The dark place, p.11
The Dark Place, page 11
I landed.
Felt my knees scraping against the rough surface, and the tears came. I fumbled to my butt, my vision not quite there as I found my back pressed against a wall, my head falling into my lap as my ears popped.
Inhale. Exhale.
Then a smell came. Garlic and onions sautéed on a stovetop. Melted cheese cooling on top of a casserole. Hot grease with the smell of Cajun seasoning and paprika.
My stomach woke, making a sound. It was Mama’s cooking. I knew that with absolute certainty, and even with my eyes closed, the saliva in my mouth tripled. I had to be home. And home…it was only a construct now.
Mama loved to cook. She loved experimenting, writing down recipes, watching specials on TV. When Bubba was around, I used to love cooking with her. Tossing the chicken into the seasoned flour. Listening to the way it popped in the hot grease on the stove. Mixing up the cornmeal for cornbread.
We used to be a home, and this smelled like that, but I…
I was afraid.
Too afraid to open my eyes, too afraid to discover where I’d been brought to this time. And I knew it was home, but not really.
Not really home…not really Mama’s cooking.
There was a hush, hush. Mumbled whispers at first. Voices projecting in front of me, but not directly to me. My eyelids quivering. Just open them, I told myself, but I froze.
What if this was all a trick?
A dim light wavered, someone moving nearby, and the voices slid into familiarity. They weren’t talking to me, or even about me, they were talking to each other. And I knew those voices, but they were haunted here. They sounded brittle and breathy, like they’d been speaking for decades but never stopped for water.
Another twitch, and I forced my eyes open. I was in the dark place, at my childhood home. My home. My home. My home.
My everything, all of it, somehow revived again. Though there was light, it was muted. Gray hues painted almost every surface, and darkness spilled from every crack and corner. The shadows inched toward the trim and ceiling like long, bony fingers, stretching like threads of loose hair.
The wooden bed frame to my right grew velvety mold in the spirals. Not quite right. My old blankets on the floor. My small desk covered in springing moss and loose dirt, the carpet a mix of different-sized vines and twisted dandelions.
In the center of it all stood a woman who looked like my mother—if my mother’s dark brown skin were withered and gray like an elephant, and if her black hair were strawlike and flicked off her shoulder in stiff movements with each turn.
Like the girl I’d seen before, Mama’s eyes were erased with smooth skin. No eyelashes, no eyebrows. Full lips twisted with thorns and bruises and pain, stretching across her grim face.
When she spoke, it was long and serious. Something she’d said before—one too many times—and I could tell that she was tired of saying it. Rage fueling her.
“Hylee,” she said, and my eyes widened as I leaned forward, my mouth propped open.
And a smaller voice. Still as tired. Still as angry. “Mama,” she pleaded, and that little girl was me.
She was me. But how?
She was me, sitting on the ground, sheets spread out around her, and I missed it the whole time. Maybe I’d been too afraid to stare at her for long enough to notice, but that face. That voice. That was mine. So maybe she was the past version of me in this twisted universe?
It had to be that.
“You gotta pick up the pace.” Mama spoke again, and it hurt to hear her talk. I wanted to cover my ears, but this felt like…it felt like they were here for me? Or were they? But I’d been here before—this moment wasn’t new.
“You were supposed to do this thirty minutes ago,” Mama said, and she took a step forward, head moving in my direction.
I pressed myself into the corner, my heart racing, thudding in my ears until I realized she didn’t notice me—neither of them did. She kept speaking to the younger version of myself, and I was a ghost in their dimension, sitting on the floor, against the wall with the window blowing in cool air that smelled of wet earth.
Little Hylee huffed, her twisties moving as she picked up a comforter from the pile on the floor. “Mama, I’m hurrying, but the blankets have to go on in order.”
Mama crossed her arms in front of her ribs and tapped her foot hurriedly. “When I come back, this better be done.”
