The Dark Light of Day (The Dark Light of Day 1)

“Then, how did he know your name, Abby?” His voice was getting louder. His eyes were red and blood shot. An open bottle of Jameson sat in the cup holder of the center console; his fist was wrapped around the neck. He took a swig and set it back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I don’t like your tone, Owen. I don’t fucking know him. I saw him ride into town and he almost blew me off the road. That’s all. Alissa must have told him my name or called me by it in front of him.” I didn’t mention sleeping in his junkyard. I don’t know why I was lying, but Owen’s current state and attitude didn’t warrant the truth. “Does it fucking matter?”

“Yes, it fucking matters! I don’t want you talking to him!”

I didn’t need his shit. I reached for the handle and pulled the door open. I hopped down from the truck and started toward the street.

“Abby! Abby!” Owen yelled. He jumped out of the truck, too, catching up to me in just a few strides. He made a move like he was going to hug me or restrain me somehow, but I stepped back before he could.

“Don’t touch me, Owen. I’m fucking serious.”

We were standing under the only street light on that side of the bridge, positioned right in front of the Fletchers’ house, which goes to show how much pull Owen’s family had in Coral Pines. “I am so sorry, Abby. I’m an idiot. I know I shouldn’t have told you what to do. Will you please, please forgive me?” His voice sounded strained, like it was difficult for him to apologize. “I just see the way he looks at you, and I don’t want other guys looking at you that way.”

“What are you talking about, Owen? I don’t even know Jake, and you and I are just friends. That’s all.” If even that, I thought. “So, you shouldn’t care who looks at me, because I’m not into that kind of shit—not with you, not with anyone.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m sorry. It’s just that…he’s not a good person, and the way he looked at you was making me crazy.”

How was he looking at me?

“You’re forgiven, Owen.” I turned to leave again. “But, I gotta go.”

“Where you gonna go, Abby?”

I opened my mouth to give an answer, but nothing came out.

“Stay here tonight. I have my own part of the house with my own entrance and everything. No one will even know you’re here. I’ll even sleep on the couch and give you the bed. Please?” Owen made sad eyes and stuck out a pouty lower lip.

I laughed.

What did he want with me anyway? I wasn’t from his side of the tracks. I was a girl who couldn’t even tell you what city my side of the tracks ran through. The Fletchers’ garage was bigger than any house I’d ever lived in.

I really didn’t want to sleep in Owen’s room with him, just feet away from his family. But I had nowhere else to go. Jake had caught me in the junkyard, so sleeping in Nan’s old truck was no longer an option.

I sighed, defeated.

“Okay, but just tonight,” I said. He grinned like a Cheshire cat.

Owen really did have his own separate entrance. His room was more like a studio apartment, complete with its own mini-kitchen and living area. His house was huge, and it wasn’t even the only one on the property. His entire family lived in four separate homes, on ten acres. The one that held his apartment was the main house, and the largest. It was three stories with white siding and red shutters. It was like Little House on the Prairie on steroids, more plantation than house. I was curious how it felt to be so close to family all the time, especially since I had none.

I pulled a pair of running shorts from my backpack and a lighter long sleeved t-shirt and changed in Owens bathroom. When I came out Owen was laying on his bed, wearing only his boxers, flipping channels on the TV, a bottle of beer at his lips. “Want one?” He lifted the bottle to me.

I ignored his offer. “I thought I got the bed?”

“I thought we could watch some TV first. I’m not really tired yet and the view from the couch is lousy.” The goofy grin on his face made me hesitate for a second before giving in. There was no trace of the anger he displayed in the truck, just good ol’ happy Owen. The Owen I had started to like. And I really needed some time to just sit and watch a little mindless TV.

“Fine, but no funny business,” I said sternly, “and I get to pick the show.”

“Yes ma’am.” Owen saluted me. “Scouts honor.”

I jumped in his big comfy bed and scooted under the covers. Just as I was about to put my head on the pillow, Owen lifted his elbow and gestured to the crook of his arm. “Snuggling is always nice while watching TV,” he said. I looked up at him with a crooked eyebrow and he crossed his eyes at me.

