst fears are right in front of you, causing your heart to stop, your stomach to bottom out.

  As a kid, those scenes would horrify me, keep me up at night with the light on, too afraid to move... a source of nightmares.

  Flick.

  Flick.

  Flick.

  Light.

  Dark.

  Light.

  As a sixteen-year-old, those nightmares became my reality.

  Flick.

  Flick.

  Flick.

  Light.

  Dark.

  Light.

  It’s strange, though...

  I don’t remember the light.

  I only remember the darkness.

  Chapter One

  Noah

  The only sounds in the room are the clanking of our silverware and the ticking of the clock. Dad stares at his food as if it’s a work of art. Mom stares at the wall the same way. It’s the exact scene it has been for almost two years, and I don’t know why I expected any different. Maybe because I’m home for the first time since I left for college almost six months ago. Or maybe because tomorrow’s Christmas.

  I clear my throat and settle my fork carefully on my plate. Neither of my parents reacts. “I, uh... I was thinking of-of maybe, um...” I trail off when my mother’s gaze shifts to my chest, slowly, then back at the wall.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  I remove my ball cap and run a hand through my hair before replacing it again, pulling it low on my brow. “I’m having a hard time focusing in the dorms,” I continue and then pause, wait for a reaction. When enough time passes, and nothing comes, I add, “So I was thinking of ma-maybe finding a place near campus. Just a room. Not a whole house.”

  Outside, a car drives past, bass blaring, rattling the windows of our modest three-bedroom home. The music stops and a car door slams, and I know who it is without having to look. Our neighbor and my one and only friend, Bradley. He’s the only one who stood by me after…

  Just after.

  Across the table from me, my dad blinks, the light above the dining table creating a shadow of his lashes, like giant ferns across his cheeks. He stops playing with his food while my mom pours another glass of wine. It’s her fifth one since we’ve sat down at the table. I give her approximately twenty minutes before Dad’s carrying her up the stairs.

  It hadn’t always been like this. Growing up, dinners were used to catch up on our days, reconnect with each other. “Family time” Mom used to call it.

  I say, knowing no one’s listening, “It won’t cost you anything. I can use the money Grandma left me. I just wanted to let you know, because... well, because you’re my parents and...” Mom glances up at me, exhales slowly, quietly.

  “Sure,” Dad says.

  My mother sits up straighter, squeezes Dad’s hand, her eyes more indicative of her recent struggle than her age. “I’m not feeling well. I think it’s time to call it a night.”

  I stand when they do, watch Dad take Mom in his arms, not out of affection, but to help her stand. They exit the room without another word, leaving their food untouched. My stomach sinks while my heart rises to my throat, making it impossible to swallow. The clock keeps ticking, but time stands still, and I’m nothing but a fly on the wall, a reminder of their downfall.

  “Get some sleep,” Mom calls out from the stairs, the alcohol loosening her speech. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”

  I know she’s right; it’s a huge day, just not in the sense the rest of the world is feeling.

  Chapter Two

  Andromeda

  Andromeda (Galaxy) also known as Messier 31.

  Andromeda (Mythology) also known as The Woman Chained.

  “I know it’s not much,” my sister says from behind me. “But it’s all I could afford for now. Once I settle into my job, then we’ll move. Somewhere bigger. Nicer.” Her words bleed into regrets, into apologies, neither things I’m worthy of.

  I clutch the plastic bag containing my only possessions and turn to her. She looks nothing like the girl I pushed away three years ago. The last words we spoke to each other replay in my mind, words that have weighed down on my conscience every night as I stared up at the ceiling, wishing it were the night sky, where our namesakes lived and breathed. I would’ve shouted up my own regrets, my own apologies, but it would’ve been useless. She wasn’t there to hear them. “It’s perfect,” I tell her. And compared to where I’d been, it really is.

  She forces a smile, reminding me of the girl I’d grown up with. “You can have the bedroom—”

  “No,” I cut in, a little too forcefully. I try to settle my breathing and push through the tightening in my chest. “The couch is fine. Besides, you’re working nights, so you’ll need the rest more than I do.”

  “But you’ll be working, too, and going to night school, that’s what the program—”

  “May I please use your shower?” I don’t want to talk about what the “program” is doing for me.

