We Let The Dark In: Chapter Two

If you havent already read the first chapter: READ CHAPTER ONE NOW

Reacap: Our psychologist friend, Dr. Brooks, had a meltdown in his office after his estranged brother calls. Luke tells him that their father, who has been missing for decades, is still alive. The guilt, the horror, the faces of the lives taken, they’re all coming back to Dr. Brooks. If he can just surpress his fellings at the edge of his knife long enough to propose to Brenda, everything will be fine, won’t it?

CHAPTER TWO

Brenda’s car was already in the driveway when I pulled up to the house. I hoped she would still be at the office, but she must have come home early to prepare for tonight’s dinner. I walked to the front door; my briefcase once again clenched tight over the wound on my torso. When I entered, the dining room and living room were empty. As I moved further into the house, I could hear running water and the faint ding of Ally Lobby notifications that never ceased in our home.

“Hello, love,” I said, peeking around the corner of the kitchen entryway.

“You’re home early,” she said, hands tending to the dishes in front of her, face fixed on the pale light of the screen atop our kitchen counter.

“I figured the paperwork could wait. I wanted to get home and start setting things up. It’ll make for a late Monday, though.” I shot across the doorway toward our bedroom. “I’m going to hop in the shower.”

“No, you’re not.”

I stopped, jaw ratcheting tight, and popped my head back in the doorway, my body still covered behind the wall.

Her neck craned, trying to look at me, still scrubbing the soapy pot. “Not before you give me a kiss.”

I tiptoed in, bag over bloodstain, staying behind her field of vision. I pressed myself against her back, one arm and canvas between us, the other arm crossed around her waist. I leaned in and kissed her neck. I felt the Warmth radiating from her chest, which looked up at me through a deep-V. My lips worked their way down the side of her neck; I could feel the blood pumping through my lips, in opposition with the thump of her jugular, creating a beautiful rhythm that excited me, breathing life into me, as she always did. I ended at my favorite spot: The delicate meat where the collarbone fades into the shoulder. Her skin was ecstasy on my mouth, almost making me forget about my conversation with Luke.

Dad’s back.

Branda giggled at the wet suck of my lips and shrugged me off. “I talked to Elena, she and Julio will be here tonight. That’s the final RSVP. I wish they had gotten back to us sooner. I may have to pull some chairs from the garage, but we’ll make it work.”

The tablet dinged at Brenda again. A notification for another ‘Like’ popped up on the screen, probably for her most recent post: a picture from our date last night. When the waiter dropped off our food, she stopped me before I could take a bite to get a shot of the beautiful dishes, then pulled me in close for a selfie. I hated when she did this but never told her because she seemed to enjoy it. I preferred to live in the moment, take the bite and enjoy the company. A thousand so-called ‘friends’ need not be involved.

“Maybe we should sit Julio and Peter at opposite ends of the table,” I said. “Since Peter hit his dog with a shovel, I’m not sure things are copacetic.”

“Good idea. We don’t want any bloodshed hosting our first shindig. Maybe next time, though.”

I felt her smile grow, tugging at the side of my face.

Blood.

“I’m going to hit the shower, then pull those chairs out. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

I gave her one last smooch on the cheek and checked her back to make sure I didn’t bloody it up—all clean—then headed to the bedroom.

I took the hottest shower I could bear. The heat helped to loosen the dried bits of blood that clotted around the cut. When I stepped out of the shower, the density of the looming steam wrapped around me, keeping my body wet even after I toweled off. My thoughts were racing: Where has Dad been hiding all these years? How did Luke know he was alive? How did Luke find me? How would I hide this monster cut from Brenda? Would the bloody shirt be safe to leave at the bottom of the laundry basket until morning, or should I sneak it out now? Are we ready to host our first neighborhood dinner? Am I ready to propose?