When Mama left, she closed the soot-covered door, and I watched little Hylee make her bed with my knees pressed to my chest, wondering if I moved, would I ruin anything?
As I watched her, I had this urgent, ticking feeling inside me that made me want to jump to my feet. That made me wonder again why this felt so familiar.
But then a pillow fell, and as Hylee went to pick it up, the sound of someone banging on wood made us freeze. It wasn’t the bedroom door; it was one farther away.
Out there…past the hallway…The front door.
She looked at the bedroom door, and I followed her gaze.
Another bang. Louder, the sound echoing in the room.
A shout from the living room. A shuffle. Silence, and then: “Who is it?” I recognized the deep voice. It was low, a tremble crawling around it, uncertainty everywhere.
Little Hylee stayed paused like she was listening, her chest rising and falling quicker than it had been moments ago.
And it clicked.
Today was November 9. Today was the day Bubba disappeared. Which also meant that somewhere, somewhere, he was here, too.
There was a loud splitting sound, and I remembered it was someone kicking in the front door. It made both of us—me and little Hylee—flinch at the same time. I hopped to my feet, my toes pressing into the vine-covered carpet, the clematis crawling toward the corners.
Little Hylee inched closer to her bedroom door, slow, quiet steps, and I mimicked her, becoming her shadow. My shoulders low. My breath uneven. We heard another voice then. It was muffled but still loud. A man shouting. I didn’t know who he was, but the way he sounded…the way his voice cracked through the opening of these ruined walls…it made me believe he was here for something awful. A price to be paid. Blood to be spilled.
Shots were fired and glass shattered. I rushed to the doorknob before the other version of me could, and as soon as I touched it to turn it, she did, too.
Her hand was cold, right beneath mine. We heard our name out there. Someone was searching for us. That voice. I remembered that voice.
The ice-cold air in my face as we swung the door open, my curls rustling. I was ready to run, but as I moved forward, everything turned black.
The nausea rushed in as I disintegrated, the world picking me up and spitting me out.
I landed on the floor, in my bedroom at Grandmommy’s house.
My knees bounced on the carpet as I rolled into full existence again. I couldn’t move. My eyes opened and watered as I saw flashes of the house playing out in my head.
Bubba had to be behind that door, in the house somewhere. I just knew it. He had to be. He had to be.
PRESENT DAY: MARCH
After the time traveling episode, I couldn’t sleep. I kept the overhead light and the lamp on. I was sick of shadows.
I spread the comics out in the middle of my bed, and I read them one by one. I kept dozing off, but the sound of the banging and shots from the dark place woke me back up every time.
Soon, I learned about Earth-2149, and I read about Magneto, Black Panther, Wolverine, and Luke Cage. I learned how the Hunger made good people do awful things, and I learned that even good intentions could lead to vile endings.
My alarm sounded before the sun came up, and after I brushed my teeth and washed my face, I waited for the text from Sarah. She’d offered to be my ride to and from school like a freaking angel.
My head throbbed as I dragged myself to her Audi and hopped in.
“Shit, girl…you look like shit.”
I smiled and buckled in. “At least I don’t smell like shit.”
She backed out of the driveway. “No, you smell like flowers that grow on holy land.” I laughed, and she cleared her throat. “But all jokes aside, is everything okay?”
I wanted everything to be okay, and I really wanted to tell Sarah about all the chaos happening in my life. A part of me felt like she’d understand, but that other part—the nasty, raw, oozing part—felt like she’d run away terrified and confused. Just like Lucia.
So I swallowed the truth and shared a lie. “Yeah, everything’s okay. Life is just”—and I stuck my tongue out—“life.” And I hoped that’d suffice.
Sarah grinned. Sort of. “How about coffee, on me?”
“I literally love everything you’re saying right now. Yes, a million times, yes!” I said, and Sarah turned up the music, put on her sunglasses. She belted out words to a song, and I smiled to try to keep from crying.
