In the Dark

When the lights turned on, a slow drip dropped down into a spreading pool of melted ice cream. Pastel confetti in pinks, yellows, and blues cheerily swirled across a lazy river of French vanilla and chocolate sauce. Whorls of whipped cream deflated in a weary sigh, subsiding from the ruptures in the crumbling Oreo frame. The still face resting in the soft-serve pillow could have been dreaming in sugar-spun sleep, except for the splash of hot red slashed across the pressed confection letters, the blue-tipped fingers scattered across the table top, the white flecks of icing spattered on a broken skull.

* * *

Devon had a thing about the dark. Childish, he knew, but he could not sit still in a room with all the lights off, always had an emergency flashlight on his key chain. On occasion, he’d make the acquaintance of someone who preferred to do it in the dark, and it was real easy to put off the moment while Devon was laser-focused on the distance to the bedside lamp.

No such problems with Adele. The sweet-faced insomniac kept the lights on all night, the myriad craft projects of a DIY event planner filling the apartment with battery-powered tea lights and strings of LEDs. Devon was slightly embarrassed but mostly charmed when, a few months into their situationship, Adele remembered his birthday with a blue box nightlight.

With the press of a button, the blue beacon flashed across Adele’s unclothed skin, gleaming on her grin at the trademark sound of a time machine in flight. “What do you think?” she asked, resting her chin on Devon’s chest. “Future or past?”

Combing through her tangle of soft hair, Devon said, “Past, definitely. I don’t like surprises.”

“You wanna kill Hitler?”

Devon snorted. “Not I, said the fly. I’d rather save a life than take one.”

Running her finger down the length of his sternum, Adele murmured, “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.” As she snuggled up against him, Devon decided he wanted his next birthday, his next decades’ worth of birthdays, to be just like that.

But first, he had to figure out when hers was. “Can’t help you, there,” said Adele’s friend, Eva. “We do so many anniversaries and christenings, I always see her surrounded by balloons.”

“Can you find out for me?” Devon pressed. “We’re kind of past the point when I should have asked.”

Eva snorted. “You’re telling me? I’ve known her five years, I don’t even know her star sign. Come to think of it, she always remembers mine.”

In the end, Devon chose a discrete moment to peek at Adele’s driver’s license. “November 30th. What is that, Scorpio?”

“Ophiuchus,” Eva said. “The serpent bearer. Coming right up. What are you gonna do?”

Devon shrugged. “Well, it’s a good thing I know an event planner.”

When Eva proposed a surprise party, it didn’t occur to Devon that part of the ‘surprise’ aspect meant waiting for a while in the dark. The apartment was decorated with streamers and balloons, flowers, votives, whatever the hell they were, and a giggly bunch of Adele’s friends. Not a social creature, Devon knew he had to endear himself to these strangers if he wanted to take things to the next level, but all the chatter about embossed this and perennial that just set his teeth on edge. He took a breather in the bedroom, staring into the blue box nightlight and thinking back to urgent whispers once upon a well-lit midnight. Somewhat settled, Devon opened the bedroom door to a sudden rush of pitch black.

“Get down!” Someone yanked on Devon’s pant leg, knocking the knees out from under him as the door closed on the blue ghost light.

Murky grey shapes bloomed and shifted across Devon’s straining eyes, the air pressing in too close around him as he shuffled on his hands and knees, shrinking from strange sounds on every side of him, unknown voices snickering in the dark. Disembodied hands pawed at him as he bumped into furniture, hot breath steamed against his skin, all his clothes were too loose and too tight at the same time, his things weren’t where he expected them to be. He felt along the outline of his sofa and pressed tight against it, clutching the scratchy fabric as the only truth left when the world ends, squeezing his eyes shut as if that made any difference at all.

“Hey,” was Eva’s hot whisper. “Are you okay?”

Devon couldn’t get his voice out, his heart lodged in the hitch of his throat. The awful sound of metallic claws scraped against the traitorous tumblers failing as Devon’s last line of defense, arthritic hinges keening as a dark intruder, a hostile invader, threatened to strike blindly into the pitch black trap.

“Surprise!”

Light seared into Devon’s eyes, stinging and watering as the bright flood washed over him. Relief inflated within him, easing breath back into his lungs until he was jerked to his feet. Turned and pushed, stumbling forward, Devon clutched onto Adele’s arms, staring into eyes as wide and shell-shocked as his own.

Slipping from Devon’s grasp, Adele whirled in a balletic spin that propelled her down the hall, away from the open door. Throwing a glance over his shoulder at the sea of baffled faces, Devon hurried after her, thundering down the stairs. “Adele!”

Bursting through the main door, Devon found Adele at the bottom of the short flight of concrete steps, staring in horror at her own knee as the fresh scrape started to bleed. “Hey, hey!” Devon grabbed her shuddering shoulders, wrapping his arms around her as she started to sob. “You’re okay! What happened?”

Pressing her face into his chest, Adele cried ugly, gasping sobs, clinging to him as awkward minutes passed for the guests upstairs. Devon made vague shushing sounds as his shirt soaked through, and it surprised him that, as uncomfortable as the situation was, he much preferred it to the stifling small talk he’d escaped. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “I’m right here.”

Adele scrubbed at her cheeks. “I don’t do birthdays.”

Devon shrugged. “Got it.”

Blowing a honking snort of snot across her sleeve, Adele muttered, “You must think I’m a psycho.”

Devon combed through her rebelling hair. “Not I, said the fly.”

Adele scoffed, rubbing her hand over her face. “I know it’s childish. And I know you went to a lot of trouble inviting all those people—”

“Fuck ‘em,” Devon insisted. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Adele looked up, holding out her arms to the distant sky. “It’s dark.”

Devon clicked on his keychain flashlight and helped Adele to her feet, an arm tight around her shoulders as they strolled into the night. There was persistent buzzing in both of their pockets as Eva frantically tried to get ahold of them, but they blithely slipped through her fingers. For a long time, they said nothing, and that was all they needed to say.

Finally, Adele released a deep breath. “Something happened to me,” she said. “Years ago. I was working a fundraiser, and the event got robbed.”

Devon took his hand away from Adele’s shoulder, burying it in his pocket as they walked. Adele kept her eyes on the flashlight circle on the sidewalk in front of her. “These men came in, waving guns around. We all got down on the ground, handed over whatever they asked. Someone must have called the cops; the whole thing was over in minutes. And then, in the walk-in was my best friend, face down in my surprise birthday cake. Shot in the head. Died instantly.”

They had stopped walking. Adele brushed her hand across her eyes. “They think it was an accident, some wild pot shot in the dark. I can’t get through this day without thinking about it. I see my name on a cake, or a card, I get flashbacks. When anyone sings that stupid song, I hear gunshots. I know you didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is,” Devon said.

Adele smiled at him, starry-eyed. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”

She reached for his hand, but Devon jerked away, dropping the cheap plastic flashlight to crack against the ground. Devon sucked in a shallow breath, darkness closing in around him. “Years ago,” his hollow voice said. “I had a gun…”