What's Done In The Dark

*Trigger Warning: Story contains depictions of infidelity.

The silver light of the moon poured in through the windows, revealing subtle silhouettes in a dark bedroom—silhouettes of plants and furniture, and an array of family photos framed on the walls. There was also a large mahogany bed where two lovers lay in a warm embrace. They lay in silence, communicating only with gentle caresses, as if reading each other's thoughts through braille on their naked bodies.

With their eyes now adjusted to the darkness, they could see where their clothes had fallen off after frantically undressing each other with passionate urgency.

They were married.

They were married in the spring of 2019, and both were still paying off the debts of their lavish weddings. They were married in the same botanical garden where their friends James and Anna had tied the knot. That's where they met. They were married— but not to each other.

He broke the peaceful silence in which they rested.

"What's on your mind?" he asked. It was a simple question, but a serious one. He was concerned. What they had done was irreversible now, and consequences were looming on the dark horizon.

"I'm okay," she replied. "I'm still processing. I'm not upset, though," she added, "but I'm upset that I'm not upset about."

He adjusted himself and put his arm around her. "I understand. I think. I... I feel remorseful and happy at the same time. It's weird. Mostly joy, though."

It was a strange feeling for both; They found themselves somewhere between euphoria and misery. If it's true that cheaters never prosper, it's because that's where they're trapped—between pleasure and pain.

She lifted her head to see his eyes more clearly. The moonlight reflected in his eyes, and she smiled. "So what now?" she asked. "We can't be doing this forever."

"We can't be doing this at all," he replied.

"You're right," she said. A few seconds of silence went by. "I'm afraid, she added. I'm afraid of the bad karma that could come of this."

He laughed. "What are you, a Buddhist monk now?"

"What? No," she said, "don't be silly. And it's Hindu, I think, like from India."

"Well, good thing we're not Hindu or from India, I guess."

"You always have something clever to say, don't you?"

"Look, we're not good people—right now. What we just did is... It's a terrible thing, but that doesn't mean that we're gonna be struck by lightning."

"We might."

"Is that what you think karma is? A supernatural force that adds balance to the world? There's no such thing. That very notion implies fairness in the world, but we know the world is unfair— and often cruel. I believe in cause-and-effect if that's what you mean. I believe in probability just as much. Lots of things can be explained simply with mathematics. But a mystic force that controls right and wrong? I just don't— I don't understand how that is possible."

"How can you be so sure?" she said. "There's so much that we don't know. Where's your sense of wonder and spirituality? Karma is a real thing, and I will die on that hill."

"Okay," he said, "but dying on a hill doesn't mean you're right. It just means that you're dead on a hill... and the last thing you did was have a bad opinion."

"Smartass," she said. "I just think about those things sometimes, you know? No, we're not gonna get hit with lightning," she said, as if reassuring herself. She paused, and her voice began to break and shake with emotion. "We're not gonna get hit by lightning, but I—I don't know if I can put the kids through a divorce." She tucked her head into his shoulder, crying. "I don't know how we're going to come out of this."

"Hey, hey, hey," he held her tightly, trying to comfort her. In that moment, he knew this was the first of the many consequences that were to come. "It's going to be okay. We're gonna figure this out." He paused. "I—I love you," he added.

"You do?" she asked. In her belly was that sensation— that warm feeling lovers know all too well. It hits the moment they give in to one another. She didn't speak right away. She felt the weight of her emotions, the warmth and the danger. It was like standing before a hurricane and knowing you wouldn't back an inch.

"Well? Aren't you gonna say it back?"

"I love you back," she said. "Even when you're being a smartass."

They took in the warm moment. The last time butterflies flew up and down their bellies was when they shared a similar moment with their current spouses, many years prior. There were no thoughts of getting struck by lightning or facing a bitter divorce. In that moment, they felt safe in each other's arms. There was no more fear—only bliss. Then downstairs, an unexpected sound rattled up through the walls. A door opened. A light flickered, followed by the high-pitched sound of metal keys landing on a silver tray. It was her husband.

The two lovers faced each other, locking eyes. The moonlight was not as strong anymore. It now hid above the clouds. But even in the darkness, they could see the desperation in their eyes, and their faces contorted with fear and confusion.

"I thought you said he was out of town!" he whispered.

"He... I don't understand." She looked towards the light that crept up from downstairs. "He should be in the air, on his way to St. Louis," she whispered. "I—we—you need to hide. No! You need to leave!"

He looked around the room, as if the answer to his problems was written on the walls. "Wait, I have an idea," he whispered tensely. "What if—let's say I'm a burglar, a uh, a thief in the night! Give me your panthose— I'll hide my face with them."

"What? Are you crazy?"

"Yeah! Trust me, I'll demand jewelry, maybe some money. I'll be the bad guy."

"You're insane!"

"No, I'll give everything back. I promise"

"Your dick is out!"

"Oh, shit. I need to get dressed."

"No! Don't turn the light on," she whispered. "Just— you're going to have to leave now. Out the window! Now!

"But my stuff! Am I supposed to just leave... naked?"

"Yes. There's no time now," she whispered as she frantically shoved the clothes under the bed. "Climb down the window and head to your car. It's dark— no one will spot you!"

He looked towards the tall open windows. There was no more moonlight, only a dark void before him. He made his decision. He approached her quickly, giving her one final passionate kiss, and then, the clandestine lover approached the window and disappeared into the darkness.

In the doorway, the silhouette of a man appeared. The husband, being mindful not to wake his wife, carefully stepped into the bedroom. Unbeknownst to him, the wife was wide awake—only pretending to sleep.

The husband paused on the foot of the bed, muttering something about his delayed flight, "who the hell boards a plane when they have diarrhea," he said as he took off his shoes in the dark, unaware that a few minutes earlier, a naked man was fleeing from the window beside him. He walked up to the window and closed it.

The wife lay still. She tried to control her breathing and her eyes were shut tightly, as if she was bracing for impact—of words and questions and consequences. But none came. He climbed into bed, sighed with frustration about his cancelled flight, and even more about the reasons behind it.

"Ugh," he grunted as he reached for his phone, "Battery's dead. Just my luck."

She didn't respond. Her heart was pounding now. Her lips were dry. She wondered if her lover made it to his car safely. She wondered if she had missed something when she shoved everything under the bed. She wondered if his wallet was going to be exposed, lying on the floor, come daylight. She was hyperaware. She thought about how she'd never seen a darker night.

Across the street, a motion-sensor light flickered on. A cat darted away. And then— a noise. It was quick. A screech. A heavy thud. Somewhere in the dark distance a car alarm went off.

Later, the police and two ambulances arrived. They lit up the street red and blue with their lights. Then a firetruck pulled up, adding more to the light-show. After a few minutes, neighbors could be seen stepping out to their front yards. Scenes like that were rare in that peaceful neighborhood.

The first responders were puzzled at the scene. A brand new electric truck had jumped the curb. The driver, heavily intoxicated, thought the truck's self-driving feature would drive him home safely. At fifty thousand MSRP, he believed it was possible. It was not. He would not remember running over a naked man. He would not remember how his truck's bright headlights illuminated the final moments the naked man's life. He would not remember seeing his shriveled penis and a face contorted with fear, before an unceremonious demise.

The morning news would describe it as a freak accident. "Struck by lightning," one newspaper headline would read. Except in this case, there was no lightning from the sky. The man had been ran over by a Ford Lightning. His lover would be haunted by that for the rest of her life.