My Darrling (5 page)

“Where? Can I visit you tomorrow?” I sounded too eager.

He thought about it for a few seconds. “Can I see your
phone?”

I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to him. He typed
something in and then handed it back to me. It was the address to his motel.

“I don’t have a phone, because they’d be able to track it,
but you can come by tomorrow night. Is nine good for you?”

I didn’t even think before I answered. It didn’t matter
anyway; I wanted to be with Isaac, even if it meant feeding Mom and Michael a
story about why I wouldn’t be home by curfew. “Yeah,” I nodded, “nine is fine.”

“I’ll meet you at the subway. It’s a pretty bad area, and
I’m about a ten-minute walk from the station. I don’t want you walking alone.”

My phone seemed to have more value now that Isaac’s address
was in there. I held onto it for dear life.

The bus seemed to fly up to the curb in a blur. “Ladies
first,” Isaac said, gesturing for the steps, his voice as smooth as honey.

I spent the bus ride silently hoping that Isaac would make
it back to his motel unnoticed, and that he would be there waiting for me at
the subway station the following day.

After checking online and seeing
that Isaac still had not been caught, I spent the greater portion of the next
day at the mall helping Alex pick out an outfit for a date he had that night.
His parents set him up with their friends’ daughter, so Alex had never actually
seen the girl before. I couldn’t help but picture worst-case scenarios in my
head, but as a good friend would, I told him, “I’m sure she’ll be great.”

I hated shopping—
loathed
it—but I owed Alex big time for
covering for me last night. We ate lunch in the over-crowded, over-heated food
court. I ordered a slice of cheese pizza, but I was too nervous about my plans
with a serial killer to stomach much of it.

I was taking a sip of my iced tea when I noticed Alex waving
his hands in front of me.

“Hello, Earth to Sophie.” His voice was drenched in
frustration.

I was so caught up in thought that I had no clue what Alex
had been saying to me; he could have just told me that a loved one passed away
for all I knew. I had let my thoughts wander until they floated through the hum
of voices muddling through the food court. I heard teenagers chatting about
normal things like how they think their math teacher “totally hates” them, the
huge sale they were having at some shoe store, what books they were reading,
diets, and their crushes.

“Sorry, Alex,” I mumbled. “I just have some things on my
mind.”

I overheard a girl sitting behind me talk excitedly about
her summer love. “I’m happy that we both agreed that it’d only be a summer
thing, ya’know? It was the best time of my life, but I need to focus on school
now, and he needs to enjoy his first year at college without being weighed down.”
I heard the shrug in her voice. “Who knows, maybe one day we’ll meet again. If
it’s meant to be, you always find a way back to each other.”

My thoughts drifted to Isaac.

Maybe Isaac and I could have an autumn romance; maybe if I
thought about it that way, it wouldn’t hurt so much when he disappeared. And he
would, without a doubt, disappear.

“No,” Alex argued, “you just hate shopping and I know it.
I’ve known you long enough to know the symptoms: flushed cheeks, loss of
appetite, uncontrollable fidgeting—”

“Have you ever just known something was right?” I
interrupted. “Like, you feel it so deep, to your marrow, and no matter how
wrong it is, it’s so very right for
you?
”

He plunged his chopsticks into his pad thai and shifted them
around nervously. He didn’t like girl talk. He thought I was going to unleash
the behemoth of girl drama on him. “Um…well, tomatoes—they upset my stomach,
but I really like them. A lot. So I eat them anyway, even though they’re wrong
for me.”

I barked a quick laugh. Alex had an innocence about him that
could always lighten my mood. “Well, if you like tomatoes that much then
they’re worth the risk.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And they’re good for you because they
contain lycopene, which—”

“Want to help me pick out a sweater?” I interrupted before
Alex had the chance to go on a long, descriptive spiel about the benefits of
lycopene. “I’m hanging out with that guy again tonight and I have nothing to
wear.”

“Oh.” He seemed taken by surprise. “Do your parents at least
know this time?”

I shrugged. “Not yet.”

“Do I get to meet—what’s his name, anyway?”

