Mike Omer - In the Darkness

The question penetrated Zoe’s fugue. She blinked, gazed down at the plastic cup in front of her. There was ice cream in it, or at least something that used to be ice cream. She’d let the thing sit untouched in the cup, and the heat had melted it to a milky goo. One lone pink iceberg, bobbing in a sea of orange. She wasn’t even sure what flavors she’d asked for. Strawberry and . . . lemon? She toyed with the spoon a bit, then raised her eyes to meet Joseph’s.

“I’m not hungry.”

“What’s hungry got to do with ice cream?” He grinned. His own plastic cup, which was decidedly larger, was completely empty.

She’d asked to meet him to distract herself. She’d been pacing her motel room back and forth, her thoughts an endless spiral of worry and guilt. Finally, she’d texted Joseph asking him to pick her up. He’d shown up in less than fifteen minutes. First, they’d eaten pad thai at Lemongrass before they’d wandered over for ice cream across the street.

All food tasted like ash in her mouth, and Zoe wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d uttered a complete sentence for the entirety of their date. The whole time her mind projected thoughts about Andrea alone in the apartment while Glover prowled in the vicinity.

Zoe was no stranger to fear. But fear for herself was somehow different than fear for her sister. When her own life had been at risk, it propelled her forward, the survival instincts of fight or flight pushing her to save herself. But fearing for her sister was different. It was like her body was submerged in icy molasses, somehow slowing her down, her thoughts a jumble, chills constantly running through her. It made her useless.

Now, Joseph was eyeing her carefully. “I don’t know you very well, but you seem like something is weighing you down tonight. Is anything wrong?”

Zoe dropped her gaze, stirring the ice cream with the spoon, creating swirls of pink and yellow. Usually, she wanted control over her life. She hated when someone else called the shots for her. But right now, she didn’t trust her own judgment. For once, she wanted someone else to take charge.

“There is a homicidal sexual predator stalking my sister,” she said, the words feeling lumpy in her mouth, as if they had an unpleasant texture. “He’s obsessed with me, and now he’s targeting her.”

Joseph blinked. Clearly, he’d expected something else. A complaint about a bad day at work, an ailing relative, or an unpleasant encounter in the supermarket. Zoe didn’t know the statistics, but she was quite sure the number of romantic dates in which a personal acquaintance with a serial killer popped up was low.

He didn’t ask her if she was serious or bolt and run or laugh nervously. She had to give him that. He seemed to think it through, as if wondering how one reacted in those situations. It wasn’t in the usual small talk protocol.

His eyebrows drew together. “How does he know you?”

“We were neighbors when I was a kid.” She felt a sort of icy calm take over her. Facts she could deal with. Those were the stories of the past, not the horrors that might lurk in the future. “He raped and killed three girls in my town. I was the one who pointed him out to the cops.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

He ran a hand over his beard, holding her gaze.

“And now I do this for a living,” she carried on. She found something cathartic about laying everything plainly on the table. “I work for the FBI. In the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’m a forensic psychologist. A profiler.”

“Like in Criminal Minds ?”

She sighed. “Yes. But real. The TV series isn’t very accurate.” There’d been a time she’d loved watching Criminal Minds , pointing out all the absurdities.

“You said you’re here on business,” Joseph said after a second.

“Consulting with the local police.”

“About what?”

“About a murder.”

“That girl they found buried? Near the Jackson farm?”

“I don’t know where the Jackson farm is.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “This guy you mentioned. He’s stalking your sister?”

“Yes.”

“But can’t the police stop him?”

“They can watch her,” Zoe said. “There’s a patrol car in front of her building right now. But they can’t stay there forever. They’ll pull the surveillance sooner or later. In a month, in a year. And he’ll be waiting for it. He’s patient. He’s been evading the police for over twenty years.”

“What are they going to do?”

“Whatever they’ll do won’t be enough. I’ll have to do it. I have to catch him.” She sighed. “Can you take me to the motel, please?”

They drove back in silence. The motel wasn’t far—she could’ve walked, but that would demand a measure of focus and orientation she wasn’t sure she had tonight. He parked in the parking lot and opened the door on his side.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll walk you to your door,” Joseph said resolutely.

She shrugged and got out of the car. She led the way, focusing on her feet, trying to keep the frightening thoughts at bay. She gripped her key in her hand as she crossed the parking lot and climbed the stairs to her room.

“Thanks. I’m sorry I’ve been such a . . .” She motioned vaguely. Sorry for being me.

Joseph shoved his hands in his pockets, looking almost sheepish. “No need to apologize.”

She unlocked the door, stepping into the room. She turned, about to say goodbye, her hand already on the doorknob.

But once she closed that door, the thoughts would come swarming, buzzing and rattling in her skull. Like the ice cream swirls she’d had in the cup back at the store, it’d be a goopy soup. Helplessness, anxiety, and horrible what-ifs all mixed together, spinning endlessly in her mind, keeping sleep away.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked. A pleading note had entered her voice; she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to be alone.

He furrowed his brow, surprised yet again. Somehow, this disastrous date had ended up in an invitation. He stepped in, and she shut the door behind him.

For a terrible moment, she thought he would start talking. But then his hand wrapped behind her back, pulling her closer to him. She stood on her tiptoes, her chest brushing against his, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He didn’t kiss her yet, just stared into her eyes. They stood in silence, and Zoe’s brain did what it always did when life paused: it filled up with thoughts. She tried to guess how far Glover was from Andrea. No more than three miles, probably. Waiting for the right moment. For them all to lay down their guard again. He was like a malignant, fatal tumor, waiting to erupt and destroy her sister. No way to find it and remove it.

She shivered, and Joseph held her fast, his brow furrowed.

As long as she focused on him, she could dim the volume of her own fears. Up close, she let her gaze roam over his features—the neatly trimmed beard, thick eyebrows, hazel eyes. His eyelashes turned blond at the tips, and only up close did she realize how long they were.

She pulled his face down, and he pressed his mouth against hers. The kiss started off tentative, like they were both unsure how the other person felt. He held back, making sure she really wanted him, and that made her more forceful. She drew his lower lip between hers, sucking on it for just a moment. His fingers tightened on her waist.

He smelled nice up close—wood shavings and polish. She opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, and her tongue brushed against his. He picked her up, and she let her thighs wrap around him as he carried her to the bed, as if she weighed nothing at all. It was just three steps away. Motel rooms were efficient for hookups that way, the bed never too far from the door.