“You really are goofy, you know that?” I said. “I’ll take a pass on the snuggling.” We were just sort-of friends, after all, and friends watch TV in bed, I figured. I really didn’t know what the guideline was when you were friends with a boy, but before I could finish my thoughts—and before Owen had a chance to argue with me about what show to watch—I had already fallen asleep.

***

I am nine years old and it’s the middle of the night. I am lying on my mattress on the floor of my old room. My window sounds like it’s about to shatter under the heavy pounding of the wind and rain. My pillow is smashed against my ear so I can’t hear the thunder crashing or see the lightning that lights up my room every few seconds. It must be why I don’t hear the squeal of my bedroom door when he enters.

I am holding on tightly to the only toy I’ve ever had, my stuffed squirrel Ziggy. Ziggy is a dog’s chew toy left at our house by one of my many “uncles”.

“Are you a virgin?” a voice asks from above me, hot breath in my ear. “If you are, I’ll try to go slow at first. But, if you’re not, I’m not gonna lie: I don’t want to be gentle with you at all.” The mattress dips deep as the weight of someone heavy lays down behind me on the tiny twin bed. I feel his sharp chest hair poking at the skin on my neck and his enormous protruding belly smashing up against my back. I squeeze my eyes shut as hard as I can, hoping he will leave if he thinks I am asleep.

I know he won’t.

I clutch the doll in one arm. I feel around under my pillow for the shard of mirror that just hours ago was used by my mother to chop up white powder before she sniffed it into her nose through a rolled-up dollar bill.

This man, the one with the hairy chest and protruding belly, had been introduced to me as “Uncle Sal” earlier in the day. He is the one who had brought my mom the bag of white powder.

Mom had no money. She screamed about it all the time, and my father was in prison. I am nine, not stupid.

I am payment.

The man reaches out and runs his swollen hairy knuckles down my arm from my bare shoulder to my elbow and back again. My stomach just about bubbles over. I resist the urge to purge what little dinner I had managed to find. I have to hold on for just a few more minutes. I have to bide my time.

He moves his hand to my waist and over to my stomach pulling me around to lay flat on my back.

The time is now.

I pull the mirror out from under my pillow, and as he pushes me down flat onto the mattress, and while his attentions are upon my naked body, I aim for his left eye, hard and fast, and don’t stop pushing in until my hand meets resistance.

Thunder muffles his screams. He coughs and produces a red spatter on the white wall, choking on the blood spilling into his mouth. He clutches what is left of his eye as he falls over on his knees to the floor.

I run from the room, still holding my squirrel, and then out the front door and into the awaiting storm. Why was I ever afraid of the storm? Out here it is just wind and rain, the real storm is back in that house, a house I vow right then and there I will never see the inside of ever again.

I run until I reach the vacant field at the end of the street. I no longer care that I am naked. I no longer care about anything. I stand in the middle of that field and raise my arms up to the storm, giving myself over to it. The cold rain rinses the blood from my body, and I pray that the blowing winds will take me away.

Now, I am no longer a nine year old girl, but my seventeen-year-old self. Still naked in the middle of the field, still asking to be taken from this life.

The wind responds by carrying me up in its embrace, and in an instant I float out of this life and out of this world.

“Are you a virgin?” a voice asks. “Because I don’t want to have to be gentle with you.”

Fear assaults me at first, the pounding in my chest so hard it turns painful, but then I realize that although the words are similar, the voice is not. This one is much younger, less weathered, although it sounds strained.

The wind dies down quickly, suddenly dropping me from its embrace. I start to fall, slow at first then faster and faster as I plummet back toward the earth.

Right before I crash into the very field where I was rescued by the storm, I see a face appear.

Jake.

What is he doing here? Just as quickly as his face appears, it disappears.

An eerie calm washes over me.

The hurt is gone, and I feel… good.

Too good.

***

I didn’t wake up right away. I let the unfamiliar good feeling take over for a minute or two. But as the pulling sensation intensified in my lower stomach, a familiar burning started to replace it. As the heat grew, I was coaxed further and further out of my dream…and smack dab into a cluster-fuck of a situation.