The Dead and the Dark(92)

Tristan’s embrace tightened. She was sure it did. For just a moment, everything was warm. It smelled like diesel fuel and mown grass and eighteen years of memory. The world Tristan had created for them overtook her and they were lying in the bed of her truck, laughing and whispering and staring at the stars. The whole sky was open above them and they were home. Ashley breathed it in one last time, and then it faded away.

She didn’t need to open her eyes to know he was gone.

Tristan Granger was dead, and he was gone.





Interlude


In the beginning, the Dark is only a thought.

It is impossible to say when it begins. It is only a smudge at first, only a spot of ink in the soil, only an idea. It is not a single thing that creates the Dark. If the gold hills and bright skies of Snakebite are hope, the Dark is the opposite. It is hope turned inside out. It is curdled anger, spite like tar, residue that sits on the lake water like a film. When a man kills his brother here, the Dark grows stronger. When a flood washes away graves in Pioneer Cemetery, the Dark nestles into them and makes a home. When, for a moment, all the hate in this town is concentrated in one point—one man grieving a lost daughter—the Dark finds an escape. It has existed in Snakebite as long as memory, but in the man it sees new horizons.

It is the shadows, the shifting boughs, the deeps of the lake. It has existed here as long as hate has clouded the hearts of Snakebite like black smog.

It is impossible to say when the Dark begins.

But this is where it ends.

The girl is mostly Dark now. It is easy to change her. Beneath layers of cynicism, she aches only for home. For happiness. For someone to love her. The Dark whittles away the light in her: a father with dark eyes full of laughter, a girl with sunlit hair and soft lips, memories of clear water and bright skies and the never-ending road. She remembers the bittersweet melody of a piano that now lies rotted.

The Dark is stronger than it has ever been, and this is what it has waited for. The girl is the sharp knife aimed to kill. In a way, she was always going to be the end.

She is the undoing thing.

Pick up the gun, the Dark breathes into her.

She complies because it is the only thing she can do. She wants only what the Dark wants now. No more convincing. No more groveling, begging idiotic men to listen. The girl’s eyes are closed, heart marching an irregular beat against her ribs. Somewhere inside, she fights it, but she cannot break free. She trembles under the weight of the things the Dark has shown her. The years she forgot. Her memories flutter in the shadows like motes of dust and ash. She recalls what it was like to die once, to be buried, and she understands the world of her nightmares.

“Logan?”

It is the boy on the floor. His voice is weak, and the Dark has half a mind to make the girl kill him. The Dark wraps itself around the girl’s neck. Hit him hard. He will sleep until we are done. It will be better for him.

The girl’s jaw clenches, but she does as she is told. She steps forward and hits the boy hard across the face with the handle of the gun. The boy crumples back against the wall and falls to his side, glasses clattering to the floorboards. She regrets this—it is an emotion that tastes like rot and sorrow—but she does not help him. She cannot.

He will be here soon, the Dark reminds the girl. I can hear him among the trees.

The man’s approaching heartbeat is quick now. It is erratic with fear. He is an animal afraid of a predator, yet he still runs toward it.

As if on cue, the man bursts through the cabin the door and the Dark shudders. It has pictured this moment all these months. The man is the original host. He is the one who pulled the Dark from the ether, who gave it a form. He is the only one who can unmake the Dark, and the Dark will not be unmade.

Say hello to your father.

“Logan,” the man gasps, nearly collapsing with relief. He takes a step toward her, but he senses that she is wrong. He hesitates and his eyes land on the gun in her hand. His face drains of color.

The girl sucks in a sharp breath. “Hello.”

The man is frozen. He looks at her, and he recognizes it. He didn’t recognize it in the sheriff, but he recognizes it in her. He sees the shadows he is so familiar with in her eyes. He has seen these shadows in the mirror a thousand times. It pleases the Dark that the man remembers so well. As hard as the man has tried to cut it away, the Dark’s presence still lingers in him.

“Logan, what happened?” the man asks. “Did it—?”

Tell him what will happen now, the Dark hisses into the girl’s ear. Tell him what he will pay for.

The girl steels herself. Her grip on the gun tightens, slick with sweat. “You’re gonna finish what you started,” she chokes. “You knew it wouldn’t last. We weren’t both gonna make it.”

Almost too quickly, this breaks the man. It is so much easier than the Dark thought. Behind thick lenses, his eyes close to keep from clouding with tears. The man’s sun rises and sets with the girl. The Dark remembers that the girl wrapping her small fingers around the man’s thumb was the first time he had ever felt truly alive. It is only right that she end him. It is only right that the girl the Dark brought back for him be the one to take his life.

A life for a life, the Dark whispers to her.

“Logan,” the man says, “I know it’s so strong. And it doesn’t feel like you can fight it. But just … think about who you are.”