The Dark Places by R. Whitfield (novel24 TXT) 📕

charade. She wasn’t entirely stupid, or entirely unattractive, but for reasons unknown to him, he just couldn’t stand being around her. It wasn’t just her though — it was any woman — their emotional maintenance and social demands and, of course, their constant need for reassurance about how he felt and what he was thinking. Their insecurities were the one thing he could tolerate the least. Gripping the bench in the kitchen, waiting for his coffee to brew, he took a moment to enjoy the magnificent silence that always followed once Lucy had left. As he closed his eyes, Isabelle’s face flickered in his memory like an old movie reel. He could see her beautiful eyes pleading with him as he claimed her time and time again and the way her body responded to him, even though she didn’t want it to. Smiling, he remembered the first time he had ever experienced such elation; a young boy who barely knew at the time what he was witnessing as his body reacted in a way that was alien to him. He remembered her long tan legs and beautiful shiny hair. Feeling himself growing stiff at the memory, he forced open his eyes and mind to the present.

He was smart enough to know it was too soon, that it would be risky, especially now that Lucy was so fucking present all the time, but he also knew he needed another. Straightening his back, he poured himself a large cup of black coffee. In that very moment, he decided that this would be his last substitute. That after this one, he would finally claim what should always have been his.

***

Lana stared at the cash register. It beeped back at her. “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” she said, smiling at the miserable looking woman across the counter from her. “It’s very temperamental today,” she added, trying to mask her frustration with a sunny disposition. It beeped again, and she pressed the reset button. Nothing happened. The sour woman pursed her lips and folded her arms across her generous bust.

“I don’t have all day, girlie,” she said, staring at Lana impassively.

“I do understand that,” Lana replied and smacked the register on its side violently. The drawer snapped open with a whoosh, sending coins flinging into the air and onto the floor behind her. Lana ignored them completely and plastered a fake grin across her face.

“That will be $19.95, please,” she replied.

The lady, whose mouth had dropped open, slapped a twenty-dollar bill into her hand, snatched the bag and stalked out of the small boutique.

“Have a nice afternoon,” Lana mumbled under her breath as she bent down to retrieve the rogue quarters. She had been working as a sales assistant in the small but funky fashion store, Pieces, since graduating from high school three years earlier. As long as she could remember, she had wanted to be a fashion designer. The shop wasn’t much, that was true. It was kind of small, didn’t get a lot of foot traffic and boasted the oldest cash register known to man, but occasionally the owner, Suzette, let Lana put a few of her own items out for sale. She had even been allowed to dress the mannequin in the window with one of her designs last month. The item had sold within the first day of being on display. Yes, she only got ten per cent of the sale price, but the buyer had immediately recognised it as an original design and promised Lana that she would spread the word. One day, Lana thought, brushing her long dark hair off her shoulders and smiling, I will have a place like this, and every corner will be brimming with originality, quality and colour and finally Lana-do will be the brand on everyone’s lips. She shut the register drawer and watched a few window shoppers stop and glance at the sale rack. Yep, she thought, it’s only a matter of time.

At six o’clock on the dot, Lana turned the final lock, closing the store in what had been a very long day. Retrieving the takings, she punched the code into the safe and shoved the small bag inside for Suzette to bank the following morning. Humming an old Tracey Chapman tune under her breath, she grabbed her satchel that was overflowing with material samples, slung it over her shoulder, picked up her sketch pad and made a beeline for the parking lot.

The parking lot of the shopping centre had never really bothered her at night. She wasn’t a jumpy person by nature, but when she stepped out of the elevator onto the staff parking level, she was suddenly filled with a sense of unease. She walked towards her old maroon Ford, her pace slowed, and she glanced behind her nervously. Something is different, she thought to herself, but couldn’t place what. She shrugged, putting the feeling down to paranoia.

Opening the passenger door, first, she threw her things inside, once again looking over her shoulder. There were a few cars that remained scattered around — most of them would belong to the night cleaners and shop owners still inside finalising their day’s sales. Gary, the security guard, wouldn’t be far away either. He did his rounds every night, and she often bumped into him here at this time.

“Stop it!” she said aloud to herself. This is not a teen horror flick, she added mentally.

A small noise that seemed to come from behind her made her jerk around quickly. She felt her heartbeat instantly kick up a gear, and she could hear her own panicked breathing. There was nothing there, of course, but she was now fully on edge as adrenalin surged through her. Her senses were heightened as she stood frozen, still staring at her surroundings. Noises that she was once oblivious to shifted into focus. Distant traffic humming along the freeway and the repetitive echo of a dripping tap.