*The Watcher in the Darkness Series and all characters contained therein are the sole copyright of K.M. Spires. All rights reserved.*
The Watcher in the Darkness series contains adult situations, graphic violence, and lots and lots of bad language. Rated M for Mature, seriously.
To the woman that ruined my life;
It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and I’ve completely given up on getting any sleep today.
As it turns out, I have to write. There’s no choice in the matter. My bones try to worm their way through my skin whenever I don’t purge these fucked up thoughts. I didn’t realize how much I needed that blog until those bastards took it away from me.
I have no idea what I’ll do with this letter when I’m done. It’s not like anyone will ever read it. But, this is better than lying in bed, feeling every single second tick by like Chinese water torture.
It could be that my subconscious knows this is the last taste of freedom I’m going to have for a while. Even when I lay down and try to force the issue, I’m still aware of everything going on around me.
Worse, I’m beginning to see and hear shit. Like, right now, there’s this weird aura around my computer screen. Shadows keep moving out of the corners of my eyes. I sometimes catch a whiff of smoke or perfume, but there’s never anything there when I go investigate. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore.
I’ve messed everything up. I thought I knew what I needed to do to make things right, but now…I don’t know what I know, or what I’m doing.
When I do sleep, or what passes for it, I have weird dreams. They feel like they’re really happening, but I’m also still aware of the Sanctuary. It’s as though I’m in both places at the same time. I know that doesn’t make sense, but I don’t know how else to explain it.
Justine still haunts me. She’s there every time I close my eyes. I can see her, her hair limp and her eyes bottomless as she stares into the bathroom mirror. She doesn’t even flinch as she sews the gaping holes in her neck closed. The wide, ragged wounds are ugly red chasms in her gray skin. She looks as though she was attacked by a wild animal, because she was.
I can hear her thoughts, like she’s whispering the words directly into my ear. Keep it hidden…I can keep it hidden…with scarves…with turtlenecks…keep them focused on Ellie…my baby, so sweet…she needs me and I can’t even get close to her…just a few more days…just a few more days to settle affairs…so hungry…
Sometimes, my dreams try to be nice. Justine is alive and we are together again. Those dreams are so much worse than the nightmares. I can’t see her, but I know she’s close enough to touch, if only I would give myself permission to do so.
I can’t smell her, but that’s okay. I remember what she smelled like. Justine was a rich blend of vanilla and sandalwood, honey and musky oils. The greatest peace I have ever known resided in that scent.
In my dreams, we are secure in our warm little cocoon. We are all that exists. We are all that matters.
“Well, if I really had to pick…” Justine’s voice was serene, as though we’d spent the night in each other’s arms, and were too comfortable to get out of bed. “I’d have to say giving birth to Ellie was the worst pain of my life.”
I don’t remember what I asked to prompt that response, but I don’t care. I just wanted to hear her talk.
“Eighteen hours of labor, and most of that was in my back. I refused the epidural when they offered it because I was determined to do everything naturally. Then it came time to push, and I immediately regretted it.” She laughed at the memory, and I felt myself smile. “I was sure I was going to die. I was only seventeen, so what did I know? The pressure in my pelvis felt like my bones were splitting. My body stretched and stretched until it couldn’t possibly stretch anymore, and then it did. There was so much blood and gushing fluids, and terrible smells. Also, there were people telling me to keep going, keep going, I was doing great. Goddamn liars. I was an exhausted blubbering mess.”
I wish I could’ve been there with her. I wouldn’t have been able to take her pain away, but at least she wouldn’t have suffered alone.
“Then, finally—finally—she was here. My little angel. She was so small, so unbelievably small, considering how enormous she felt when she was coming out of me. But she was perfect.”
I could feel her stroking the back of my hand, and her fingertips felt like satin.
“I let her father do most of the feeding and changing for the first few weeks. I wanted to give them as much time together as possible. We knew he didn’t have much time left, but her birth breathed new life into him. Besides, right from the start, Ellie was such a daddy’s girl. So much so, that when he died, she wanted nothing to do with me. She didn’t like me until she was about two years old.”
Justine hesitated and I felt my stomach muscles tighten. I knew what she was about to ask and it filled me with dread.
“Promise you’ll take care of her for me?”
“I can’t.” Even if I had been able to see her, I wouldn’t have been able to look at her. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my face away.
“Please, Toby. I need you to look out for her. There’s no one else in the world that I trust.”
It cut me open, knowing that I would have to disappoint her. I shook my head. “You shouldn’t trust me. You should’ve never trusted me. I hurt everyone that gets too close to me. Everything I touch turns to shit.”
I felt her shift closer. “That’s not true. I love you, and you love me. We are part of each other, forever. No matter where you are, I am with you.”
“But, you’re not with me.” The words were smoke and poison, choking me as they came out. “You’re gone, and it’s all my fault.”
“I’m here,” she insisted gently.
“I can’t see you. Goddamn it, I can’t even look for you. I’m all alone.”
I felt her heart ache for me, even if I didn’t deserve it. She leaned in, and the instant before her lips touched mine, I woke up. At once, the inner darkness came crashing down on me. My contentment was swept away, leaving behind nothing but black hate and a festering anger that I don’t know how to contain.
I don’t want to go back to prison. I still need to be punished, but I’ll go insane if I have to spend the next fifty years in that place. It would be better to die.
Maybe I’ll find a place full of terrible people—which isn’t that hard to do in this city—then I’ll feast. I’ll go out in a hail of bullets. Wouldn’t justice be served then?
Goddamn it, Karen, where are you?