Dark Corners

Chapter One May 2018 I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise as my house came into sight. That undeniable feeling came over me; my senses were warning me something was amiss. Something was out of place, not quite as it should be. The closest street light was out, and every awareness my mother told me to listen to whispered that someone was nearby. With darkness enveloped around me, I felt the urge to duck into a bush and hide myself from whatever was creeping towards me. Could I successfully fade into the night there, from what might be lurking behind? Would they just reach in and grab me from my hiding place and drag me to the fate they had in mind? My thoughts do get away from me sometimes I know. I’ve been out in the night for a couple of hours, with nothing so much as a cat crossing my path. I’ve been walking through my familiar tracks, up and down each street, passing my daytime hangouts. It’s quiet tonight, too early for the bar crowd to flee, whom I decided not to join. I’ve got ideas in my head, dark ideas to once again push aside. Perhaps it’s this stillness that has crept into my mind, reminding me of the feelings I have had. Always knowing that something would eventually find me, get me, be me. I couldn’t be the way I was without eventually opening certain doors, that no average girls would enter. I press my thoughts aside noting this could be a decent movie night, something sultry perhaps given my stranger danger thoughts. I’m right at my house now anyways, my door is a stone’s throw from where I stand, the feeling passes like a forgotten breeze. I head up my walkway, keys in hand now. Three steps up to my porch, key in lock, a slight turn of the knob. A block of pressure is slammed against me from behind pushing me into and through the door. A mute scream escapes my lips as I fall face down onto my foyer tiles, with a huge form and crushing weight on top of me. From the floor I’m able to look up and back just slightly, in time to see a leg lying across me stretch out and kick my door closed. I’m winded, my head aches from hitting the ground. A man has now rolled off me, gotten up, grabbed my arms in my disarray and is dragging me into the living room. I have bitten my tongue, the taste of blood in my mouth has completely oriented me and my body thrashes violently to break free. His grip is a vice. We know he’s got me; I play the victims part very well and kick and kick. I find my voice, my scream, and belt it out while yanking my arms away as if it’s the last motion I will ever make. The double action seems to stun the man and he releases, just one tiny little moment, just for me, and I roll out of his path, stumbling to get myself upright. No thoughts here, just two animals, alone on this hunting ground that once was my living room. In one motion, he folds my arms behind his own and I’m completely imprisoned. I bash my head back against his chest, not hearing the links sliding as he envelopes one then the other wrist in metal behind my back. He yanks me down onto my knees by the cuffs. My legs are jelly, so I go down easily. With one fluid movement I am laying on my back now, arms folded painfully underneath, the man in my house has straddled himself across me, I am done. *** My boyfriend, well up until yesterday anyway, was just a temporary man. I had met James a few months earlier at a friend’s art exhibit in downtown Toronto. We had each separately strayed from the crowd to escape the pretentiousness that inevitably took control of such events. I thought that I had loitered alone on the gallery rooftop on the chilly February evening, when this guy saddled up to me offering a smoke. I didn’t smoke, and smiled with a polite refusal. He introduced himself as James, had shoulder length, blonde wavy hair and sky blue eyes. It was instant attraction as I watched him smoke with the crisp night framing him. He was a painter friend of the artist friend I had come out to support, though we had never met before. We soon headed inside to warm up and our mutual friend, Dana, was interested to find we’d discovered each other. Dana took me aside as soon as the opportunity presented itself. “Ramona darling be warned, lovely as he is, the man’s a player.” Obviously she referred to James. “Oh, that’s a relief. I thought you were going to tell me he was looking for something serious.” I was only twenty-four and very non-committal. I remembered us laughing at her warning. I was nowhere near wanting any relationship beyond physical satisfaction at that point, so her announcement was a great relief. Now I just had to put my focus on maintaining his attentions for the night. Later in the evening after a couple of cocktails, I was exiting the ladies room which was situated down a very precarious