The dark place, p.13
The Dark Place, page 13
Okay was probably what he thought, and he gave me a nod, moved out of my way, and I was gone.
PAST: OCTOBER, NINE YEARS AGO
It was the sound of cards falling and then a skid against concrete that scared me and my cousins. We were in the backyard playing catch, and the ball almost hit me in the face when I stopped to see what was happening.
Over there, past the gazebo, and in the driveway, were my parents, my older cousin Juice, a couple of family friends, and this guy I’d never seen before.
They were sitting at a card table, and the guy I didn’t know banged his fist. The red pushed through his brown skin, and his eyes bulged. Direct points. “Man, where’s my wallet?” he shouted.
They stared at him, Daddy scowling, his head tilted like me and my cousins.
The man puffed his chest, his nostrils flared, brows low as he backed away from the card table, the chair falling on the ground as he stood. “Damn, did I stutter? It was in my pocket and now it’s gone, so who has it?”
“Hey, man, you need to chill out. I don’t like you accusing my family of stealing. Ain’t nothing like that going on over here.”
“Don’t tell me to chill out. I’m calm as fuck right now, but I’m about to go off. I’ll say it again. Who has my wallet?” He pointed his hand at Mama’s cousin, the other hand on his back pocket.
Daddy’s eyes were big now, and I started breathing fast. My cousins huddled around me. We’d never been so quiet before—especially Asia, she was always talking about something.
“Was that a threat?” Daddy said, and he got closer to the guy.
The guy straightened his stare, and I saw that thing in his throat bob up and down.
“Look, we don’t know where your wallet is, but I’mma need you to head out. We don’t even know you. You can’t come to my house acting square.”
The man balled his hands into fists and sniffed. He took a few steps forward, running into the card table, and at the same time Juice stood up, placing a hand on his friend’s chest, trying to back him up. “Latrell, bro, it ain’t worth it. Chill the fuck out.”
Latrell didn’t move, though, and his eyes widened when he slammed his fist on the table repeatedly. “Give. Me. My. Money.” The words sliced through his teeth.
Daddy straightened his posture, his hands where I couldn’t see them, and all of us kids moved forward slowly. “Leave,” my dad said.
“Give me my money!” the man shouted again, and we all flinched. Shared a gasp.
Daddy put a hand to the man’s chest. “Get the fuck outta here, man,” he said, white spit going everywhere.
The man lifted the table, flipping it, the rest of the cards flying around everyone, drinks spilling. A roar ripped from his throat, and Daddy shoved him. He shoved back. One of Daddy’s friends stood, trying to get Daddy to back up, and Juice tried to do the same thing with Latrell. They wouldn’t relent.
Then one of my aunties rushed out the house, down the back porch. Past them, straight to us kids. “Don’t look at them!” she shouted. “Go! Let’s go!” She tried to get us to turn around. Tried to force us out the backyard, to the street so we wouldn’t see Daddy and this stranger throwing hands.
And where was Bubba?
It had been a minute since he’d slipped away. He said he’d be right back. That he was hungry, but maybe he got bored of us kids. Maybe he was on the computer.
The last thing I saw before we were rushed out the backyard was the man spitting blood onto the driveway. Juice helped him off the ground and pulled him away from the house, but he fought it the whole time, barking bad words.
“You better watch your back,” he said, and I swore I heard the words vibrate in the sky. Then they were gone, pulling away with speed in his dark car.
It was his eyes. A ticking time bomb. A firecracker. The way his words mixed with venom stuck with me and rattled me for days after that.
That night, it was hard to sleep alone, hard to crawl into my twin-sized bed and close my eyes because past the walls, outside, in the driveway, I could still hear that man. Could still see the red rippling across the whites, his pupils dilated in rage.
But what was worse than the sounds and sights that haunted me was playing hide-and-go-seek with Bubba a week later and finding a black leather wallet tucked under his bed against the wall. I’d never seen bills so big when I opened it. More hundreds than I could count. And inside the wallet, in front of the money, was an expired Kansas driver’s license for Latrell Wood, the man who lost his wallet. The man who warned Daddy to watch his back.
