Pretty Dark Nothing Read online

  A stack of mail sat on the bar. She shuffled through, looking for a new catalogue or magazine, while she waited for her caffeine to brew. Halfway through the stack, she saw it. She’d never forget her father’s handwriting, the way the letters curled up at the ends. She took the letter, put it back, then picked it up again. He’d finally written. Bringing the envelope to her nose, she breathed deeply, hoping to catch a scent of him. It smelled of paper, not a trace of her father’s lemon aftershave remained. And why would it? California was a thousand miles away.

  Coffee forgotten, she shoved the envelope into the pocket of her jeans and headed upstairs. As she turned, a shadow detached itself from a leg of the barstool, slithered across the floor, and disappeared into Quinn’s own slim shadow. Swallowing her fear, she continued up the stairs. And now for this special public service announcement: Remember kids, hallucinations thrive when sleep deprived. She giggled at her absurd thoughts, the words ticking around her head like a broken record.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Quinn’s room greeted her with its warm walls and bright, floral patterns. Shades shifted and writhed in every corner, and her stomach twisted with them. It was her own fault the hallucinations haunted her. She’d trapped herself in a vicious cycle of fear and paranoia, and her rational side would have to work overtime to break it.

  “You are all in my head,” she declared in false bravado. The shadows flickered and faded into normal shadows, but her hand still trembled as she fished the letter from her jeans. She traced her name on the envelope, and then slid a finger under the flap. Three pages of lined paper unfolded in her hands. A check fell from between the sheets. She held it between her thumb and forefinger and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Five hundred dollars—a dollar for every day he’d been gone. It would never be enough.

  Quinn flung the check away. It spun through the air and drifted down like a leaf to land a few feet from the door. The lights flickered, and a soft tickling sensation, like a spider crawling up her neck, made her shiver. She smoothed her hair to one side until it spilled over her shoulder in one long spiral twist. That’s when she noticed a few tendrils of blond hair appeared gray, as if entwined in shadow. She blinked, running her fingers through every inch, examining the strands. Blond, gold, even a few strawberry pieces, but not one thread of gray.

  Too much caffeine was making her paranoid, seeing things that weren’t there. She straightened out the letter and read:

  Dear Quinn,

  It’s been so long that I don’t know where to start. I’m sorry. Maybe that’s the best way to begin.

  Sorry? He was actually saying sorry? Better late than never, right? Quinn shivered as a cold draft brushed past her and settled around her neck. Stop making excuses for him. You always do this—defend him. Just stop. It’s a little late for sorry.

  What felt like a trickle of ice seeped into her ear, and she shuddered, rubbing her palm against the side of her head until the warmth returned.

  I decided it would be better if I disappeared for a while, gave you both time to forgive me.

  You call eighteen months a while? A while is going out for milk, not for another life. Bitter dark thoughts crawled inside her mind, intensifying her anger and hurt.

  But I’ve missed you too much. I’ve thought about calling a hundred times, but every time I pick up the phone, I chicken out. I thought a letter would be the best way to get my thoughts across. I didn’t want to leave you, but I thought it would be better if you stayed with your mom. I hope you understand that.

  Sure, I understand you are a coward and a liar.

  Anyway, you remember Sheryl? Well, she and I are settled in California.

  “Don’t forget cheat,” the shadow voice whispered, mingling with her own. And a cheat. Her thoughts mirrored its words.

  It’s beautiful here. We’ve opened a restaurant right on the water, and it’s packed every night. After all those years of struggling and job-hopping, I finally found my calling. Sheryl runs the business, and I get to cook and spend time talking with customers. Our house is only a mile from the beach. The only thing that would make me happier is being a part of your life again. Sheryl wants to get to know you, too.

  Great.

  How’s school? Have you decided on a college?

  As if I would tell you.

  Tell your mom not to worry about the expense. I know I haven’t been much of a father, but I’ve put away enough money to cover your tuition, books, housing, and anything else you might need. I want to do this for you and your mother.

