My Darrling (4 page)

Why couldn’t I be attracted to a guy like Alex? Or just
anyone other than Isaac?

I felt like this was something I had absolutely no control
over, though. If I did, so help me God I would have called the police and had
Isaac detained. But I could not help that I was drawn to Isaac. I hated it, but
I couldn’t stop—it controlled me. I wanted to know him.
Needed
to.

I tucked my phone back into my pocket, ran my fingers
through my hair and then opened the door and stepped out. Isaac stood up from
his seat when he saw me. He grabbed his jacket from my chair and held it out to
me.

“No, it’s yours. Please, you wear it,” I insisted.

He didn’t say anything, just moved the jacket closer to me
and smiled. I reluctantly slid one arm in, then the other. I inhaled his scent
and calmness flourished through me.

We threw our paper cups and my water bottle in the
recycling. I shoved my iPod and ear buds in my shorts pocket. I gave a polite ‘thank
you’ nod to the barista, watching her closely to see if she suspected anything.
Smiling, she nodded back, grabbed a cloth and then began wiping down the
counter. I glanced at the only other people in the café: two middle-aged men
sitting across from each other with their laptops open in front of them. Neither
of them paid any mind to us.

We stepped out of the café and a smooth, cool breeze ghosted
across my face. I inhaled the crisp air; I inhaled the moment. I felt bloated
with happiness, stuffed with elation. And I was exploding with regret.

“Where to?” Isaac asked, his eyes looking down at me. He was
very tall; I was about level with his shoulders.

I thought about fleeing pretty much every time my heart
beat. Logic told me to run; heart—and blatant stupidity—told me to stay.

“Doesn’t matter. We can just walk.” I hugged my arms around
my torso as a stronger wind cut past us.

As we walked, we got to know each other. Isaac liked comic as
much as I did. We playfully argued over which was better: Marvel or DC Comics.
I’ve always preferred DC because of Wonder Woman—she kicks ass. Isaac liked
Marvel because of Wolverine—his favorite superhero.

Eventually we ended up on the topic of seasons. Isaac made
his love for summer known, while I rolled my eyes and argued that fall was
obviously the best season. Nothing beats wrapping your hands around a mug of
hot chocolate with marshmallows and cinnamon; the crisp, clean air; big, cozy
sweaters; reading by the fire; and, of course, pumpkin-flavored everything.

He looked around at the trees raining gold, red and chestnut
leaves, then down at me. “I have to admit, I do see the appeal of fall. The air
is fresher, and the leaves are quite captivating.” He paused and looked down at
me, smiling thoughtfully. “Your hair reminds me of the leaves.”

“Leaves?” I knew my hair was messy, but was it so bad that
it looked like a pile of leaves?

“The colors,” he corrected. “When you walk under a street
lamp I can see brown, gold and red highlights in it.”

I half-laughed. “Yeah, I got my dad’s hair.”

He smiled, rousing the dimple on his right cheek. “It’s
beautiful.”

I felt my cheeks flush a tomato red. “T–thank you.” No one
had ever complimented my hair before. No one had really complimented me on
anything before—except for Mom, but that was her job.

I was hardly paying attention to where we were walking, and
when I looked up I saw that we had ventured down a mostly deserted side street,
save for a large gas station with awful fluorescent lighting emanating from it.
There was an abandoned mechanic shop beside it, and about thirty feet ahead
there was what used to be a fruit market.

After walking for another few minutes we ended up passing an
adult shop and we both tried to act like we didn’t see it, but the words XXX
ADULT TOYS XXX flashed in huge, bright-red light that lit up the entire sidewalk—so
it was hard to pretend. I felt so awkward that I almost started laughing.

As we walked past a large green dumpster I had to hold my
breath. It smelled like death. I started scanning the ground for rats—this was
the type of street you’d see them on. I shuddered at the thought. Rats
terrified me.

Rats.

I was worried about rats while I strolled down a deserted
street with a killer. Why didn’t I feel afraid with Isaac? Why did I feel
safe
with him? Why have I felt invincible since the moment we stepped onto that bus
together?

“This street is…creepy,” Isaac acknowledged. “We should probably
turn around—this doesn’t seem like the best place to be.” He pivoted around and
headed back in the direction we came from.

