Page 18 of Promises in the Dark

Where the fuck are you? The memorial starts in thirty minutes.

I roll my neck and slide my phone into my pocket.

“Lucky for you, I have somewhere I need to be.” I stand, take a few steps, then stop when a photo on the fireplace mantle catches my attention. I lift the gold frame, holding it before my eyes. It’s a portrait of Charlotte and Garrett on their wedding day. To most, they probably resemble political royalty, a match made in heaven. But upon further inspection, one would note the fear shadowed across Charlotte’s eyes and the way Garrett’s fingers dig punishingly into her waist.

I drop the photo on the mantle and pivot, facing the guard. “When she screamed for help, what did you do?”

He pales, his eyes shifting around the room. “W-what do you mean?”

My fingers curl into fists as I take two steps closer. “When Charlotte, the woman you were supposed to protect, screamed for help because her husband was beating her or forcing himself on her, what did you do?”

He subtly shakes his head. “H-he never did—”

“You’re about to find out what I do to liars,” I say, malice bleeding in each syllable.

“There was nothing I could do!” His face twists with fear. “I don’t work for her; I work for him! He pays my bills. If I had intervened, I would have been fired.”

I stare at him, reining in my fury as every muscle in my body trembles.

He did nothing…

So now he’ll pay for it.

Without a word, I turn and head for the front door. Cobblestones line the driveway, and I cross them to my car, open the trunk, and grab both gallons of gasoline. I go back inside, leave one at the bottom of the staircase, and climb each step to the top. I open every door until I find the master bedroom, dousing the bed in liquid. I make a trail through the hallway and open the last door.

There’s a single twin bed with white bedding, white walls, and white carpeting. But it’s not the plainness that has me pausing. I enter the room and run my fingers along a silver chain attached to the headboard; on the other end is a set of cuffs. I lift them, finding tiny droplets of dried blood.

Figlio di puttana!

I storm out and head downstairs, tossing the empty canister aside while grabbing the second. I open the nozzle and pour gasoline through the main entryway, straight into the living room where I left the useless piece of shit.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He yanks on the rope as if he can actually free himself. The sight almost makes me want to laugh.

I stand before him, staring into his beady eyes.

And I know he sees it.

Not the man I am, but the monster that resides inside me.

Usually dormant, but now… Now, it feels fully unleashed.

I empty the contents over him, watching him spit out gasoline and choke like a fish out of water.

I lower my face to inches from his. “She screamed for help, and no one came. She begged for mercy, and no one gave it to her. So now, that’s exactly what’s going to happen to you.”

I straighten, drop the container, and reach into my pocket. I pull out my lighter, and the guard’s eyes widen, all color draining from his face.

“N-no. No! No! Please don’t do this! I’ll do anything! Please!”

“Nothing can undo her death.” I step back and drop the lighter, watching the flames engulf him within seconds as the scent of burnt flesh fills the room. I walk to the fireplace mantle, grip the wedding photo, and toss it into the fire.

I stride outside, slide into the driver’s seat, remove my gloves, and reach into the back seat for a clean shirt. Flames dance along almost every window of the mansion, which will soon be nothing but ash. When sirens sound a few streets away, I accelerate, my fingers clutching the steering wheel with too much force as I turn onto the highway, heading toward Charlotte’s memorial service.

An image of Charlotte stares back at me, framed by a wreath of white roses and lilies. Her rich gold-blonde strands cascade past her shoulders, covered by black sleeves, while her faux smile does little to hide the sadness in her soft green eyes. A sharp pang claws across my chest, and I rub my knuckles over it as the reminder of what I did echoes around me.

You failed her.

“Comfort us who mourn, and strengthen our faith in the promise of eternal life. Help us to trust in Your love, even in our sorrow.” The priest’s words blur as my eyes scan the outdoor space, searching for the one man I can’t wait to get my hands on and tear from limb to limb. Slowly. Painfully. “And now,” the priest begins, “Charlotte’s husband, Garrett, would like to end this service by saying a few words.”