  Yeah right, she’ll tell you where you can stick your money.

  You might even consider UCLA.

  Not on your life.

  It’s only thirty minutes from here. It would be wonderful to have you near us, all of us. There’s someone who would especially like to meet you.

  Quinn tensed. A sick knot grew in her stomach.

  You have a new baby brother.

  Her chest ached, and she blinked back tears.

  He’s two weeks old. We named him Jacob Francis Taylor, after your grandfather. He reminds me of you as a baby: strong and always hungry. Now I have two little pumpkins.

  Quinn dropped the letter. Tears streamed down her face, dripping on the black ink, swirling the words into nothingness.

  How dare he name him after my grandfather; how dare he call him pumpkin.

  Black shapes shifted against the wall, slithering closer, mirroring the storm brewing inside, urging her to focus on her pain. “Throw a little money your way and you’ll forget the last two years of hell?” Shaded voices overlapped with her thoughts, one feeding off the other.

  He could have asked me to come live with him months ago.

  “That’s right,” the shadow voice agreed.

  He could have sent me a plane ticket to visit him. He didn’t even tell me she was pregnant!

  “He was too busy making a new life without you,” it added.

  Without me.

  Anger, trapped for so long inside her, bubbled to the surface. She buried her head in her hands and dug her nails into her scalp, and the lights flickered and dimmed.

  “People you love always leave.”

  Dad left me. A bang of her forehead against her knees punctuated each bleak thought.

  “Jeff left you.”

  And Mom?

  “She’s always running away to work. She’s never here when you really need her.”

  I really need her.

  Quinn jerked her head from her hands, and the shadows scattered as the lights brightened. Wadding the letter into a tight ball, she slammed it into the trash and turned the radio on, volume to the max. The loud frantic scream of Smashrock’s lead singer matched her mood perfectly. Letting the hysteria of the music spur her anger, she kicked the trashcan. It flew into the wall. Its wicker side creaked against the force as crumpled tissues and wads of paper exploded across the room.

  Broken promises, broken dreams, broken heart—nothing but pieces of her remained. Quinn crawled on her hands and knees, banging her fists on the floor, primal pain thrumming through her. She screamed and crawled, banged and drummed, and between fits of rage, retrieved bits of Kleenex to stuff back into the trashcan. She tried stuffing down all the emotion, but the confusion in her head melted into the confusion of the music, each driving the other to a higher frenzy.

  A pair of scissors gleamed from her dressing table. She grabbed them, examining the smooth, sharp edges. She put her fingers through the holes, opening and closing them, listening to the soft swish of metal grazing metal. Trembling, she dragged the cold tip across her forearm, evoking an angry red scratch. Now her flesh reflected the angry scars on her heart. No one would care, and there wasn’t anyone there to stop her. Alone. Always alone.

  She stood and stared at the full-length mirror on the back of her door. Her long hair shone under the lamp. She grabbed a handful and opened the scissors wide, feeding her hair to the hungry blades. The weight fe
ll from her, and she cut faster, clumps of blond hair floating to the floor.

  “Quinn?” Her mother shoved the bedroom door open.

  “Leave me alone!” Quinn screamed.

  “Your hair!” Her mother dropped her briefcase on the floor and fumbled to turn off the music. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing that concerns you. Why don’t you leave?” Quinn fed another long chunk through the blades.

  “You’re my daughter, of course it concerns me. Mrs. Chin said you fainted at school. Now I find you with a pair of scissors, chopping all your hair? My god, Quinn, what’s gotten into you?”

  “I told you, I just want to be left alone.” Quinn slammed the scissors on the dresser, stomped over to the radio, and turned the music back on.

