When Darkness Loves Us

Time slowed. She felt the sharp teeth rip the flesh from her breast, felt the raw stones breaking bones in her back as she fell, the great weight atop her. She saw her outstretched hand claw for the door—short, inches, just inches short—she was not there yet, it was too far away, the beast was chewing on her, God, it was eating her alive, the pain, oh, Martha, the pain, its teeth ripping out her heart, oh, God, so close, so close, oh, God. She looked down, right into the eyes of her attacker, the pain so complete, not the physical pain but the desperation of failure clouding her vision, now it was a man, now it was a dog, now a giant rat, what was it, where oh where did you come from to live within my daughter and at last she knew where she’d seen the beast before.

It was Harry.

CHAPTER 25

“Leon, what’s a five-letter word for solo? There’s an l in it.” Martha looked up from her crossword.

“Alone.” Leon stood up and clicked off the television. “Like me. I’m going to bed.”

“Good idea.” Martha wrote the other letters carefully in the squares with her pencil, then closed the book and took off her glasses. He passed behind her, stopping to put his hands on her shoulders as she rubbed her eyes, then he kissed the top of her head.

“C’mon.”

“You go ahead. I’ll just clean up a bit and be right in.”

“Okay.”

She heard him brushing his teeth in the bathroom, then the toilet flushed, then the bedsprings creaked as he got in. She picked up crushed beer cans from the new coffee table and wiped it with a towel. What will this house be like without him? She sat for a moment on the new sofa. It was comfortable, and very pretty, in muted colors of browns and golds. There was a new chair to match, and a new rocker, and new draperies. The house looked nice. And it felt nice, with Leon to share it.

She turned off the light and went to bed.

Outside, two pair of eyes watched the light go out. They continued to wait, quietly. Then Priscilla whispered.

“Leslie, what do you think they have that we’d want?”

“Won’t know till we get inside.”

“Money, you think?”

“That’s the only thing worth taking.” He paused. “Unless you want to take pictures. Bring a camera?”

Priscilla giggled. He hushed her, then got to his feet. “C’mon.”

Sleep was sliding in and around, making a comfort­able, cottony womb, as Martha and Leon lay together in the bed. They were soft together, silent, their thoughts running loose, getting ready to give up and sink safely into that timeless place where the cumbersome fetters of awareness were not needed. They were at peace, at rest.

The crash of glass splintered that rest, split it into sharp shards of fear. They sat up as one, Leon reaching for his pants, Martha pulling the covers up to her chin. He flicked on the harsh light and went into the kitchen, and she heard the words, those words . . .

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Suddenly, she was very small as she moved sideways from the bed, her eyes big and bright, frightened but bold. She moved in her nightgown—it was late, her mommy should have been home by now—bare feet stepping on the cold ground as she made her way into the silent barn.

“Go bring Martha in here, Priscilla,” Leslie said as he leveled the gun at Leon. Priscilla’s eyes were huge with fright as she did what he told her. He never said he was going to bring a gun.

She slipped past Leon and into the bedroom, where Martha was sliding along the bedroom wall, her eyes wide open but not seeing. “Martha?”

“It’s me, Daddy. Mommy’s not home yet and I’m afraid.”

Oh, Jesus. What is going on in this house?

“I thought I told you never to come into this barn, you little freak.” He took a step toward her, into the light, kicking an empty whiskey bottle that went rolling across the floor. He kept coming. He didn’t have any clothes on. A little thing dangled between his legs and he was covered in blood. He stopped and turned on the hose, washing himself down, the blood running across the floor toward her feet, running down his legs. He rubbed himself to get it off, and it kept coming toward her toes, her bare toes on the barn floor, and she backed up, and backed up. “Well, you’re here now, you want to see what goes on in here? Come here.” He pulled on a pair of overalls, then came and grabbed her wrist. “Come here!”

Priscilla grabbed her wrist. “Come here!”

Martha screamed “No! No! I don’t want to! Don’t make me!” She watched the blood wash toward her, picking up little pieces of hay and bringing it to her, to her toes.

A shot blasted in the living room, more crashing of glass. They were fighting and Priscilla didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to go into the living room. And she didn’t know what to do with Martha. A heavy thud from the living room. The sounds of fighting stopped, there was heavy breathing, then Leslie’s face appeared at the door. He was bleeding from a cut over his eye and had a bruise swelling on one corner of his mouth.

“I told you to come in here!”