“Sometimes,” Alejo sighed, “it’s not about figuring things out. It’s about being a family. Your dad’s been dealing with this place all alone. The least we can do is come here and support him.”
“Oh yeah, because he’s been super supportive of us.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Alejo stared at the ceiling with a difficult expression. After a moment, he rolled over and pushed himself from the bed. As if to reassure her he wasn’t mad, he smiled, but it was mournful.
“It’ll look good in here with the string lights,” Alejo said. “Maybe we’ll go shopping tomorrow.”
Logan nodded. It was like she was drowning, but these weren’t waters she’d ever been in with Alejo. He wasn’t Brandon—they’d never had this wall of silence between them. She wanted to ask why Brandon had been here for so long. She wanted to ask about the missing boy. She wanted to beg him to leave.
Instead, she said, “Good night, Dad.”
Interlude
The Dark is not a monster.
It simply is.
It enjoys this world and its sorrows. It tastes the tang of fear on the wind. It has seen great and shining cities by the sea, lush forests absent of human life, deserts so wide they turn horizons to gold. But it likes Snakebite best of all. Snakebite is where the Dark was born. Snakebite is the Dark’s home.
The Dark is hungry tonight.
It is starving.
The host sits alone. He often sits alone, silently oscillating between guilt and apathy. The TV is on as it always is, playing a sports game that the host does not watch. The host cannot watch. He thinks about blood between his fingers. He thinks about the sounds of strangled gasps and crunching bones. These things didn’t used to plague the host’s thoughts, but now death is the only thing on his mind. Not fear of death, but desire for it.
The host needs death like he needs air to breathe.
You want it, don’t you? the Dark whispers to the host when they are alone. You’re strong, but not strong enough. Why not do what you want?
The host winces. “I will. Later. People are still scared.”
It’s been plenty of time, the Dark breathes. Its voice gusts through the room like a warm breeze. No one is looking anymore. No one cares. They have moved on. The same will be true of the next.
The host leans back in his chair. He doesn’t like being pressured like this, but the Dark has waited long enough for him to strike. It grows weaker with each passing day. It ebbs and flows in the shadows, swimming to stay alive while its useless host sits around and thinks.
“What’re you getting from this?” the host asks. He kicks his feet up on the coffee table and closes his eyes. “Is this making you stronger?”
It has nothing to do with me, the Dark reminds him. I came to you because you need help. Hosts before you have been too afraid to understand what I offer. Do not run away from yourself.
The host looks at his hands.
This is only temporary, the Dark says. As I told you in the beginning, when you have the strength to stand on your own, I will leave you. When your heart tells you what it wants and you no longer hesitate to act, you will not need me.
The host likes this idea. He imagines himself roaming the country on a spree, too smart to be caught. He imagines news stations decrying his actions, horrified and fascinated by him in equal measure. He imagines the news articles written about him, trying to understand how he did it; how he got away with it. The Dark’s claws are sunken so deep into him he cannot feel them there. The host makes a contemplative click with his tongue. “What if you want me to do something I don’t wanna do?”
Impossible. I can only want what you want. That is my nature. The Dark encases the host—he feels its warmth and is comforted. For as long as you carry me, I am you. I can be nothing more.