“Harold,” I blurted out. “And he’s…good for me. I mean, I
feel comfortable around him. I trust him.”

“Well then you should tell your parents about him if you
trust him so much so I don’t have to keep covering for you.”

“I will,” I snapped. “I will.”

Alex sucked back the rest of his Coke then stood up. “So you
just met him on the bus?”

I stood up and gathered my garbage onto my tray. “Yeah. It’s
New York, Alex. People meet on public transit all the time. Some people
practically spend half of their life on it.”

“Okay, okay, I was just asking.”

After raiding the comic store and
picking up some cat food for my overweight cat, Violet, Alex and I left the
mall and each went home to get ready for our dates.

Alex helped me pick out a dark red knit cardigan and a white
tank top to go underneath. I paired it with my favorite dark blue jeans and my
black oxford boots. My hair had been in a braid all day, so I took it out and
let the loose waves fall down my back. My hair smelled like chocolate and
coconut, thanks to my favorite shampoo.

The air was warmer today, the smell of wood-smoke prevalent
in the faint breeze. The day had been crisp and dry; all signs of rain from the
day before evaporated. I didn’t bother with a jacket; my cardigan was thick
enough.

I told my parents that I was going to Starbucks with my
friend Eleanor, and that we were going to her house after to study for the math
test that we had on Monday. I sent Eleanor a quick text, asking her to cover
for me if Mom or Michael called. She obliged. I promised to return the favor if
she was ever in need.

I scrolled through my phone and looked at the address that
Isaac saved in it. I’d heard of the area before; heard it was one of the more
dangerous parts of New York. I cringed at the thought.

If I had my own car, it would have only taken me about
fifteen minutes to get there, but I didn’t, so I hopped on the subway and spent
the forty minute ride imagining how our night could go. I had a good feeling.

Once I got off the subway, I looked around at the unfamiliar
station. It was dark and dingy. There was a homeless old man staring at me, his
face weathered, his eyes small and watery. I reached into my pocket and pulled
out a crumpled up five dollar bill and brought it over to him.

“Thank you m’lady. God bless.” His voice didn’t match his
appearance; he sounded much younger than he looked.

I nodded and began walking toward the stairs, sweeping my
eyes across the platform just to make sure Isaac wasn’t waiting for me there.
When I got to the top of the stairs I heard sirens whining. I froze. What if
they were coming for Isaac? What if on his way to come meet me, he got caught?
He deserved to be caught, but I wasn’t ready to see him go yet—as sick as that
sounds.

The people behind me pushed me forward, so I had no choice
but to walk until I reached street level. Once I was out on the street, I scanned
the crowd of people, trying to find Isaac. I wished he had a phone so I could
just call or text him. I didn’t like this area, and I felt a little nauseous as
I waded through the people, all looking at me like they knew I wasn’t from this
part of the city.

“You lost, little girl?” a man with a white beard and
numerous missing teeth asked. He smelled of piss and alcohol. He guided his
eyes from my face down to my feet and back up, grinning his toothless grin.

My throat tightened. “No. I’m fine.”

He took a step closer and I took a step back. “You’re too
pretty to be in these parts, Princess.”

I ignored him and bustled forward.

I was so scared that my legs quivered and my teeth chattered.
Then, like luminosity in the nothingness, I saw Isaac walking toward me, and I
was calm again. I was safe. I tried to play it cool, but my mouth deceived me
when it widened into a toothy smile. I felt my cheeks flush.

He opened his arms wide and wrapped them around me. “I truly
didn’t think you’d show,” he said quietly in my ear, and it sent chills up my
back.

I didn’t think you’d still be free
, I thought, relief
pooling up throughout my body. Relief that he wasn’t locked up in a prison cell
just yet.

I pulled back and met his eyes. My breath caught in my
throat. His eyes were a beautiful sky gray; his contacts were gone.

I loved those eyes.

“I guess I’m crazy.” I hardly recognized my own voice; it
sounded excited, full of life.

“I think you are.”