  She rears back a little, wide and worried eyes on mine. “Andie, you don’t need to ask to use the shower... and it’s our shower. This is our home.”

 
; I nod, eyes burning from the onslaught of tears threatening to escape. A knot lodges in my throat while shame and fear force me to look down, away from her pitiful gaze. I rifle through my bag, the only things in there are a cell phone that’s no longer connected, a navy blue and gray plaid skirt, a matching blouse, and a blazer: my old school uniform.

  “I got you some clothes,” my sister says, quietly, carefully. “I wasn’t sure...” She walks the few steps from the living room to the kitchen and picks up a bag sitting on the counter. “They’re from Goodwill, but I washed them all before you got—” she breaks off, her awkwardness at the situation igniting my own. “Just before.”

  Taking the bag from her, I mumble a “thank you” and move to the bathroom. I drop the bag on top of the closed toilet seat and turn on the shower, surprised when steam erupts from the temperature of the water.

  I smile.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve smiled.

  Then I start to strip off my clothes, and that’s when my sister appears in the doorway, her hand on the knob. “I’m going to close this, okay?”

  My stomach sinks, habits I hadn’t known were habits making me forget the simplest of things. “Thank you,” I say again. Once the door’s closed, creating a barrier between me and my only blood left willing to stand by me, I step into the shower, lose myself in the warmth of the water raining down on me, and I silently cry three and a half years’ worth of tears over two years’ worth of mistakes.

  Chapter Three

  Noah

  Less than a week after telling my parents my plans, I stand in front of my new house, Bradley standing next to me. He’d come over Christmas Day to see how my sharing the decision to live off-campus went with my parents. He wasn’t surprised at their reaction. Bradley’s seen us at our best, our worst, our darkest. He had no major plans after high school besides staying close to home, and he mentioned he wouldn’t mind a change of scenery, so here we are.

  Our new house has three bedrooms, another guy already occupying one of the smaller rooms on the first floor. I’ll have the whole upstairs to myself. The landlord and I spoke via text messages and a single phone call. He’d given me the email address of our other roommate so we could make arrangements. Miles is older, twenty-three, and a porn star. A legit porn star. Miles travels a lot filming, so he’s only home maybe two days a month. I told my parents all this to see if it would get a reaction. It didn’t.

  The house itself is an eyesore. Cotton candy pink with white shutters. A little piece of Myrtle Beach right in the middle of Raleigh, North Carolina. “It looked different on the website,” Bradley says, grabbing a box from his truck. I lean against my beat-up Honda Accord, a hand-me-down from my mom and then my sister, and look up at the beast.

  “What’s that?” Bradley asks, pointing to what looks like a garage attached to the house—only it doesn’t have a garage door, just a single, average door.

  “Probably an extension.” I push off my car and turn to pull out a box from the back seat.

  “Holy motherfucking shit,” he murmurs.

  I spin swiftly to find what has him saying those words. The “garage” door is open, and a girl stands just outside, blond—almost white—hair flying around her. She’s dressed in a faded gray half shirt, no bra, her tight, tanned stomach on full display. Her shorts are shorter than short, pinker than pink, and she’s glaring at us, her hands on her bare waist. “Who the hell are you?”

  Bradley drops his box, trophies from back in our high school days falling out, bright gold against the vivid green grass of the nature strip. “I guess we’re your new neighbors,” he says, ignoring his treasures and moving toward her. “I’m Bradley,” I hear him say, my back already turned to fish out my boxes. “That’s Noah.”

  I slide a box across the back seat and lift it out, turning as I do. Then I drop it, just like Bradley had done. The girl in front of me frowns, coffee-colored curls blowing in the breeze. I do a double take from this girl to the one at the door, again and again, their features the same, but everything else a contrast. “Do you need some help?” she asks, her voice like her presence: a shot of caffeine to stir me, jolt me, annihilate me. “I’m Andromeda.”

