Page 100 of Dark Ugly Places

Stop fighting, Nicola.

Lay down. Be quiet.

Rest. Be at peace.

Martha’s words echo in the black beyond.

It isn’t so bad here in the dark.

It’s the light that brings the real terror, remember?

“Shut up, Martha! Let me out! That’s enough now. You’ve had your time!”

My time? What a funny thing to say, Nicola. You know very well that I’ve had so little time of my own. Always playing you. Being you. Your life. Your problems. Your fears, hopes, and dreams. My time hasn’t even started yet. My time is just beginning.

Aware of my body, I begin to quiver and shake. Right now, she is the one in charge. I’m just a shadow, lurking here, a trace of myself. But I can stop all of this. I know I can. I just have to escape.

I just have to … escape.

Escape …

Moments ago, I could hear the sound of my own breath. Now that, too, is becoming fainter. There is a vast sweep of empty quiet, as though a great pause has come over my inner world. It is actually peaceful and serene when there are no memories. Maybe this is what you liked so much about the darkness, huh, Daddy? The way it wraps you in a blanket of emptiness, the hug of oblivion surrounding.

That’s right, Nicola. Just surrender. You don’t have to fight. You can rest now. Everything is fine, remember? You can trust me.

She is right, after all. Martha has control, and I’m lost in a sea of remembering. Daddy is dead.

Ben is dead.

But Emmy is alive.

Emmy.

My heart. My reason. My everything.

Her eyes appear to me, two little stars. I realize she is there, waiting. I feel her reaching for me, and I claw through the darkness, desperate to break through, desperate to find the light.

43

Bambi

The house smells of pork fat and Spanish spices. The sticky thickness of grease burning hits her as the clang of an iron skillet banging the stove makes her sit upright. Jason is home. For a split second, she pictures his face, his vengeful and bitter expression just before he hit her, and wishes she were gone already.

Bambi checks the clock: 7:00 a.m. Lucita won’t be here for another thirty minutes, and Martha, another two hours. She gets up from the bed and closes her robe, steeling herself. Her cheek still burns, her eye stinging from the blow. Part of her longs to take something for the pain. One of Martha’s candies. Methadone. But she doesn’t. She needs to be sharp now. Sharp and alert.

She picks up the small ice pack, now room temperature, and looks at herself in the mirror above their dresser. The eyes that once lit up when Jason was around are sunken and dark, the bridge of her nose sharpened by the deep bruising, making her appear bird-like and strange. A wave of sadness overcomes her, and Bambi braces herself against the edge of the dresser, turning her face away from her reflection. Whoever she was before is gone. She can see that now. In her place is someone different, someone new who she doesn’t yet recognize.

Downstairs, the scent of bacon and grease is heavy in the air. Paprika and oregano cut through slightly, hitting the back of her palate. Bambi’s stomach lurches, and her mouth fills with saliva. She feels an instant urge to vomit but controls it as she makes her way into the smoke-filled kitchen.

Jason looks up at her as he pours a bowl of egg batter into a searing hot pan. “Morning, babe!”

She avoids his eyes and goes to the coffee machine. “It’s smoky in here,” she says.

“Yeah, sorry. I was going to open a window, but I couldn’t find the skylight control. Do you know where it is?”

Bambi fixes herself a cappuccino. Jason turns slightly from the stove next to her, lifting the pan off the burner and flipping the frittata over. “I said, do you know where it is? Did Martha take it?”

A note of hostility in him. Her shoulders stiffen. She looks at the ground. “I don’t think so.”