Darkside

Thirty-Seven

"You."

It's her. I know her. I'd know her anywhere.

"You were with Cash. His co-worker."

"Wife," she sneers. "I suppose he didn't tell you that though."

"Wife?"

The lies. There were always so many lies, but this takes the freaking biscuit.

"No, Cash didn't tell you." She rolls her eyes. "That sneaky little bastard. Not that I should've ever expected more. He was always the same."

"I...I didn't know." I shake my head rapidly, falling backwards. "I wouldn't..."

"You knew he was a liar. You knew he was a scumbag. Why did you keep trying?"

Her long black hair tumbles down her back. It's glossy, stunning, wonderful. Almost as gorgeous as her violet eyes. Oh my God, and that body...she has it all. Why the hell would Cash be on Darkside talking to me when this is his wife?

"I didn't know how bad he was..."

"Oh, you did."

I glance over to my father. He refuses to meet my eyes. He knew this was about to happen to me, yet he didn't warn me. My dad should be my savior, the one person I'm safe with, yet he's ruined me. Wrecked me with Cash's freaking wife.

"You knew," she continues in her mysteriously sexy, yet terribly threatening way. "You knew and you continued to chase after him. Stalked him, in fact, didn't you? I overheard your conversation with your father."

"He lied to me." I bend double, clamping onto my stomach. "He told me he loved me and he didn't. I fell for him too much. I couldn't stop myself. I didn't know it'd end up like this."

"You didn't know you'd kill him?"

I blanche, but my dad doesn't react. He already knows. She's told him.

"He...he killed me."

"No, he didn't. Because you're still here, aren't you? He's gone, and you're here. You might be 'presumed dead' because of the blood evidence you left behind..." My fingers automatically run over my arm. "But that evidence won't mean anything when the cops see you will they?"

"Dad, I'm sorry," I plead. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't focus on him." She grabs my chin and makes me see only her. "Focus on me. I'm talking to you, he isn't. I don't think your father will ever talk to you again."

A strangled sound erupts from my chest. It's almost animalistic.

"You killed my husband. I should call the cops on you, shouldn't I?" She taps her chin thoughtfully. "Any woman whose husband is murdered should want justice..."

"Please...don't do this to me. Don't call the cops. I will do anything..."

"You've done enough. Too much, I would say. But we aren't only here to discuss the one dead body, are we?"

Holy fuck, how the hell does she know about Orson? No one knows about Orson yet, do they? I haven't been online yet, but surely...surely...

"Why don't you share your story, Jack?"

What the hell?

My father is ashen. A horrible memory flickers across his face.

"What's she talking about?"

"Like father, like daughter." She sneers, almost looking ugly which is difficult for someone so damn stunning. "Two murderers in the same family. I wonder...did you use the same method?"

"Dad, what does she mean?" My warning tone doesn't get through. "Dad, seriously?"

"Oh, little Luvvie, I've seen your online conversations with Cash, I know you think your mother skipped off into the sunset to live some other life, but after trying it yourself you must see how hard it is. Do you really think she could do it?"

"Alisha, stop it."

My father's on his feet, his face crinkled and red.

"Ah, he finally comes to attention. Just a little too late because I'm pretty sure now your precious little daughter has put two-and-two together. She knows you murdered her mother. She might not know she's buried in the backyard, but that's all about to come out too..."

The world pinholes. Blackness comes for me. The dizziness chasing my brain is too hard to resist, too much for me, I can't avoid it.

"That's right, Luvvie. You tried to follow in the path of your mother and ended up becoming your father instead." Alisha sounds echoey and weird. "How fucking ironic."

Mom is dead.

Dad is a killer.

Cash is dead. Stabbed by me. I attempted to strangle him but that didn't work. Not as I needed it to. The knife finished him off. The moment I realized I couldn't see a future with him because he'd killed my hopes and dreams, I had to finish him off. It was heat of the moment, crime of passion as they call it. I didn't plan it, but I suppose I did orchestrate my escape afterwards. That won't work in my favor.

And Orson.

He's dead too. Smashed over the head with an ashtray. All because I couldn't take it any longer. The life we were living, the way he was pushing me away, wanting something better for himself. And probably rightly so. He didn't deserve it, but it happened anyway.

I'm a killer too.

And now the blackness can claim me.