While she ordered for us, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Eilam:
Eilam texted me back immediately. No surprise there. He said he’d pick me up from my school at exactly 3:15 p.m., and here’s the kicker—he even offered to get me coffee.
Before I knew it, Eilam’s old Pontiac chugged to the curb outside Lee’s Summit West. He rolled down his window before he unlocked the door, and I bent down to see his smiling face.
“Are you ready for infinity and beyond?”
“I didn’t realize Buzz Lightyear was picking me up.”
That smile again. And Jesus. “Make no mistake, you’re Buzz in this situation. I’m Sox.”
He unlocked the door, and I dropped my backpack on the floor and slid in. “Why is that?”
“Because you’re definitely the main character in this story.”
I rolled my eyes. God. The boy was so cheesy.
We listened to Frank Ocean as we drove toward town center, entering downtown Lee’s Summit. Today, the air was warmer. It reminded me that spring break was next week, and I’d told Mama and Daddy I’d come home this weekend.
After I texted Mama the other day, she called. Her voice sounded tired, but she seemed excited. I was on speakerphone with her and Daddy, and even when they told me about all the things I’d missed out on, I could still hear the concern under the words they didn’t say. Another thing I noticed—they never asked me how I was. I didn’t think it was to be malicious; rather, they seemed anxious about what I’d say when I answered the question.
We were on a sidewalk where the buildings hugged each other and shared large glass windows. We passed a barber shop, some boutiques, a Mexican restaurant on the corner, and then we stopped at a bakery and coffee shop, the Bibliobean.
I paused at the door as he opened it. “You mean to tell me you go to coffee shops that aren’t where you work? That’s wild.”
Eilam narrowed his eyes as the small bell above the door chimed. “You’d be surprised at all the things you don’t know about me.”
“Oh, like your big secret?” I teased, and he moved forward.
I had another smart remark, but I was distracted by the sweet smell of cinnamon and vanilla that engulfed the air and rested on my tongue.
My stomach growled at the sight of everything. Brown, flaky rolls drizzled with icing. Huge chocolate chip cookies and pistachio bars. Chocolate-filled croissants and slices of crumbly coffee cake.
Eilam leaned in to whisper, his voice pricking the hairs on my neck. We looked at each other, our noses inches away while I waited for him to talk, but all I could focus on was his lips.
Then a voice on the stage, past the small tables and chairs, stole my attention. They projected with confidence. A poetry reading.
He leaned away. “It’s Pi Day. They always have an event and special pies available.”
We walked to the glass case, the light inside making all the breaded things sparkle. We played off each other—quietly oohing and ahhing as we peered into the case. “What are you gonna get?” he murmured.
“It’s on you, right?”
“Uhhh, yeah?”
“Okay, I’ll take one of everything.”
He laughed, and a lady from behind the counter approached, a finger over her mouth. We apologized, and she asked if we were ready to order. I decided on the cinnamon roll, solely because it was the biggest thing in there, draped in icing, and Eilam chose the chocolate croissant.
I told him I’d pay for both of them. He was surprised, but I was on a mission: I wanted Eilam to tell me his secret, and I wanted to know if he knew anything about controlling time travel. I didn’t have Iron Man or Dr. Strange around to build me a time machine.
We sat at a small booth with a dimmed light above us. The audience applauded the person who was onstage, and then someone announced how they were going into an interlude. Music began to play, and it reminded me of something Sarah had played in the car the other day. We didn’t talk at first, we just exchanged flustered looks and smiles. But then, because of course I couldn’t help myself, I cut right to the chase.
“What else do you know about time travel?”
“I know that it’s confusing,” he said.
“How so?”
“Wait…wouldn’t you agree that it’s confusing?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“Yeah. It’s fucking awful.”
He grinned.
“But from what you’ve read or whatever,” I said, steering the conversation back, “why do you think it’s confusing?”