  Chapter Four

  Andie

  I like the job the program found for me. Stocking shelves at the local grocery store is monotonous and mind-numbing and ninety-five percent of the time, people leave me alone. I don’t know if it’s because I give off that vibe or because they know my past. Yesterday, my boss—a guy who isn’t much older than me but is already in the early stages of male pattern baldness—said that once I’d earned his trust, he’d train me on the cash registers.

  I’m not holding my breath.

  I wouldn’t let me around money, either.

  My allocated break times are shared with a girl named Remy. She has dyed black hair and piercings in places the company handbook states is against company policy. She smokes like a chimney during her breaks, and in between puffs of cancerous ribbon, she takes bites of a sub the guy working behind the deli sneaks her free of charge. That’s against company policy, too, not that I’d ever tell.

  I spend my time in the break room watching the hands on the clock tick, tick, ticking until my time is up. Then I go back to work, back to stocking shelves.

  Most days, I get everything done before my shift is over, so I clean the floors, dust the shelves, face the product outward. I do all that before my shift is over, too. I pretend like it’s not all done, though, because the first time I approached my boss with an hour left in my shift and had nothing to do, he seemed put out about my asking for more work. I didn’t want to be a hassle. I didn’t want to lose my job. I needed the job. So now I hide out in the storeroom and tidy in there, too. I like it alone in the storeroom. Out on the shop floor, I feel like people are watching. I’m sure they’re not, but it feels like it. Not just the other workers, but the customers, too. Like they know. If this were my hometown, I’m sure they would know. But this is Raleigh, the capital of the state. Population four hundred thirty thousand plus. I checked.

  After work, three nights a week, I go to night school—another thing the “program” helped me with. When I’m done, I’ll be a certified accountant. A far cry from my dreams of aerospace engineering, but hey—we live with the choices we make.

  Night school is something else completely. People want to get to know me. They must not know about my past. Not even the teachers. I sit in class and take notes on topics I already know about. When they ask questions of the class, I don’t raise my hand. I stay invisible like I do in the storeroom at work. When assignments are due, I’m the first to hand them in. My lowest grade has been a 98. The teachers seem surprised by my work ethic. I don’t tell them that I’ve had three years to learn and memorize the things they’re teaching. I keep my mouth shut even when they say something wrong, something from an older edition of the textbooks. I’ve read every edition from the past ten years and memorized each one. I don’t tell them that, either.

  The same guy sits next to me in class.

  His name is Brandon.

  He has a thick southern twang, and when he says my name, it comes out in more syllables than necessary. He asks me to eat with him after class, every class. I always say no.

  Instead, I go home and go straight to the bathroom.

  I’ve learned to close the door now.

  Then I shower until the water turns cold.

  I’ve learned to take my time now, too.

  Habits. I’m learning to break them.

  Some nights, I lie on the couch with the pillows fluffed high enough so I can stare out the glass sliding doors and into the night sky. I search for the constellations I know and whisper their names into the darkness.

  Then I think about Brandon.

  I hate that I think about Brandon.

  The last thing I want is to be pursued.

  Because being pursued is what got me here.

  Chapter Five

  Noah
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  For the next week, I go to class, come home, and sleep on a blow-up mattress on top of the provided mattress, because even though the ad on Craigslist said the place was fully furnished, it didn’t state that our absent roommate did porn for a living, and I sure as hell wasn’t willing to risk it.

  My room is huge, almost as big as the entire downstairs, having its own bathroom and a kitchen-type counter against the wall dividing the two rooms. I have my own balcony looking out to the yard, a staircase joining them.

  I’d given myself a budget to buy things I might need once I’d moved in. A mattress, microwave, bar fridge and coffee machine were at the top of the list so that technically, I could close my bedroom door, survive off what was in my room, and come and go without anyone knowing.

  My old dorm mate said I was a recluse, a shut-in. He wasn’t the first to think it. Bradley had mentioned it, too, but instead, he used the word introvert. Which, I guess, is why when Andromeda had offered to help me with my boxes the day we moved in, I’d simply shaken my head, regathered my stuff that had fallen from the box when I dropped it and walked around her. “Idiot,” I murmur to myself, flipping open my laptop and connecting it to the Wi-Fi using the password Miles had emailed me. Seven days have passed, and I haven’t seen either of those girls, yet I’m still thinking about those few seconds of interaction.