Darkroom [18+]

06 | Inception

TOBIAS

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I hear the stairwell door slam shut behind me, and my shoulders sink. Palm to my chest, I try to rub away this pressure that drives down on me as I walk back to my classroom. I know she isn't there, but the urge to turn my head and look over my shoulder is big. I want to see her face again, somehow also eager to erase it from memory.

I don't know her. At least, I'm not meant to know her. Though, it feels like I'm misleading her with every small interaction. It's as if I'm the one liable for keeping her from knowing what happens in the spaces around her, meant to protect her from the people she came from.

More so, the conflict was palpable. We were out there, and my phone rang. Slater was calling, and I watched it ring right in front of her. On the one hand, it was odd. The girl was standing only a few feet away, unaware that the guy on the other line was only calling to talk about her father. On the other, something about that kind of ignorance felt rather potent. I would never admit it out loud, but having her be so in the dark makes me feel like I still have the upper hand in something as big as her father's infidelities.

Of course, that mentality doesn't make me more of a man than Henry. Selfishness can be defined in many ways; regardless, someone will always get hurt. People who don't deserve it, either. But most times, I can't worry about one person. Most times, there is no other choice. The only way I can justify the betrayal of the one who gets crushed on that moral railroad is by knowing there's justice for everyone else on the other side.

I don't want to hurt her, but at the same time, I don't know if I can afford the luxury of making sure she isn't caught in the crossfire.

Calling Slater back, I move from one mental feat to the next while I pack up. He answers on the second ring.

"Need something?" I ask.

"Just making sure you're good for the night," he says.

Grabbing my keys and camera bag, I lock the classroom behind me, switching the phone from ear to ear. "Yep, I'm headed up there right now. Call you after I'm done."

I hear Slater inhale. "Try to keep it clean, okay?"

The kid is almost two decades younger but insists on the routine reprimand. It makes me laugh, so I indulge him. "I'll do my best just for you, pretty boy."

I hang up on the sound of Slater laughing along, and I'm glad we keep the banter light. On nights like these, the protocol is anything but.

∴

The last of the sun dips below the horizon, and the drive over to one of Fischer County's biggest salvage yards becomes a long, dark one. The forest continues on, trees curving over above, keeping cover. Most nights I come through here, it's quiet, something I appreciate, and it's easy to think when the backroads stretch for a few miles. Most nights, it's just a way to get home.

On others, like this one, when I've already passed the turn leading down to my cabin, my head is full. I become occupied with what I've been asked to do, obsessed with my initial role in Fischer County. When the road starts winding, whatever instinctual empathy for the script I'm about to play out begins to vanish. Every front is gone, and I'm no longer built for kindness.

My mind falls on the four men who were shot and burned out there at the loading dock, the officers who were involved in their murders, and the nastiness of it all makes the taste of acid rise up the throat, all while brewing a cruel dose of motivation for the blood I'm going to taste tonight, the retribution I'm going to get.