Page 3 of Soul So Dark
And I can’t take the silence.
Everything seems normal at first; the morning sun is brilliant, I’m putting on makeup, I’m throwing things in my school bag. My mom yells something up the stairs, but I don’t hear it. And after she and Scott rush out of the house, I don’t know what to do. I can’t go to school because Colson’s not here and I always ride with him. He was here last night, why did he leave early?
I text my best friend, Shelby, but she’s probably headed to school. Eventually, she texts back, but I don’t know what to say because I don’t know what’s going on.Instead, I wander around my house, listless, and then sit in my room because everything feels eerie and still. I feel better shut inside my room with its bright bubblegum pink walls, surrounded by all things familiar and good. I’m coming back upstairs after filling my purple tumbler when my phone vibrates with a text.
SHELBY (11:02AM): Omfg Dallas are you OK?
What is she talking about?
There’s a link below to a news site. I click on it and a video appears of a woman standing on the side of the road with a microphone. And then everything stops. My arm falls and the handle of my cup slips from my fingers, bouncing onto the carpet at my feet.
A jolt shoots through my chest and my heart feels like it’s about to explode. And then I feel my cheeks move, my muscles tense, and suddenly my face contorts into a grotesque mask as sobs heave from my chest. I start staggering around the hallway like I’m searching for something, but I don’t know what.
On instinct, I pass my room, heading for the one on the other side of Colson’s. And when I burst through the door, I hope I’ll wake up and the nightmare will end. Evie’s bed, with the tufted white comforter and green quilt, is still made. My eyes dart to her pillows, where a ragged stuffed dog lays, just where she left it. It looks like a wolf with black fur and its paws splayed out, but Evie says it’s supposed to be a German Shepherd, just like the one she had at her mom’s house when she was younger. The pointy ears are lop-sided now and the fur is flattened, but something propels me forward and I scramble across the bed, grabbing the plush toy and collapsing onto her pillows.
It still smells like her, and when I bury my face in the pillows, they still smell like her, too. All of it draws the most gut-wrenching scream from my throat followed by a barrage of pathetic sobs. After a few minutes, I’m just shaking in silent convulsions, all alone while I squeak out Evie’s name between gasps.
Where did you go? How could you leave me like this?
Catatonic, I stare at the sage green walls and imagine a thousand scenarios where Evie walks through the door, asks why I’m being a sad sack, and tells me to wash my face because we’re going to the creek, or shopping, or to the ancient Dairy Queen by the community pool, or one of the other countless places we go together whenever she comes to Dire Ridge.
What do I do now? Evie is my safe place; the only person I ever wanted to be like. And if she’s gone now, then what do I do?
I want to stay in here forever and not face the terrifying reality outside, but as soon as I hear the door open downstairs, I know I can’t. I drag myself off Evie’s bed, taking her stuffed dog with me, and stagger back down the hall to my own room before anyone can see me.
By late afternoon, it’s all over the news and social media and my phone is buzzing and flashing like it’s about to self-destruct. Colson found Evie in the woods. He and Mason found her “lifeless body” in the creek.
But it all means the same thing—she’s not coming home.
I recognize Colson’s footsteps. He walks past my doorway and into his room. Then there’s a knock before my mom appears in my doorway. After a few moments, she finally steps through the threshold and sits down on the edge of my bed. Her long black hair is immaculate, like usual, but she looks haggard and on edge. She must notice my swollen face and exhausted eyes, because she doesn’t bother asking if I’m alright. She starts to tell me what happened, but I’ve already heard it. And by the time she leaves to do whatever parents do when they find out one of their kids has been lying dead in the woods, my face is just as tear-stained as hers.
The story is the same, over and over, and by that night, I’ve heard it a million times in a million different ways. I have to stop, so I do the only thing I can think of. I turn on my PlayStation and start playingWitcher 3on my TV mounted above my shelves in an effort to get lost in a different world that doesn’t so closely resemble hell.
Suddenly, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye and when I glance over, Colson’s eclipsing the doorway. He doesn’t say anything, but after a minute, he strolls across the room and sits down next to me, his eyes glued to the screen. I keep playing, because he doesn’t talk, and I don’t want to, either.
Colson can read people, so he probably knows that I don’t know what the hell to do or say even though I usually talk to him about every random thing I think of. He seems calm now, but I don’t want to think about what he must’ve been like earlier. Now, I’m dreading tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…
Colson leans back onto the pillow, his arm behind his head, and stays that way.
“Use the Axii Sign,” he finally says about 45 minutes later.
I do what he says and get the information I need from the idiots in the tavern for my Geralt to continue his quest.
“That was easy,” I laugh under my breath.
“You’re too nice,” Colson chides with a sigh, his eyes still glued to the screen, “you should lean into being a prick.”
Like you?
“You don’t have to be selfless all the time.”
I’m about to argue with him, tell him that it takes more energy to be mean to someone than kind, but before I can, I realize that he’s not talking about the game anymore. I want to know what he knows, but I don’t have the energy or the courage to dig deeper. I don’t even have the energy to get up and go through my regular nighttime routine.
It’s dark now, and Colson’s already asleep, sprawled out on the white bedspread next to me. So, when I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, I turn off the lights and crawl under the blanket and try to forget where I am. And maybe the universe is giving me a break, because I fall asleep almost immediately.
But I don’t stay that way.
I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, only that it’s still dark when a deafening roar rips through my room.