  Her mother yanked the plug, and the music cut off mid-note. “Honey, please talk to me.” Her mother scanned the mess on the floor. “What’s this?” She picked up the check, painted red lips turning into a frown. “How dare he. A bribe?” She snatched a crumpled sheet from the floor, smoothing it across her thigh and paused to read. “Quinn?” Her mother looked up, her eyebrow an arching question mark.

  “A bribe. He wants to pay for school, wants me to go to UCLA. He’s calling him pumpkin.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Quinn fished the last page from the trash and threw it at her mother. “Read for yourself.”

  Her mother caught it and read, her face reddening with anger. “I can see why you’re upset.” She balled up the letter. “I know you’re hurting, but cutting your hair isn’t going to help.” Her mother stroked her shoulder and tried to pull her into a hug.

  Quinn stiffened at her mother’s touch and jerked away. “It’s my hair.” Quinn busied herself with picking up the shorn locks.

  “Talk to me.” She squatted to help, eye level with Quinn. “You have to face your problems, Quinn. You can’t run away from them.”

  “Why not? Everyone else in our family does. I’m just doing what you and Dad taught me.” Quinn spat the words like venom, throwing a handful of golden hair in her mother’s face.

  Her mother stiffened and brushed the strands from her blouse. “Fine. I came home to check on you because I was worried. I skipped out on a meeting with a client, and for what? To be greeted by a four-year-old in a teenager’s body. I’m sick of this tantrum.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “How can I? You won’t even talk to me. You don’t think that letter hurts me too? You can talk to me.”

  “It’s a little too late to play the caring mother.”

  Her mother yanked the top flap of her briefcase open, grabbed her wallet, and threw six twenties on the floor. “That’s to fix your hair. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “That’s right, mother, go hide at your office! Drown your sorrows in your new career!” Quinn plugged the radio back in, and the music exploded.

  Her mother slammed the bedroom door, and Quinn fell into a heap on the bed. All the anger poured out of her, leaving her limp and empty until exhaustion overwhelmed her. She crawled into bed, moving the decorative pillows to one side, and curled into a ball beneath the cool sheets.

  One long sigh escaped her lips, and she saw her breath, a cold gray fog expelling from her lungs. The lights flickered, drenching the room in darkness. Her heart jumped as shadows gathered around, inching forward. She needed a caffeine pill and another energy drink. But resisting the soft, warm, comfort of her bed wasn’t possible. Completely drained, her body refused her command. Even her mind slipped free of her control, drifting into unconsciousness. Five minutes. Just five minutes. Nightmares couldn’t really hurt her. That’s all they were. She could let herself sleep for five minutes, right? She tried to clear her mind, thinking only good thoughts, but the events of the day played over and over in her head. The shadows, the voices, the fog—all tumbled out of the recesses as the dream reeled her in.

  Kerstin stood over her bed, red hair curling like worms around her pale face. She cocked her head and breathed out. Smoke slithered from her lips, filling the space around her until she disappeared in the swirling gray. Beside her, Quinn sensed the shadows gathering, but couldn’t wake. Sleep paralysis had gripped her as her body shut down to enter REM sleep. Desperate to sleep and powerless to wake, she tried to influence the dream instead. Alone among the swirling gray where Kerstin had previously stood, she filled her lungs and blew against the fog. Her breath grew into a mighty wind, forcing the dull smoke away as she focused her thoughts on something beautiful. The lake in Colorado where she used to summer with her parents, her favorite place, appeared before her.

  The darkness howled as she pushed it further to the edges of her consciousness. Now free of their influence, her mind relaxed, and she sensed a shift in the dream. For the first time in months, she was in control.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Aaron turned the key in the lock, glad to be home. He dropped his backpack and helmet on the table by the door.

  “Dad?”

  The smell of Wild Turkey hit him as he walked into the living room, burning his nose. “Hey, Dad, I’m home.” Aaron turned the light on and opened the bay window. “Did you remember to pick Josh up from school?”

