Kiss Me in the Dark Anthology - Monica James Page 0,190

the bright lights flickering briefly and then suddenly there was no light at all. It happened on my way home from old man Bailey’s hardware store. I’d gone only an hour before sunset and spent longer than I thought I would. Some asshole had kicked in my front door the night before and there was no way I was going to leave the store without a new lock. I bought two just to be on the safe side.

And so, I was walking home alone in the dark when the lights went out, one after the other. I couldn’t walk fast enough to get to the next light that hadn’t burned out; I nearly ran to it.

I don’t like to be outside at night, not unless I’m on my porch. But even then, I’d rather stay inside, where the idea of safety used to mean something.

Either way, I’d spent too long at the store and with the plastic bag dangling from my wrist, I quickened my pace when the first bulb died. I remember how I stared straight ahead at the next one, praying it would give me light long enough to get home. As if it was listening to my fears and wanted to mock me, the light vanished before my eyes.

Fear of darkness is reasonable. But the kind of inevitable dread that lingers when a light goes out while you’re watching it used to follow me everywhere.

It haunted me during the day and never hesitated to steal my sleep at night.

I don’t know when things changed, but as I make my way down Peck Avenue, the light flickers on my right and I don’t miss a step, I don’t even dare to look at it. In my periphery, I see shadow consume everything behind me. My fingers wrap a little tighter around the strap of my purse, but it’s more instinctive than a conscious response.

My heart races and then steadies to the sound of my heels clicking rhythmically on the pavement.

One more block and I’ll be home. In darkness or in light, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve been through both.

I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead and think about the mundane task awaiting me at work tomorrow. I spent all day organizing Mr. Brown’s new clients, and my back is killing me from leaning down to the filing cabinet and then looking at the computer, time and time again. A few more days and the new system will be in place. At least until he decides to change it again.

I used to think Marc Brown changed the system so frequently out of boredom, but after looking at his client list, I think the lawyer is a crook. Everyone in this city is, so it shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d work for anyone else, doing anything else, but my options aren’t exactly overflowing.

I have my high school diploma, but after trying for the last two years since graduation to get into any college at all and being rejected, a diploma is all I have and all I’ll ever have. And that piece of paper is useless here.

My phone pings in my purse and I’m more than eager to pull it out.

I could use something to keep my mind from wandering back to the shit job I have. As I pull out my phone I see the old book I’d stowed in my purse earlier this week, ready to read the novel again. For the dozenth time.

A court-mandated shrink gave it to me five years ago. She loved to draw, although I remember thinking she wasn’t really good at it. I used to have a picture from her of a duck she drew with a pencil. I don’t know where it’s gone, not that it matters much. I still have the books she gave me and, more importantly, a love of books. I wasn’t so much into the drawing, but that shrink—I think her name was Rebecca—gave me a handful of fiction. She gave me a way to get lost in someone else’s world. It wasn’t long before I started writing as well, trying to create an escape from this life. I couldn’t give two shits about her artwork, but I’ll always be grateful to her for giving me a love of reading and writing.

Forgetting about the book and everything that happened back then, I focus on the text message.

You’ll never guess what happened last night.

It’s Angie, a friend from work. Well, I think she’s my friend. She’s new and doesn’t