“It’s confusing because there are multiple theories on the subject, with many of those theories coming from people who don’t have the ability to time travel. Did I tell you that my grandpa is the reason I know so much about time travel?”
That was a weird pivot, but I said, “No…”
“He was, and he was a science professor at the University of Kansas, but he loved studying black holes and quantum physics, and it’s why I know so much about it. While some theorists believe time is an illusion, my grandpa once said: We are always going. Time doesn’t stand still for anything or anyone. You cannot plead with it. It is not forgiving. It is not angry. It is. And even after we’re gone, it will continue to be,” he said. “And so, I also believe time travel is confusing because if time, as a construct, will always be—then how will we know all the answers?”
My jaw almost dropped. Multiple truths—that’s what Grandmommy had said. Then I wiped my mouth before I said, “Wow,” because Eilam’s grandpa knew so much. He was a science professor who studied time travel, and what better person to speak to about this? “I’d love to meet your grandpa,” I said, and as soon as I did, I realized how weird that sounded. “Not that you don’t know things—it just sounds like he knows more.” Fuck. That sounded weird, too. “But also, I’m sure you know a lot, too.”
“No, no. He does—well, did—know more than me. So much more. My grandpa was a genius. But, um, unfortunately, he passed away a couple years ago.”
“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry, Eilam.”
“No, don’t worry about it. My grandfather was a man who left a mark. It feels like he’s still kicking around, even when he shouldn’t be.”
I smiled, and Eilam wiped his mouth with a paper towel. “You all done?”
I nodded.
“Great, time to pick up Julius!”
We were out of there, sugar on our lips, to-go coffees in hand.
Just like before, we pulled into the driveway of a fancy house.
Eilam explained that his brother had a different dad, Duke, and Duke was a dermatologist at a private practice. It just so happened that his mom and Duke met through the medical grapevine.
Also like before, Eilam climbed out the car, asked me to wait, and returned with a bouncing Julius on his hip. Except Julius looked as happy as ever. His finger pointed to me, and I waved at him through the window, and he squirmed around, holding tightly to his brother and a Grogu plush toy.
“Um, Lee!” Julius said as Eilam buckled him in.
“Um, Julius!” I said back.
He breathed fiercely, and he kept moving around, even after Eilam was all “Bubs, please. Just let me get you buckled in.”
It came out with a squeal at first. “Are you gonna come to my house and we are gonna play Smash?”
I nodded, and Julius’s mouth dropped.
“Are you excited, Bubs?” Eilam asked.
We were backing away from the house now, and Julius didn’t know what to say, he just stayed there, his mouth open and his hands squeezing Grogu’s ear until he busted into laughter. We laughed with him, and it was such a surreal feeling. I’d forgotten that little humans could be capable of so many emotions.
Eilam’s house was in a cute neighborhood lined with different-sized homes. An elderly couple sat on a porch swing, hands interlocked. A few houses down, a woman with a sunhat mulched an empty garden bed on the side of her house. Next door to Eilam’s home, a few kids played pickup ball, sweat glistening on their foreheads, bottles of water lying in the grass.
We parked in front of a ranch-style house with gray siding and black panels and a huge window that overlooked what I imagined was the living room.
I held our coffees while Eilam tamed and released the monster that was Julius, and I wondered if Eilam saw me holding my breath as we walked down the path to his front door. Could he tell that I was a bundle of anxiety?
Eilam’s home smelled of clean laundry and new carpet. As soon as Eilam set him down, Julius took off running, falling briefly before getting up again.
Eilam flipped on a lamp, and we saw a note pinned to the corkboard by the entryway that said, I’LL BE HOME AT 6!
The house opened up to a living room, the dining room behind it and the kitchen to the left of that. I looked around, taking in an island, a fridge, cabinets, and…Julius trying to grab something from the counter.
“Aht!” Eilam shouted, and took off after his brother.
To the left, past the kitchen, there was a hall lined with doors, one cracked open a hair. I imagined the bedrooms and bathroom were that way.
