Slippin' into Darkness

3:17 A.M.

Darkness waited in April’s bedroom, a room choked with musty smells that Amy didn’t want to put names to.

She flicked the light switch. The closet door stood open, revealing a treasure-trove of what kids these days called “vintage clothing.” Bell-bottom pants patched with bits from red handkerchiefs hung next to long dresses of equal vintage, and hot pants and tube tops were heaped on the shelf above. Wigs on Styrofoam heads stared down from the same shelf-a frosted Farrah Fawcett flip, a blazing red Charro number, a short black do that somehow spoke of B amp;D routines. Shoes beyond number lay in a jumble on the closet floor along with a tampon box that naturally held a stash of marijuana and cheap jewelry-cubic zirconia rings, awful silver bracelets inlaid with pale turquoise, ear cuffs sprouting faded feathers, even an old mood ring that shone oily black as its permanent color.

On April’s night stand, a company of sex toys waited like elite commandos ready for the most desperate missions. A half-used tube of lubricant lay open next to the toys; a clear tear that had spilled onto the shelf the last time April used the stuff was now hard and rubbery.

And there was the dresser. Amy knelt in front of the drawer Doug had mentioned. Her blouse was soaked through, sticking to her like a second skin. Reflexively, she pulled the material away from her perfectly average breasts.

She yanked open the bottom right-hand drawer and confronted April Destino’s bra collection, a veritable rainbow of generous cups. If Amy had possessed a sense of humor, or irony, she might have laughed. Instead, she only blushed. The half-open drawer was stuck at an odd angle. Amy took hold of the imitation brass knobs and pulled a little harder. The drawer slipped out easily and thudded on the shag carpet.

In the dead space between the floor and the drawer’s runner, Amy found a box wrapped in yellow paper. A box with her name on it.

The smell of April’s favorite perfume burned in Amy’s nostrils as she tore through the paper and removed the lid. April’s cheerleading sweater lay before her, the dark wool still bearing stains from the mayonnaise Amy had smeared there in 1976. A withered condom clung stubbornly to one sleeve. Amy took the sweater out of the box, uncovering a dark blue cheerleading skirt with pleats as sharp as long knives.

A wave of emptiness washed over her, and she couldn’t stand it. She buried her face in blue wool. When the first sob wracked her chest, an eight ball, heavy and black, spilled from the wool folds and smacked the edge of the drawer, the sharp sound an unmistakable twin to the harsh crack of a judge’s gavel.

Amy sat on the bedroom floor for a long time. And then she found herself standing in the kitchen with the phone in her hands, and she couldn’t remember it ringing any more than she could recall answering it.

“You listening?” Doug Douglas asked.

Of course she was listening. She had heard every word. She had known that those words were coming as soon as she opened the box, but that didn’t mean she had to find an answer to them.

“I know you heard me. Now you do like I said, and don’t waste time. When you’re done, you’ll find April’s ’76 yearbook in a bookcase in the living room, third shelf from the bottom, next to those books out reincarnation. Turn to page 131. You’ll find another map and another key.”

“I’m not going to do this, Doug. You can forget it. You’re sick. You’ll have to keep your fantasies to yourself.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. Listen to this.”

Another voice came on the line. “I’m sorry Amy. He got me while I was in the shower… What does want? Why is he-”

“Ethan?” Amy’s voice was desperate. “Is that you? Are you okay?”

But Ethan was gone. Only Doug’s laughter remained. “Don’t fret. He’s okay…for now. I told you that you’d do what I said. Now remember: third shelf from the bottom in the living room bookcase, page 131 of the ’76 Lance amp; Shield. You do like I said, and then you get in your little Mercedes and…” He laughed. “Well, you get in that fancy car of yours and you follow the yellow brick road.”

“Then it will be over?”

“Yeah. Then it will be over.”