I smiled and then allowed my eyes to drink him in. He wore
black Dr. Martens boots, black jeans and a red long-sleeve plaid shirt. His top
button wasn’t done up and his strong, defined collarbone poked out. He caught
me staring and I shifted my eyes toward the ground in embarrassment. I imagined
my cheeks were a blazing red.

When we got to Isaac’s motel, I
heard my mom’s voice in my head. Everything she’d taught me: all the warnings,
the lessons. I heard her tell me how much she loves me, and how proud of me my
father would’ve been if he were alive. I couldn’t bear to think of Isaac’s
victims in that moment, and it hit me now how selfish I was being. Was it possible
for something so selfish to be so right? I only had to look at Isaac to know
the answer.

“It’s a little messy,” he warned me before opening the door.

I shrugged. “It can’t be any worse than my room.”

He swung open the door then flicked on the light switch. My
eyes went straight to the bed. There was a guitar and a candle with a purple
bow on top of it. The room was tiny, but it was cozy. It smelled like Isaac’s
cologne. There was one bed with a nightstand on either side, and a dresser with
an old TV propped on it. Beside the dresser there was a small, white fridge with
a microwave on top of it.

Isaac walked over to the bed and picked up the candle. “This
reminded me of you.” He held it out to me.

My eyes and smile widened as I grabbed it. The label read,
Scent
of Autumn
.

“Like your hair,” he reminded me. “I mean, because last
night I told you that your hair looks like autumn leaves.”

I popped the lid off and inhaled. It smelled…awful. “This is
amazing,” I lied. “Smells so”—I wanted to say rustic, or like a pile of dirt—“pretty!
Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled shyly, the dimple on his right
cheek deepening.

“Isaac? How do you go out…I mean how do you go shopping and—”

“I have disguises that I normally wear, but sometimes I go out
with nothing more than a hat and glasses, just to see if I can get away with
it. I get this—this rush from knowing someone might recognize me.”

I placed my candle down on the bed. “What if they do
recognize you?”

He hiked one shoulder up. “They do, sometimes. Last night a
lady reported seeing me.” He paused, surveyed my reaction, then continued. “My
plan had been to leave New York this morning, but then I met you last night, and
something is telling me you’re worth the risk. So I’m staying a little while
longer.”

“I don’t know what to say, Isaac.” I was at a loss for words,
and felt a little dizzy with lust over the fact that he deemed me worth the
risk. It’s not everyday you find yourself in a motel room in a run down part of
New York talking about disguises with a murderer who you’ve become obsessed
with.

I can’t deny it; my story is a story about obsession, and
how I so easily disregarded my morals, values, my future and my life, all
because I was drawn to—and obsessed with—a vile killer.

What was wrong with me? Nothing about how I felt for Isaac
was okay. What I was doing was wrong in too many ways to list. My obsession was
beginning to devour me, pull me under. I had to resurface.

I had to.

But I couldn’t.

“Do you want to listen to some music or something?” Isaac
asked, and I could see that he was nervous too.

“Uh, sure. Or you could play that.” I pointed to the guitar
on his bed. No matter how good a song was, I always liked the acoustic version
of it better.

He pulled his lower lip into his mouth and grinned. “I
could
.”

My eyes spent a lot of time on Isaac’s mouth; the way it
tugged up into a smile, the way he slid his tongue across his lower lip—and
sometimes bit and tugged on it with his teeth—made my skin crawl. I could watch
Isaac for hours and never get bored. He had one of those faces that changed
with each one of his thoughts, a face that was so perfect it was painful.

Isaac sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the guitar into
his hands. I sat down beside him. He began to strum and it took me about two
seconds to recognize that he was playing my favorite The Cure song. He played
it beautifully.

I didn’t expect Isaac to start signing, but his soft, smooth
voice began to fill the small room. I didn’t move, didn’t even want to breathe
for fear that it would somehow shatter the moment. I could have died happily
that night sitting on the edge of that bed listening to Isaac Darrling sing to
me. The lyrics to that song were written for this very moment.

I had never in my life felt more at home than I did right there,
sitting next to Isaac. I had never felt more right, more myself. I belonged to
this moment in the same way the trees belong to the earth.

When the song ended, I could have cried. It was like coming
down from the worlds biggest high.