PRESENT DAY: MARCH
It was the first Saturday of spring break, and I’d promised my parents I would come to visit, so here we were.
Grandmommy didn’t stop the engine when we pulled into the driveway of the rental.
The white paint was chipped on the sides of the house, the shutters were a faded blue, and the black bars against the windows only rusted a little toward the tips. They were meant to keep people from breaking in, but what if the enemy was inside the house, and you needed to get out?
The concrete steps crumbled toward the sides, the yard mostly dirt where grass should be. Grandmommy said they needed to put hay down, salvage what they could if they wanted grass this spring and summer, but my parents didn’t care. They didn’t own it, and they probably wouldn’t be here for longer than a year.
I couldn’t help but think of Eilam’s house, how clean and neat and warm it was, but I pushed that thought away. Thinking about the way we’d fought—the way I’d acted—would bring nothing but guilt, and I didn’t have the energy to deal with that right now.
I huffed when I grabbed my bag from the back and shut the car door. I hated this place. It reminded me too much of my old neighborhood. Not that I hated my old neighborhood, but I hated what happened to us there, hated how we weren’t there. Hated how my skin tried to peel away from my muscle with each step I took until I was face-to-face with the front door.
And last time I was here, we were a wreck.
I still remembered the tears that slipped past Mama’s cheeks when she said goodbye to me a month ago. And the way Daddy squeezed me so tight, I thought my ribs would crack if I breathed too deeply.
When I rang the doorbell, I heard Mama shout on the other side, “It’s open.”
Daddy’s eyes were the first thing I saw. Wide, the hazel glistening. Daddy had always been told he looked like Terrence Howard. It was because he was light skinned and had light eyes, and those eyes were passed down to him from Grandmommy, but the resemblance stopped there.
If Mama had a celebrity look-alike, it was Taraji P. Henson, which worked out great for my parents because every Halloween they’d either be the characters from Empire or Hustle & Flow. But today, her eyes were red. Those eyes that were mirrored in my own face.
I was a mixture of both of my parents. I had Mama’s high cheekbones and smile. The two of us, we could be twins almost, but I had Daddy’s nose. He reminded me of that often, putting his thumb between his fingers. Got your nose, he’d say. It wasn’t as funny as it used to be when I was five. And Bubba had been the exact replica of Daddy, minus the eyes. He’d inherited Mama’s dark brown ones.
There were no jokes today, and if I’m being honest, there hadn’t been any jokes for a while.
Inside was the same as it was the day I left. The air a mix of Fabuloso and something moldy wafting from the vents. It was probably from the water that had flooded the basement right after we’d moved in. The owner came to clean it out, but only after our family photos and memorabilia had been damaged far beyond repair.
It was funny, in a very noncomical way, how Daddy watched Avengers: Age of Ultron. It reminded me of the comics and Eilam, how he was sort of obsessed. It reminded me of me. Endless timelines stretching across a multiverse. It reminded me of how Eilam lied.
Mama sat on the white embroidered couch. Something a friend from work had given her after the last couch had broken from the previous move. And Daddy sat on the floor between her legs as she finished braiding his hair.
“Hey, sweet girl,” Mama said, her smile taking up most of her face as she continued to braid.
I sat on the couch beside her, picking at the floral design of the fabric, feeling the thread of each petal beneath my fingertips. It was bumpy, the material catching on the edge of my ragged thumbnails. I sketched out the flowers once, at the beginning of my notebook. It was something to do besides being bored as hell if I wasn’t working on an art project.
“Hey,” I said, my smile timid. I was unsure how they’d be around me today. Were they still scared?
Daddy held his arms open. “Don’t forget about me.” His voice light, like he was up to something. I kneeled down to give him a hug, and he chuckled, trying to pull me into a headlock, and Mama popped him on the arm for moving too much. Said he needed to be still if he wanted her to finish up quickly.
