My Darrling (2 page)

“Mom told me to wake you up for cinnamon buns,” he squeaked.
“They’re almost ready.”

Normally we ate healthy breakfasts, but on Saturdays Mom and
Michael let us have whatever we wanted—which was usually cinnamon buns drenched
in icing, or french toast smothered in syrup.

I sat up again and stretched open my arms. “Can I have a
good morning hug first, please?”

He rolled his big green eyes and then walked over to me. He
liked hugs, but pretended he didn’t. I wrapped him in my arms and gave him a
kiss on the head.

“Tell Mom I’ll be down in a minute,” I croaked groggily as I
released him from his bear hug.

“Okay, hurry!” Elijah’s voice was small but excited.

Before I went downstairs I cracked open my laptop and
searched
his
name to see if he’d been caught yet. It took only a few
quick seconds to see that they’d made no progress; Isaac was still on the
loose. I closed my computer and joined my family downstairs for cinnamon buns.

I spent the next day with Alex, my
best friend on account of our shared love of folk music and our parents being
close friends.

Alex was the epitome of a nerd, but it was what I liked
about him. He didn’t try to be anything other than himself. He was a
take-me-or-leave-me kind of guy, and I liked that.

After spending the afternoon together window-shopping, we
grabbed lattés and took a walk through the park. The fresh, dewy air was too
nice to stay inside—especially after the scorching summer we had just survived.

I wanted to talk to Alex about Isaac, about how the killer
had been consuming the greater portion of my mind, but I didn’t know how to
bring it up. The topic made me feel guilty, dirty. It hovered over me like a
dark cloud, but at the same time it was dangerously comforting. I was at ease
when I thought of Isaac—and that terrified me.

Alex brought up the topic instead, thanks to the fact that
we ran out of things to discuss after exhausting the topics of comics, movies,
music and the weather.

“Still haven’t caught that Isaac Darrling guy I hear,” Alex
grumbled, kicking his foot through the slick leaves. The morning rain still
clung to them, brightening them up like a newly restored painting.

Why did hearing Isaac’s stupid name make my heart rap
against my ribcage in all the wrong ways? I swallowed a hot sip of my latté,
burning my tongue for the second time in under five minutes. “Yeah—no, not yet.”
I tried to sound casual. “They should be closing in on him soon, though. I
think that the media can’t say too much because Isaac can just go online and
see if they’re getting close to him.”

He nodded. “Good point. I just hope they get the sick
bastard soon. He deserves the death penalty.”

I cringed. “I wouldn’t say that….”

“You think he’s worthy of living after the repulsive things
he’s done? Come on Sophie.”

“I think he has irreparable problems and should get the punishment
he deserves, but saying that murder is wrong and proving its wrongness by
murdering someone is quite hypocritical,” I snapped. “And besides, I’m not
going to get worked up over this because we don’t have a say in it anyway. It’s
ridiculous to argue over it.” I was already worked up, though—and a little
shocked to see that Alex stood behind capital punishment, behind murder. It
wasn’t a topic we’d ever discussed with each other before, so it took me off
guard.

He shrugged. “I’m not arguing, I’m just thoroughly disgusted
by that sorry-excuse-for-a-human.”

Alex’s words hit me as though he’d said them about
me
.
I hated that. Besides, he was right; Isaac’s actions were appalling,
unforgivable.

 “Yeah,” I mumbled pathetically as my mind wandered. I was
thinking about the innocence in Isaac’s boyish smile, his perfect white teeth,
his big gray eyes—somehow so full of warmth—and the dimple on his right cheek.
I found myself scanning the face of each person we passed as though I’d spot
him, as though I
wanted
to spot him.

A low rumble of thunder interrupted our silence and that was
our cue to head home. We ran to the subway station as the rain began to spit
down on us. It was refreshing to feel the cool drops of water against my
cheeks.

Alex and I parted ways once we reached my stop. The rain
started to pour down in buckets now, so I lifted my hood up and jogged the
block-and-a-half home.