I followed, peeking up at him through my eyelashes. The way
the moon shone across Isaac’s face made him look threatening for the first
time. His eye sockets looked darker, deeper; his jaw sharp and chiseled. He
looked statuesque. He looked lethal. It was only the lack of lighting, though,
because as we walked under a bright streetlight it lit up his face, diminishing
the dark shadows, and the warm innocent-looking Isaac returned.

So there we were, two teenagers walking side-by-side on a
crisp, damp night. I was a normal girl who managed to get good grades and
wanted to be a criminal psychologist; who played piano and loved graphic
novels, historical fiction and music. And Isaac was a boy who loved summer, lots
of sugar in his coffee, The Cure, comic books…and brutally murdering human
beings.

That last part didn’t seem to register with me, though.

It wasn’t just Isaac’s beautiful face that made it all so
hard to believe; I was well aware that a person’s looks, their exterior, had
nothing to do with how good of a person they were—or weren’t. It was everything:
his politeness, his shyness, his gentle voice, his entire demeanor.

“We should probably call it a night,” Isaac said, just as I
was about to ask where he wanted to go next. “I have an early morning ahead of
me tomorrow, and I’m sure your parents want you home.”

I felt the life drain out of me like air from a balloon. I
wasn’t ready to go home. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. And with Isaac, goodbye
could actually mean forever.

I stopped abruptly and felt something inside—a burst of
courage, or maybe desperation—rise up through me. I couldn’t suppress it anymore.
“Look,” I blurted out, “I—I know who you are, Isaac.”

When I said his name his mouth twitched slightly. His eyes
moved to the ground and he ran his hand through his hair. “I had a feeling you
knew,” he replied, his voice barely audible. He looked up at me, and when his
eyes met mine it actually took my breath away, felt like I was punched in the
stomach. He was painfully beautiful. “But I don’t understand, aren’t you
afraid?”

Now I was a little afraid.

Before I felt safe, tucked behind my feigned ignorance. Now
I felt naked and vulnerable, and I couldn’t help but wonder if knowing what I
knew could get me killed. I wanted to vacuum my words back up and return to how
we were a few moments ago; me pretending I didn’t know that Isaac Darrling was
currently the country’s most wanted killer.

“Yeah, I’m afraid now.” I swallowed hard.

His expression sharpened. His eyes bore into mine. He curled
and uncurled his fists then skated his tongue across his lower lip.

My heart hammered violently in my chest; it pumped so hard
that it began to hurt. My ribs felt sore, and my chest tightened up. My throat
felt dry and small; I could hardly pull air through it.

“Don’t be afraid, Sophie,” he finally said. “I don’t want to
hurt you.” He paused, frowned. “But please, be cautious. I don’t know what I’m
capable of.”

And with that, my heartbeat steadied, my throat loosened up
and I could breathe again. I drank in a deep breath that felt like it nourished
every cell of my body.

My fear subsided, but now I began to seethe with anger over
what Isaac had done, over all of the pain he had caused. I knew that pain all
too well. I may have only been two years old when my dad was murdered, but his
permanent void was still very painful.

“What you do is disgusting!” I spat the words out like they
tasted bad. “You’re a monster! A cruel, vicious, sadistic, inhumane—” I stopped
there. The hurt in Isaac’s eyes was heartbreaking. My words were making him
feel pain, and I don’t know why, but I never wanted Isaac to feel pain. I only
wanted happiness for him. I wanted him to feel loved. “And I’m no better
because I want to be near you. I’ve wanted to be near you since I first started
following your case, and tonight I realized that I feel…comfortable with you.”
I bit the edge of my lip in an attempt to stop myself from saying anymore, but
it didn’t work. “More comfortable than I’ve ever felt with anyone in my life.
It feels like I’ve known you my entire life, Isaac. I had a strong, unrelenting
feeling about you the first time I saw your picture online.”

He bounced on his heels nervously, glancing around to make
sure no one was near. The pain drained from his eyes and was replaced with
something indescribable. Hope, maybe. Or concern. “Why do you want to be near someone
so corrupt like me, Sophie? Of all the people….”

