Page 12 of The Darkness Within

“Morning,” he greets, clutching a travel cup of coffee. I can see steam rising through the hole in the lid, and I’m envious that I didn’t think to bring my coffee maker from my old place.

“Morning,” I mumble, my voice full of gravel.

It’s not until I glance up that I receive a shock to my system, more potent than caffeine. My neighbor is huge—a big, burly man stacked with muscle and scarred over most of his body. Half of his face is covered in burns. Fresh ones from the looks of it because they’re swollen and red.

“Rough night?”

“Excuse me?”

“Last night, it sounded like you were having a rough time.”

“The fuck?” Oh God, the shovel. Did it actually go all the way through the wall into his apartment? “Yeah, I was. The remote control slipped out of my hand and hit the wall,” I improvise.

“I see,” he chuckles, stroking his dark goatee. “That’s happened to me a few times.”

He’s wearing a faded khaki Army pride shirt, and it hits me. This man is not much different than me. He served. He suffered. And from the sound of it, he knows I’m suffering, too.

“So listen, if you need help fixing that wall, just knock on my door. I’ve got tools, and together, we can knock it out.” When I just stare blankly, he adds, “You know, so you don’t lose your deposit? By the way, I’m Armando Cahill, but you can call me Mandy.”

He sticks out his hand, and I realize he’s waiting for me to introduce myself. “Nash Sommers. Thanks for the offer.”

As I head toward the parking lot, Mandy follows, and I know he’s assessing my gait. There’s no hiding my glaringly obvious limp. “You headed to base?” It’s an easy guess considering I’m dressed in my BDUs, the same dirty ones I wore yesterday.

“Yeah, just biding my time in the Rear D until my retirement comes through.”

“Been there, done that,” he chuckles. “When I come over to fix your wall, you can tell me all about it.” He opens his car door and ducks inside, calling out, “Have a good day, Sergeant,” before shutting the door.

Huh, an encounter that actually went pleasantly. That’s fucking rare.

Thank God it’s Saturday and I don’t have to be at work. In fact, it’s almost two in the afternoon and I’m still in bed. I’m awake, been awake for hours, but just lying here in the dark, sedated, hiding from the world. My phone beeps with a message, and I’m reluctant to check it because I don’t want to answer to anyone or put clothes on. The screen lights up, flashing too bright for my sensitive eyes, and I have to squint as I read the message.

Liza:

I’m in the neighborhood and figured I would drop by and say hello. See you soon.

Fuck me. I definitely have to put clothes on. Sitting up, my head spins and my stomach gurgles, reminding me that I skipped dinner last night. Rolling to my knees, I struggle to stand, reaching for my jeans. There’s a gray T-shirt on the floor, crumpled in a ball, and I shake out the wrinkles and sniff it. Sour, but it’ll do. In a groggy haze, I shuffle to the bathroom to take a piss and brush my teeth, and it hits me in a moment of clarity.

Liza is coming over!

I don’t have a stitch of fucking furniture in this apartment. No food in the fridge. No plates or forks to eat it with anyways. I have nothing. And I’m not high enough to endure her concerned wrath. My foggy brain struggles to come up with a solution as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I have no time for a shower, or to shave my two-day beard growth. I only have time for one thing. Grabbing the phone again, I reply to Liza.

Apartment 17A

As fast as my leg will allow, I rush next door and bang on Mandy’s door loud enough to shake it from its hinges. He answers the door holding a hammer, a lazy grin stretching across his scruffy lips.

“Ready to fix that hole in the wall?”

“Actually, I need you to do me a huge favor.” It takes balls to ask for a favor from a guy you don’t know. And I’m too high to care if I have any or not.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I need to borrow your apartment.” The confusion on his face is priceless.

“Borrow my apartment? How does that work exactly?”

This sounded better in my head. “Like, you go stand in my apartment and I pretend this one is mine.” Mandy laughs like I’m playing a joke on him. I might as well be for how outlandish my request sounds.

“Oh, you’re serious,” he realizes when I don’t laugh with him. “For how long?”

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