Lovely Darkness (Creeping Beautiful)

“It’s nothing like the woods in Kentucky,” Wendy says, picking up on my thoughts. “We have bears, of course. And foxes and shit. But these woods have gators and panthers.”

“Just like Florida,” I say.

“Not really. Maybe I haven’t spent a whole lot of time here, but don’t you get the feeling that Louisiana is nothing like Florida?”

I can’t say I disagree. Florida—most of it, anyway—is further south than Louisiana. It’s hotter, more tropical, and almost as swampy. But Wendy’s right. There’s something wrong with Louisiana and everyone knows it. There is a reason that writers who tell tales of vampires and voodoo set their stories here. The whole fucking state is just… spooky. The air is too thick. Too much moss on all those trees and not enough cities. And, of course, there’s the bayou.

There’s still a lot of swamp in Florida. Not as much as there used to be. Not after the Company drained it all so they could build new towns and cities to control. But the Everglades is a tourist attraction. It’s got just as many gators as any other Southern state, but it’s not suffocating the way the bayou is.

Shit happens here. Secret shit. Dark shit. Evil shit.

Company shit.

And sure, there’s darkness and evil everywhere. There is no escape from the Company on this earth. Not even after we took most of them out. I know that better than anyone. But Louisiana has her own set of secrets and she wants to keep those secrets to herself very badly.

“Well. You wanna talk?”

I look down at Wendy and smile. “Yeah. Let’s talk. Tell me about this weird feeling.”

She doesn’t hesitate, and that’s a good sign. “I dunno. It’s like… something’s watching me.”

“A person?”

“No. The swamp, maybe. The woods. I’ve been here before, but not to the house. When we were kids, Indie and I, we worked together. I liked working with her. And then, of course, when that Cabal Island shit was going down, I helped get Angelica out.”

Funny. Wendy and I have never talked about Angelica. She was on the kill list and then, at the last minute, Santos decided that she wasn’t. Wendy brought her to me and I took her to that hotel room in Wyoming.

“I know you say I wasn’t on the list—”

“You weren’t.”

“I know you say that. But why? I should’ve been on that list and everyone knows it.”

We have just about reached the end of the driveway. The massive iron gate is closed now. And even though there is a walking gate if one wanted to leave, even from here I can see it’s got a code. So we’re at the end of our tether, I guess.

I turn to look at Wendy. “Why? Do you really need to ask that?”

She nods. She really does.

“Because you and I, Wendy”—I point to her, then me—“we were…” I pause. How do I explain it? “We were just… always… gonna be here, ya know? Right here.” I point to the ground, even though I don’t literally mean right here. “We have been an us for almost fifteen years. Did I think I was gonna marry you back then? No. But I knew we were at least gonna be friends forever. And friends don’t kill each other. They just don’t.”

“Hm. Just off the top of my head I can think of at least five people who have killed their friends.”

I can’t stop the laugh. “Were they Company assassins?”

She nods.

“Then they don’t count.”

“Why don’t they count?”

“Because that’s a job, Wendy. You have never been my job.”

“But you’ve been my job.”

“So what are ya saying? You’re gonna kill me?”

“That’s not even funny.”

“Do you have plans to kill me?”

“No. But I’m sure Indie didn’t have plans to kill Adam, either.”

“She didn’t kill him. He’s still here. Anyway, she’s past that now. You girls are a lot alike.”

Wendy huffs and a few strands of long blonde hair fly up in the wind it creates. “Tell me about it.”

“But you’re both past it now, ya know? Indie did that when she was sixteen—”

“But that wasn’t the only time. The last time was just four years ago.”

“Right. But you’re not her and Donovan—Carter, whoever—he wasn’t in charge of you the way he was her. No one ever got to you the way he did.”

Which isn’t quite true, is it?

Because I got to her. And she doesn’t even know it.

Wendy’s quiet for a moment. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” I say.

She looks over at the gate, then looks back at me. “Maybe we shouldn’t save him?”

“Who? Donovan?”

“Yeah. Maybe we should just—”

“No.” This one word comes out way too loud for the middle of the night. It makes things rustle in the woods. But I say it again. “No. Donovan…”

“Donovan what?” And her words are loud now too. “Why do you care about him?”

“Don’t you care about him?”