The peroxide burned as I dabbed it over the wound. It was smaller than the blood stain on my shirt suggested, but it was deep. I wrapped a tight, long ribbon of gauze around my torso using two flat metal-toothed clips to secure it. As I inspected my work, I gave the door handle a final jiggle to ensure I had locked it securely. I didn’t want Brenda barging in on me like this. We kept a small pin above the door trim that she would insert into the hole on the other side of the doorknob, so even the locked door wasn’t a sure thing. But She’d surely try the handle before breaking in. That would give me time to cover up. She loved to pop in and surprise me. Shit, shower, or shave, It didn’t matter. Brenda was the type that saw no boundaries in a healthy relationship. I loved that about her, but I also feared it. I had always dreamt of being close and honest with someone, but secrecy had gotten me this far. At this point, absolute truth was too narrow and jagged a cliff to traverse.

The first time we made love was after about a month of dating, and that’s when she first saw my scars. All of them. I always wear long-sleeved shirts and pants, even in the death-heat summers of Central Texas. As long as I keep my cutting above the wrists and below the collar, no one ever sees them. But eventually, once I get close enough to someone, the time always comes when I have to take that big leap. She was shocked the first time I showed her, just as those who came and went before her were. I told her that when I was a teenager working in a factory, I fell into an industrial machine, and it ripped my flesh to shreds. I thought maybe that would buy me some time. At least enough time to get some acceptance for the night and hopefully get lucky. But it turned out Brenda had depth. We spent that incredible evening fully engrossed in lust and connected in a way I had never experienced. She ran her fingers all over, feeling her way through the topographical map of my body. She seemed to get off on it, and I really got off on that. It was the best sex of my life. It was the closest I’ve ever felt to another human being without holding their life in my hands. The good kind of closeness. The kind of dreams, not nightmares.

I had been cutting a lot less since we met. I didn’t feel the urge as often. And when I did, I would find a nice discreet spot where it could heal in peace before she would detect it. By the time it healed, it would just be another one of the old gang. There were too many for her to keep track of. Today was different. I was nervous, thinking about the ring, what I would say, and how I would say it tonight after dinner. I reverted to some comfortable place of self-destruction, carving at my torso out there on front street where she could easily see the fresh wound. This one was going to be a real bitch to hide, especially if tonight went well and we ended up in the bedroom, drunk on champagne, high on the prospect of a lifetime as one, clothes and inhibitions flying.

I decided leaving the bloodied shirt in the bottom of the laundry basket until morning would be the safest bet. Brenda would get proper drunk tonight, and fiddling with the laundry would be the last thing on her mind with a hangover in the morning. I suddenly remembered my briefcase. I fastened the last button on my shirt, leaving the top open, tucked my blue shirt into my khakis, and checked my hair again before grabbing the briefcase from the closet floor. I tucked it up high behind a row of shoe boxes that housed old keepsakes. It would be safe there until morning.

I could hear Brenda clunking around in the dining room, shuffling through the China set she had inherited from her Grandmother, searching for the perfect dinnerware. Walking into the bedroom, I scanned the area, ensuring everything was in its place; no bonehead evidence left behind for Brenda to stumble upon. I pulled my phone from my pocket and set an alarm for 5:00 am, surely early enough to sneak everything out before she woke. I then walked to the lamp and unscrewed the bulb just enough to break the electrical connection. I’d tell her it burned out and head to the store first thing to buy a new bulb and get rid of the bloodied shirt and briefcase in the dumpster behind Safeway. Plus, if things got hot tonight, I wanted as little light as possible to show off my new wound.

I picked up my phone to see if I had missed another call from Luke. He said he would call me back tomorrow, but I couldn’t wait. Maybe he was as eager to spill the details as I was to hear them. As I feared, he hadn’t called, and probably wouldn’t until tomorrow. My nerves were burnt to a crisp, and my muscles pulled taut like dried rawhide. There was so much riding on tonight. Everything had to be perfect, but I couldn’t get the call off my mind.

Dad is alive.

I always suspected. The FBI had found Lilith’s body in the ash and rubble, but never his. After all these years, I told myself he must have fled to another country and a few years later had a heart attack or choked to death on a cocktail onion. I found comfort in that image. But I knew deep down it was just a fantasy with shaky probability. The son of a bitch was a survivor. He was a Raven. And just like he taught me and Luke during our training, Ravens don’t get caught, and Ravens never die.