I shook my head, confused. “I wish I could understand it, I
wish I knew. The only thing I’m certain about is that you won’t hurt me. I feel
it; I felt it the second you brushed past me at the convenience store. I see it
in your eyes. I—this is crazy—but I
trust
you.”

He laughed, menacingly. “That’s ridiculous—you shouldn’t.”

“I want to help you, Isaac.”

“What will your help do for me once I’m caught and sentenced
to life in prison, or better yet, death?”

I cringed at that thought. “Don’t you think you deserve to
be locked away? Your victims don’t get to just walk up out of their graves, you
know? Their loved ones are forever damaged. You’ve caused so much pain, so much
hurt and suffering.”

He couldn’t look at me.

He walked over to the curb and sat down. He looked weak in
this moment, exhausted. “I didn’t say that I don’t deserve what’s coming to me.
I’m just”—he rested his face in his palms—“confused, tired.”

I sat down beside him. A breeze cut past us and blew Isaac’s
hair around. I inhaled. His scent was utterly intoxicating.

I wanted to remind him that his victims felt terrified, too.
I wanted to yell at him and tell him that I hope his fear eats away at him;
that I hope the tiny cell he’ll spend the rest of his life in is his own
personal hell. But there were boundaries, and I didn’t want to cross them,
didn’t want to anger him while we sat on a secluded street together. As much as
I felt safe with Isaac, as certain as I was that he wouldn’t hurt me on
purpose, I still knew he was capable of snapping, losing control, if he was
pushed. I knew that he was numb, fearless, and I believe there is nothing more
fearful than the fearless.

“Where are you staying?” I inquired, not exactly sure where
I was going with it.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’d rather not say.”

“Isaac, I won’t tell anyone. I swear.” I sighed. “I’m
afraid, too. Afraid that I won’t be able to see you ever again…even though I know
you deserve what’s coming to you. I wish I didn’t care, but I do.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand you. Don’t you
realize wh—what I
do
? I get these urges—it’s like a burning itch, and
there’s only one way to scratch it. I feel like you don’t get that.”

“I don’t understand it myself. I mean, what you’ve done
sickens me to my core, and I hate you for it. I know I’ve crossed a moral line
by talking to you, by not reporting you, but I just—” I stopped there because
everything I was saying, everything I was thinking, was messed up. Everything
was a contradiction: I hated him, but I wanted to be closer to him; he was
frightening, but I wasn’t afraid; he was a cold-blooded killer, but he was
beautiful.

But his past, his problems, they didn’t matter.

I gave in and decided right then and there that I didn’t
care that Isaac was a monster; I didn’t care that the world saw him as pure
unsalvageable evil. What I felt for him came from a place inside of me that I
could not control; a place I never knew existed within me. What I felt for him
was pure, and it existed without the constraints of condition.

“I just see more to you than what the rest of the world
sees.” I rushed the words out.

He glanced over at me and our eyes locked. He had tears in
his eyes, but they did not spill over. He pinched his lips together. “Thank
you.”

My phone buzzed and I reached for it instinctively. “I
better take this, it’s my mom.”

As I predicted, she wanted me home immediately. She had just
heard about the Fallen Angel Killer sighting in our area and was worried sick. I
told her I was on my way.

After I hung up, I took Isaac’s jacket off and handed it to
him. “My mom wants me home now. Thanks for letting me wear this.”

He reached out hesitantly. “You don’t need it for the way
home?”

I shook my head. “No, I’ll be okay.”

I struggled with the decision to tell him that he’d been
spotted boarding a bus earlier. Police would be crawling the streets looking
for any sign of the Fallen Angel Killer. They would be hot on his trail now. In
the end, I bit my tongue. I’d crossed enough moral lines, and although I was
certain I’d cross more, I didn’t want this to be one of them. I didn’t want to
feel like I was working against the victims, trying to protect their killer. If
Isaac was caught, I’d have to deal with it, move on—even though the thought of
it made my stomach knot, made me afraid.

We continued our walk back to the bus stop in silence. Once
we got there, Isaac finally spoke. “I’m staying in a run down motel under the
alias Harold Harte,” he half-whispered, darting his eyes around to make sure no
one was near. The streets were uncharacteristically deserted for a weekend.
Probably because news broke that the killer was in the area.