Once inside, I was hit with the smell of dinner: potatoes,
carrots, gravy and roast beef. Mom loved to cook. “Smells good,” I called out,
breathless from my jog in the rain.

I ate a lot more than usual at
dinner. My appetite tended to grow as the temperature shrunk. Alex once told me
that when the weather gets cold, our body's priority is to keep our organs
warm, and we feel hungrier so that we’ll eat more and gain enough weight to
keep our organs toasty during the cold months.

Even though I didn’t pay much mind to my weight, I did care
about my health, so I decided to get back into jogging now that it wasn’t so
obnoxiously hot outside. I used to go for a jog almost every evening before the
summer heat splashed down over New York.

I loved autumn.

I hated summer.

An hour after dinner, I got ready to run for the first time
in months. I needed to stop thinking about Isaac; I needed to purge him from my
mind.

I put on some shorts and a tank top, pulled a hoodie over my
torso, and then stretched for about five minutes. I dug my hands into the
pockets of my shorts and found an old crumpled up tissue—gross—and a ten-dollar
bill.

“Sweet!”

There’s something about finding money in your pockets that momentarily
makes you think your life is really going to turn out for the best.

I probed through the coat closet for my runners, pulled them
on and laced them up.

I stretched some more. Sheer laziness was causing me to stall.

Michael was reading the paper at the dinner table as the
dishwasher ran its cycle. Mom was upstairs giving Elijah a bath.

“I’m just heading out for a run,” I told Michael as I roped
my iPod around my arm. “Can you let Mom know I’ll be back soon?”

He glanced up from his paper and tilted his mouth to one
side. “Make sure you have your cellphone on you,” he chided. “And don’t be too
long, it’s already getting dark.”

“Got my phone,” I assured him, tapping the front pocket of
my hoodie. “And I won’t be long. I haven’t jogged in months—probably won’t make
it to the end of the driveway.”

Michael breathed a laugh then returned his attention back to
the newspaper. Probably he was catching up on sports—and reading news updates
surrounding the Fallen Angel Killer.

I popped my ear buds in, pivoted around and headed out the
door.

My cheeks cooled as they met the frigid air. It was spitting
rain, but it felt amazing. My breath fogged out in front of me. The leaves
looked like colorful, wet splatters of paint under the street lamps. I couldn’t
help but feel grateful to live in a city where we are graced by the beauty of
fall each and every year.

The moon wasn’t quite full tonight, but it still lent the
street a decent amount of light. I started my run off slow, gradually picking
up the pace until my lungs began to steadily drag in and heave out the air.
This
will take some getting used to
, I thought.

I turned left off my street, heading into town where
everything would be bustling, lit up, and people would be strolling the streets
trying to walk off their dinners.

The cool rain felt revitalizing, the drops misting my face
and legs. I kept my hoodie on because there was something about running through
the city at night wearing nothing more than a tank top and shorts that made me
feel somewhat uncomfortable. I hated standing out; I preferred to live as
inconspicuously as possible.

I didn’t even get fifteen minutes in before I decided to turn
around and jog back home. And by jog I mean mostly walk.

My lungs burned, my ears ached, my right side felt like it
was being pierced with a knife that had mini knives jutting out from the side
of it, my nose started to run, and I was thirsty as hell.

I needed to get back into shape.

As I passed a convenience store, I wished I had money to run
in and grab a bottle of water, forgetting I had found a ten-dollar bill in my
pocket earlier. I got about twenty feet past the store when I stopped in my
tracks, remembering the money, and whipped around.

I didn’t even make it out of the store before I cracked the
lid off my water and started gulping it down. I wasn’t paying much attention as
I stepped out and bumped into a boy who was making his way inside the store. He
wore a dark green military-style coat undone over a hoodie. When I saw his eyes
I nearly choked on my water. They were big, and brown and…familiar. His hair
was shaggy, blond, and mostly covered with the hood of his sweater.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes darting around anxiously. He
put his head down and bustled past me.

The dyed hair and contacts couldn’t fool me, though.

I had become too familiar with that face.