I gave Mama a kiss on the cheek, returning to my seat before nudging Daddy in the side. It was something we did. Mostly because Daddy was awkward, and he didn’t know how to say I miss you. He just knew how to roughhouse and throw a pillow at you. It was like he’d never grown up.
With a breath, I leaned into the couch cushion and watched some building explode in the movie on TV. From the corner of my eyes, I peered at Mama, trying to catch what was different, what felt off.
Mama was skinnier than the last time I’d seen her, her wrists frail and small enough for me to wrap my fingers around comfortably. Her brown skin seemed pale somehow, and I wondered if me disappearing caused her and Daddy to spiral out of control.
Spiral. It wasn’t something that happened often, and they liked to think they had it all together. They wanted the world to see it that way, but I’d never forget how gone Mama was when Bubba disappeared. Weeks would roll into the next, and she’d sit frozen, not moving, not eating. And Daddy didn’t sleep. He couldn’t rest at the thought that someone could break in again, finish the job they’d originally set out to do.
Mama and Daddy tried to drink away the memories of having a son. It was also why they always had people over. A full house would forever mask loneliness. But in our cells, we’d always feel that violent stab of loss. It would be deep down, past the tissue and muscle. A pain that burned and made you want to burst into flames.
“Lee—” Mama started, and then cleared her throat, her eyes not meeting mine. “Hylee, go turn that oven on for me. Set it to three seventy-five.”
My bottom lip folded under my teeth. It was on her tongue, Lee. A force in her, pushing the word out, but she swallowed it anyway, and I hated how she tried to erase part of my existence. How they all tried to erase it. I was still Lee. Did anyone here really see me?
“Daddy’s gonna be starting up the grill here soon, too.” And I wanted to ask why, but she answered for me. “We’re having people over tonight.” She smiled after she said it, but it was a straight smile, not a real one.
I huffed loudly, but I didn’t talk back because I didn’t want to be scolded. But…why the fuck were they having people over? Didn’t they care that their daughter—who very much needed them—was back in town for the first time in a month? That the last time they had a party, I literally disappeared?
“Hylee,” Mama called after me, stretching my name like she did sometimes. I’d already hopped up to do as she asked. “Uh-uh,” she continued. “What’s with the attitude?”
My nostrils flared, my eyes watering as I turned on the oven. “Nothing,” I lied.
Nothing.
The incense was burning, R&B music blasting from the TV, and I was back on the couch, texting Sarah, when Daddy plopped onto the seat cushion next to me.
“What you so smiley for? You talking to a boy, Hylee?” he said, cleaning the scuffs off his white Air Force Ones with an old toothbrush.
Shit. Like it mattered. Last time Daddy tried to sit me down to talk about relationships, all he could get out was Don’t do it.
Didn’t know what that meant. Just knew that I absolutely wanted to do the opposite of whatever he said. “It’s a friend.” My teeth were clenched when I said it.
He narrowed his gaze on me, and I saw Bubba there, in his eyes. It was only for a second, but I knew that look anywhere. Maybe Daddy would tell me what happened that night, maybe I could get some answers from him, but the moment I wanted to open my mouth, Mama called me into the kitchen.
“Check on those greens for me,” she said when I got in there. She was chopping potatoes on the counter opposite the stove, but the kitchen was so small, it felt like we were basically rubbing shoulders.
Grabbed the ladle and opened the lid to stir, the smell of peppers hitting me straight in the face. I wasn’t sure if it was done or not, but it smelled good.
“Here,” Mama said. She placed the knife on the cutting board and moved to the fridge. “Finish chopping these potatoes for me. I need to make sure this chicken is ready to go on the grill for your daddy.”
I closed the lid, washed my hands, and did as she said. Mama seasoned the chicken, throwing some salt past her left shoulder for good luck.
We worked in silence, but in my head, I heard the call of my name and the rush of those brown hands coming toward me. It reminded me of the night of the incident.
Mama. She was here. And she was there that night. If I asked gently, maybe she’d tell me this time.
