Lisa Unger - Darkness My Old Friend

She was swimming, and the water felt good. When was the last time she’d been submerged in water? Dipped her body into crystal-blue pool water or tasted the salt of the ocean? She and Alfie used to take trips to the beach, lie on the sand beneath a big blue-and-green striped umbrella. They’d drink beer from the cooler and listen to the gulls and catch up on their reading. Then they’d jump into the cool, gray Atlantic waves. That was before the kids, when it was just them. When they could just sit and be quietly together.

The water was cold, murky. She found that she didn’t need to surface for air, that she could just drift beneath, her fingers grazing against stones and drifting ribbons of weeds, branches. River water, that’s what it was. If clean had a feeling, light and cold against her skin… It had been so long since she’d done anything that gave her pleasure. Why had she been punishing herself all these years?

The other psychic she’d known, the one who’d taught her everything, had warned her. You must not forget to live. Spending all our time with the dead, something about it drains the life from us if we let it. Be out in the world, Eloise. Don’t bury yourself for them .

But she hadn’t listened, had she? She pitied Ray for giving up everything for their work. She thought because she’d already lost everything that she had nothing left to give. But she’d given herself, all of herself. She used to love to garden, to feel her hands in the earth, to bring fresh flowers and vegetables into the kitchen. She used to read. And knit. She’d made almost every blanket, scarf, and hat in the house. When was the last time she’d made anything ? She didn’t even cook anymore, living on salads and cans of tuna fish.

Ahead of her, she saw the reedy form, long and black, floating. She swam faster, but the form floated away just as quickly, as though her own movements were pushing it farther from her. She fought harder, and found herself against a swift current. Now she was getting breathless, her chest tightening, painful.

Eloise could see her then. It was just a girl, her hair spread around her. A mermaid with opalescent skin, long arms spread like wings. It was just a girl, so young and pretty, just like her girls had been; prettier yet because they didn’t know their own beauty. She was still-eyes sleeping, mouth slack.

It’s just a girl . There was that voice in her head. That’s why. He’ll have no choice but to save her .

She felt afraid then, personally. She’d inexplicably come to like Jones Cooper. And he’ll die saving her? she asked without speaking. She had never asked anything of the voice before. She’d asked things of the dead who came to visit. But never of the voice in her head. And now she knew why. It didn’t answer. It would never answer.

She woke up drenched in sweat, sitting in a bathtub dry of water. How she’d gotten there she didn’t even know. The last thing she remembered was saying good-bye to Ray.

She lifted herself from the tub and headed downstairs, took her raincoat from the closet, took her purse from the table by the door. She walked out into the rain.

Bethany felt numb, even as beneath that numbness there was a whirring panic, like a siren in the back of her head. She didn’t know why Willow punished her like this. She could hardly love her child more. True, she’d made mistakes. Even now Richard was calling and calling on her cell phone, after she’d asked him not to. She’d alerted him on the off chance that Willow would go to him, knowing that the stripper had left him. Why can’t you keep track of her, Bethany? he’d asked. It was cruel, ridiculous. How could she ever have married someone who would dream of saying something like that? She’d hung up on him.

“It’s okay,” Henry said. “We’ll find her.”

They saw the Beemer sitting by the side of the road, the headlights burning. For a second she thought they were all sitting in the car. And she nearly fainted with relief. But they weren’t. Henry pulled over, and they both got out in the rain, started shouting.

“Willow!” Her voice broke, and she started to cry. She remembered that night still so vividly, racing around New York City, looking in Willow’s favorite places, calling her friends. She’d been so frantic she’d felt unhinged. But this was so much worse somehow. Willow gone in this dark, wet place where the rain took Bethany’s voice and the beam of Henry’s flashlight was eaten by the impenetrable darkness.

She wouldn’t hate herself for inviting Henry to dinner, even for springing it last minute on Willow. Her mistake here was that Willow thought she had a right to act like that, to abuse Bethany and then to run out into the night. Bethany had been too soft on her, too yielding and ready to take blame for Willow’s unhappiness. That was going to change.

She didn’t realize until Henry came up and put his arms around her that she was sobbing. They were both soaked to the skin. The wind had picked up, but she leaned into him, was grateful not to be alone this time.

“We will find her,” he said. She let herself believe him.

The lights of an approaching car had them both moving toward the road. Bethany saw Jones Cooper in the driver’s seat as he brought his SUV to a stop. He stepped out wearing a dark raincoat that was already wet.

“Mrs. Graves,” he said. That natural air of authority had put Bethany, irrationally, at ease. “I’m going to ask you to wait here with the car.”

“No,” she said. “I can’t just sit here.”

“Someone needs to be here if they come out of the woods,” he said. He put a soothing hand on her arm.

“Mr. Cooper-”

“It’s just that Henry and I grew up here,” he said. “We know these woods. It’ll be faster if we go alone.”

She wanted to argue, but he was shepherding her toward the car, telling her to keep her cell phone on her lap. They’d call as soon as they found anything. “Lock the doors. If anyone but the kids approaches the vehicle, call the cops and lean on the horn.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Like who?”

“Like Michael Holt.”

Bethany took a deep breath and did as she was told. She watched Henry through the window. He lifted a palm in an “it’s okay” gesture. Then they were gone, swallowed by the trees. The wind was picking up, bending the tips of the pines against the night sky, whistling around the car. Bethany wished she were a religious person. She wished that she could pray.

The clearing at the Chapel was empty. The crime-scene tape around the hole had blown away and wrapped itself around a nearby tree. They walked the perimeter, calling out for the kids. But only the wind answered them. Henry returned to Marla’s grave, stood at the edge peering down into the emptiness. It looked to him like the loneliest, coldest place on earth. Jones came to stand beside him.

“I heard tonight that the ME confirmed the bones were Marla Holt’s,” said Henry.

“I heard, too. On the radio,” Jones said. “I wish I’d known back then. I wish I hadn’t let her lie out here all this time.”

Henry was surprised to hear Jones say something like that. Henry turned to look at the other man. Rain was making rivers down his face. The wind was getting wild, whipping at their slickers.

“I was her friend,” Henry said. “I should have known she wouldn’t run off on her children. I believed the worst of her, like everyone else.”

Jones didn’t say anything, started to move away from the site. Henry grabbed his arm, and Jones turned back toward him.

“I was there that night, Jones,” Henry said. He cast his eyes to the ground. The words felt like the release of a breath held too long. “I’m sorry I never told you, or anyone. I loved her.”