I had just bumped into Isaac Darrling, the nineteen-year-old
boy who was dubbed the Fallen Angel Killer. One of the country’s most dangerous
men. I had just bumped into a murderer, a monster—seemingly residing in an angel’s
body.

My stomach leapt into my throat. My legs felt like jelly. My
hands shook as I pulled my cellphone out of my pocket.

The convenience store was up a side street, about half a
block away from my house, and the area was fairly secluded. A car whizzed past
me and I tried to flag it down so that they could help me get away, but they
didn’t stop. I was afraid to run, afraid that Isaac saw something in my eyes
that gave away that I recognized him. Besides, my legs were too weak from
nerves to move, let alone
run
. I could not stop trembling. I felt like a
piece of fresh meat being dangled over a congregation of starving alligators.

I looked down at the phone in my shaky hand.
This is it
,
I thought
. Get it together; do this for the victims and their families. Call
the police and Isaac Darrling will be put away for life.

I could not bring myself to dial.

My hands shook like poppies in a field, and I couldn’t quite
catch my breath. Even my teeth chattered.
So this is what a panic attack
feels like
. My legs threatened to collapse below me so I leaned up against
the store’s brick wall, feeling an odd mixture of hot and cold.

Isaac stepped back out and breezed past me, his head down,
his hand clasping a plastic bag. He paid no mind to me.

Call the police
, I told myself.
Why are you being
so stupid?

I watched him walk away in the direction of the bus stop.

I kept my distance as I followed him.

I didn’t know what was happening, or why I was trailing this
monster, but my actions weren’t matching up with my mind, and my feet began to
carry me forward as though I had some sort of death wish.

Isaac stopped at the bus stop and bounced lightly on his
heels as he checked his watch.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out enough change for
bus fare.

I stared at the ground as I approached.

I held my breath and clutched my water bottle tightly to my
chest. Could he hear my heart booming?

I wanted to give up already, to run away screaming for my
life. To flag down a car and scream, “Murderer! This is the Fallen Angel
Killer!” To call the police and end everything, end Isaac’s sick game.

But I stood and waited with him nervously, the rain batting
down on me, on him. He stood only about ten feet away from me. I shifted my
eyes in his direction every few seconds. I wanted to say something, say
anything—

“The Cure?” he asked. His voice jolted me to life, scared
the shit out of me. I wasn’t expecting him to look at me let alone
speak
to me.

I hadn’t noticed the music coming from my headphones. “The
Loudest Sound” by The Cure became my favorite song the first time I heard it,
and now—in this moment—it streamed through my headphones, despite the fact that
I had over five hundred songs stored on my iPod.

I tried to stay calm, to treat him like a normal human and
pretend that I had no idea who he was; that he was a cold-blooded killer.

I nodded with feigned confidence. “Yes, I’ve always loved
The Cure.”

He shook the rain out of the wavy hair that clung to the
front of his face. Water dripped from his nose to his lips and off his chin.

God he was beautiful.

He was even more beautiful in person.

“The Cure have been my favorite band for a long time.” He
smiled, a shy, boyish smile.

“Me too,” I blurted out. “I was twelve when I first heard
them. Right after that, I went out and bought their CD’s with my allowance
money…have listened to their music almost every day since.”

Why did I tell him all of that?
I cringed with
embarrassment. No one cared about what I did with my allowance money when I was
little.

Isaac smiled, looked like he was about to say something, but
the bus came screeching up and drowned out the silence. A calmness washed over
me. My hands weren’t shaking anymore. My legs felt strong; I felt strong. But I
was still cold and wet from the rain.

Isaac gestured at the bus steps. “After you.”

I hesitated, sucked in a deep breath, then walked forward
and up the metal stairs. As I went to pay my fare, Isaac leaned forward and put
enough change in the fare booth for both of us. His cheek was half an inch away
from mine and I could smell his cologne, an intoxicating mixture of something
sweet and woodsy.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said shyly. “Thanks.”

“No worries.”

I claimed my seat on the bus, and Isaac sat right beside me.