“Mama.” I braced myself, sucking in a deep breath of air. “Can you tell me what happened the night Bubba disappeared? I just, I can’t re—”
“Hylee, no. We’re not talking about this right now,” she said, her voice like glass—cold and hard—and I gulped down that lump of sadness and pushed it into my belly.
The tears slipped out anyway, blurring my vision as I chopped the potatoes thin and tossed them into the pan in front of me.
After putting the potatoes in the oven, I wandered into my room here. The walls empty, the bed covered with a thin blanket. They probably let their guests use this room when I was away. They treated this place like it was some motel.
Didn’t trust it, so I grabbed a towel from the hall, draped it over the bed, and played a game on my phone until my eyes grew tired, and I fell asleep with the sun shining through the window on my back.
The music woke me, my shoulders cracking around me as a barricade in this squeaky bed, protecting me. Winced, and when I did, something didn’t feel right. It wasn’t that I’d time traveled. I knew that feeling too well now. It was different.
Rushed out of bed, something wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Bumped into a shoulder in the hallway, the voices of people laughing and eating.
Tears leaked like silk out the corners of my eyes as I hurried to the bathroom sink, and I didn’t know why.
Panic inside my bones, sucking the marrow dry, and I felt my skin shriveling at my fingertips like I’d been in the tub for too long. Like I’d been forgotten about.
Hot water shot from the faucet when I turned it on, scaring me at first, and I cupped my hands, letting them fill before splashing the water on my face.
When my fingers swept past my skin, I felt the swelling in my lips. They were glued shut somehow, muting my screams. My voice trapped, the sound trying to claw its way out of my esophagus, but my lips would not part.
My chest heaved when I looked in the mirror: My once-brown eyes were blacker than the roots of my curls. I blinked. Then they were covered with coins that read Memento mori.
Another blink, and my lips twisted and twisted and twisted, thorns poking from the inside, vines rushing out my ears, blood spilling down my face.
Then.
The yellowed light in this bathroom flickered and dimmed slowly. The buzzing sound of flies running into something over and over again grew as the darkness crept from the shadows around me, climbing up the splits in the wall until there was a figure standing behind me, reaching to grab me, to consume me like it had already consumed everything else.
The fingers stretched for my shoulder, covered in moss, and it was the last thing I saw before everything went black.
I woke up with a start, the smell of moldy wood filling my nostrils as I heaved, trying to will the air back into my body.
I touched my face, my lips soft, warm. It wasn’t…it wasn’t real. It was only a dream, but I still wanted to cry. And who would I turn to here? My dad, who hid from his emotions, or my mom, cold and hard?
But there was someone who’d listen to me. I just hadn’t forgiven him yet.
After I texted Eilam, asking if he’d be willing to talk, he said yes.
I was happy he replied, but after he agreed I shared the caveat: He’d need to pick me up from my parents’ house.
For whatever reason, he was okay with that. I shared my location and rolled out of bed, zipping my bag. I hadn’t even had a chance to take anything out besides my phone charger.
When I snuck to the bathroom, laughter was in the air. It was Mama, probably something Daddy said. Even after everything, she really loved that man, and I could see it so clearly—the way she looked at him when he told a joke to their friends, her dark eyes round and sparkling.
Had to wait to use the bathroom. Someone was in there. I crossed my legs as I leaned against the wall in the hall. A woman strolled out after, giving me a confused scowl like I shouldn’t be here. Who was she to look at me like that? Even if I didn’t want it to be, this was my house. Those were my parents, and no one should look at me like that. Not if they knew who I was.
Peed, washed my hands, and scrubbed my face. The image of how I looked in my dream still lurked behind my eyes as I patted my lips dry.
My heart raced, pulsing in the tips of my ears as I moved back to my room to put on my shoes and grab my things. It felt like I’d choke on my words if I spoke. Like I couldn’t breathe. Like I couldn’t do anything. But I needed to calm down. Eilam was on his way, and everything would be all right.
And there was a reason for all of this. I just needed to find it.