stairway, through a maze of pseudo storage rooms, then down a long concrete hallway. Most Toronto business washrooms were situated as such, so it wasn’t that unusual. As I came back through one of the storage areas, only half lit in fluorescent light, James was leaning against a wall with a look directed at me. I’d seen that look before, I knew it. The way a man could look at you before you knew him, certainly before he knew you. The way he looked at you, clearly blinded with fantasies of you, this newness, this unopened gift. God, I adored that look. In the right circumstance, in this circumstance, I could give myself to it. I strode up to him in my dark blue, open-backed dress, with my long, layered dark brown hair hanging down my back. I faced him, inches apart, looking up into his eyes. He put an arm along my bare back and firmly pulled me against him. He lightly licked the space between my full anticipating lips, testing my responsiveness. I was fully there and pressed my lips and then my body to his. I went home with him that night, letting him seduce me, discovering that our mutual desire for a strictly physical release inadvertently created a relationship. James was someone easy to be with, with enough chemistry between us to reel me in, with hopes for him to be the one to take me there. You know that place, where someone knows the dark things you feel, reaches in and stirs it around with you. Someone able to make me lose all sense, needing them driven so deep inside that air is irrelevant. My friends tell me I have somewhat unusual relationship expectations. I don’t understand how anyone wouldn’t want that intensity. James had questioned me after a few months, if I was really into our relationship as much as he was. I had to bring my truth to the surface and admit to myself that he wasn’t bringing me where I wanted to be. If I was asked where exactly that was, I wouldn’t be able to give a clear answer, but I just knew I did not stand there with him. He had brought me so much pleasure, the option of dishonesty was just not there. There was just no moving forward with him, so after a mutually respectful discussion, we let each other go, and my walk out tonight was in reflection and respect of my life and nothingness really. Just feeling nothing. *** So here I am, with an intruder in my sanctuary. A man who has attacked me with specific intent to. I feel I have nothing to do with the coming events of this evening. I’ve watched the news, lots of it. Girls die all the time, it’s insanity out here. Men are going around killing girls every day, girls they father, girls they love, girls they would do anything for. Though here I am, at this person’s hands and we know nothing of each other. He has no attachment to me, no history, no emotional connection, I’m totally screwed. With this in mind I just stop everything. Stop crying, pushing, twisting, yelling through my hand covered mouth, I stop everything, and see him. He is sneering as he looks down at me. He balances a look between a rocker and an actor that regularly frequent my private fantasies. He has this slightly wavy dark hair that is swept longer across his dark eyes, a perfect long nose, a light brushing of stubble and a commanding jawline. Obviously he is strong, as he has tossed me easily around, and his shirt is stretched tight against his arm and chest muscles. He is maybe 30-ish. I feel somewhat ashamed with a sudden clenching between my thighs, then a blush across my cheek, painfully giving itself away. “Ramona, darling, what shall I do with you?” His first words to me, from full sculpted lips. What the hell is this, attack and kill me I’m thinking. What is this conversation? “You know my name”, I say, “You came after me, how do you know me?” “Yes, I came for you.” What the hell I think; death is a certainty here, may as well play it. I start laughing; sort of feeling like all sense is beside me now. “Why lead me to believe I have anything to do with what you are going to do with me? I imagine murder is on your mind. Or perhaps you could just walk back out that door and stand yourself in front of a bus.” The words were out. I had begun to feel overwhelmingly angry that this asshole thought he could just intrude on my life like this. I cannot read how he takes my statement. His sneer turns serious, scary, my chest tightens. He’s up and off me, he leans over and pulls on one shackled arm, painfully forcing me to my knees then up on my feet. His hands are on my shoulders, pushing me across the room, across the window path, I glance outside. Someone is walking right past my house. My existence may as well be a TV screen, for the complete lack of attention this last human gives to my final moments. I just think, that’s fine, I’m done with this, I’m ready. Resolved.