  James Collier groaned and turned over on the couch. An empty bottle fell from his hand. “Turn the light out and leave me alone.” He pulled a pillow over his eyes. “And close the damn window. You know your mother hates the cold.”

  Aaron covered his father with a blanket and picked the bottle off the floor.

  “Guess that means I’m making dinner. Want some coffee?”

  His father groaned.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  The small, bright kitchen was a drastic contrast to the stuffy, dust-filled living room. He opened the blue, retro refrigerator (retro being a euphemism for ancient), and rummaged through out-of-date milk, moldy cheese, and some leftovers that now looked like moss-covered wood.

  “Hey, Superman.” Josh, thin and lanky, appeared at the top of the stairs, his long, curly black hair hanging loose around his shoulders. He slid down the wobbling oak banister, sticking his landing with a thud. He raised his hands above his head, bowing and blowing kisses to an imaginary audience.

  “Five point five from the Russian judge,” Aaron said.

  “Oh, come on, I earned at least a six. Way better than your lame attempt this morning.”

  “How’d you hear about that?” Aaron placed the last filter in the coffee maker, adding two scoops of grounds from the canister on the counter.

  “You mean the Superman incident? That’s what Xander’s sister’s calling it. She witnessed every heroic moment. You’ll be getting a call from the commissioner any minute; I hear there’s a cat stuck in a tree over on Elm Street.” Josh swung one of the mismatched dining chairs around, sitting with his arms folded over the back.

  “Very funny.” Aaron put the lid back on the canister.

  “You’ll need to make it stronger than that. I found another empty bottle in the trash.”

  “Today’s their anniversary.” Aaron added another half-scoop and left it to brew.

  “I forgot. So?”

  “So, it’s been hard on him, raising us alone.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s been over three years. I’ve gotten over it. Why can’t he? What’s for dinner, anyway?”

  Aaron looked at him. “Have you?”

  “Have I what?”

  “Gotten over it?”

  Josh hung his head, hair falling over his eyes. “I’m thinking pizza.”

  Aaron watched his little brother. There was no denying they were related. Both resembled their mother: same green eyes, same full lips, long dark eyelashes, even the one dimple on their left cheek. Ruth had the same dimple too, but she had copper hair, not black like the boys. Ruth.

  The image of Ruth’s shining eyes disappearing into murky darkness was the only memory of that night he never had to fight to recall. That one stayed wi
th him, etched forever in his mind. Aaron clapped his brother on the shoulder. “I miss them too, you know. But Dad’s still here. And me, I’m here.”

  “Like you were right after they died?” Josh kicked the empty chair next to him so hard it spun in a half circle before crashing sideways to the linoleum. “You ran out on us. You tried to follow them. I wish you would’ve succeeded.”

  “Keep it down! Your sister’s sleeping,” his dad called from the living room.

  “Man, eighth grade is hard enough without a drunk for a father and a psycho for a brother,” Josh mumbled.

  Aaron clenched his fists, counting to ten as rage swept over him. “Say what you want about me, but like it or not, he’s the only father we’ve got.”

  “Whatever. Can you take me over to Xander’s?”

  It amazed Aaron that Josh could go from cynical to casual as quickly as Hyde turning back into Jekyll.

  “Ask Dad.”

  “Like he’ll even notice I’m gone.”

  “Yes, I will.” James Collier pulled himself up over the edge of the couch and pointed a rough finger at them. “Nobody leaves the house tonight. We’ve got some celebrating to do.”

  Aaron poured the coffee into a mug and walked over to the couch. “Drink this. It’s strong, just the way you like it.”

  His dad sat up and took a sip but missed his mouth. Dark liquid twisted its way down his white undershirt, creating a brown amoeba stain as the mug crashed to the floor.

  “Josh, get me a towel. And bring the trashcan.” Aaron bent down, picked up the pieces of mug, and placed them on the coffee table.

  “Get it yourself.” Josh buried his head in his arms, keeping his back turned from the living room.