Hide and Seek in the Dark (Being Rewritten)

Chapter 15

15

Daren

Daren had been debating for half the night whether or not to climb into his Cadillac and drive down to Christine’s house to apologize. He’d been stupid to yell at her, yes, but he hadn’t been the only stupid one that night. She was a huge idiot if she thought he’d let her run off somewhere on a so-called “art program” with Gabriel Steele- that monster, that low life, that beast! Who knew what he would do to her if he had her alone. And for a year? Ha! Over his dead body. He couldn’t risk it. He just cared too much about Christine to let a bastard like him manipulate her. When she came back she wouldn’t be his Christine anymore. She’d be one of them; a monster, and he’d have to kill her. Put her out of her misery. And that was something he simply did not want to do.

        So, he climbed into his car at two in the morning and gunned it to Christine’s house.

        The windows were completely dark inside, rain dripped down over the clear glass surface. Daren tugged the collar of his letterman more firmly around his exposed neck, shivering from the bitter cold. It wasn’t even winter yet and it was already hitting thirty degrees and below.

        Shoving his already numbing hands deep into his coat pockets, he jogged around the side of the old brownstone, opened the gate dividing the front yard from the back and let himself in. He grimaced as he felt the soles of his Nike shoes sink into the thick, wet mud and locked the gate once more, doing his best to keep his footing on the slippery terrain.

        The rain poured down in sheets; fat drops pounded on Daren’s head, dripped from his hair, down his neck and seeped into his clothes. He needed to get Christine’s attention (soon) and hopefully convince her to let him inside before he became a life-sized ice statue in her yard.

        Daren took a minute or two to gather a few small stones from around the yard and got ready to throw them at Christine’s window. That is, until he noticed the screen propped sloppily against the side of her window.

Daren hooked his mud-splattered Nike onto the drain pipe attached to the side of the house and hoisted himself up, hoping with all his might that the rain wouldn’t cause him to lose his grip on the already slick metal and fall back with nothing but wet grass and goopy mud to break his fall.

        It had taken him a bit but he finally managed to pull himself onto the low rising bit of roof below Christine’s window. Whoever had been there, Daren noted grimly, hadn’t bothered to close the window.

        He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small .22, a present his dad had given him on his eighteenth birthday. Protection for occasions like this, when he didn’t know what he was getting himself into, couldn’t call for back up- because he had left his phone in the car- and couldn’t waste time because who knew if Christine was even okay? Who knew if she was even inside? And if she was, was anyone with her?

        He steadied his breath, tried his best to calm down, and steeled himself, before deciding to go in. He craned his head and peeked his head around the sill. The room was dark- as to be expected- yet he could still make out a few details. The walls nearest the windows were drenched, the carpet; little puddles of rain water covered the floor, seeping deep into the soft lavender fabric. Her dresser, which sat across her room, against the wall, had its drawers pulled open. No clothing had hit the floor, yet it was obvious someone had been through them. Looking for something? Maybe. Question was, however, did they find it, and was Christine okay?

        He moved slowly and carefully through the room, his shoes squelching with every step. It was freezing; he could see his breath forming uneven puffs of clouds in front of his nose, could feel himself shivering underneath his wet clothes. He crept toward the bed, attempting not to make a sound. A form lay underneath the disheveled covers, unmoving from what he could tell. Christine? If so, was she dead?

He needed to know.

        She’s not dead, she’s not dead, he assured himself over and over as he stopped to stand next to the bed, his hand gripping the headboard for support. There’s just no way. True, the window was open, the room was a mess, and the figure underneath the covers had yet to move, shift or even take a breath, but that didn’t automatically mean she was dead. Still…

He extended a shaking hand and grabbed hold of the cold comforter, soft and now damp with rain. I need to know. Please, God. He yanked the blankets from the bed and off of the figure underneath, it hit the floor with a nearly silent whoosh. Daren was grateful he had been holding onto something, otherwise he might’ve fallen over onto his ass with the weight of his stomach dropping to the floor.

The figure underneath the covers hadn’t been Christine, but a bundle of pillows, placed side by side to resemble a sleeping form. That, however, wasn’t what made Daren’s stomach lurch and twist in his belly with dread. It was the fact that the white sheets that had once been stretched out over the bed and smoothed over with care and precision were- like the comforter before- rumpled and messy, as if the sleeper had struggled out of bed, and smeared with blood.

Daren reached out and ran his hand over the cool sheet, over the stains. The blood was dry now, no longer red but a dirty brown. Whoever had come and done this was long gone.

He must’ve left the window open on purpose. Daren reasoned quietly. He wanted to let anyone who passed by know that he had entered, know that something had happened to Christine, and know that due to the horrible weather his prints would be washed away by the rain. All those signs… He was practically rubbing what he had done to Christine in his face, taunting him because he knew that he couldn’t catch him. Knew that he could do nothing! With an enraged snarl he swiped his hand across the desk’s surface, flinging all the wet notebooks, picture frames and ruined technology across the room, onto the floor.

“It had to have been him,” he heard himself whispering and instantly knew he was right. Gabriel Steele was the only one he could think of who could’ve done this. He must’ve known we fought. He knew and he took his opportunity to strike, to hurt Christine. “That bastard!”

Behind him the door creaked open and light flooded the room. He had no time to think, he only reacted. Daren raised his arm, weapon in hand, and pulled the trigger.