Laurel HansonDecember 1, 2007

Final story

Into The Night

Summary: <img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y135/dreamingofsun/intothenight.jpg" alt="Image hosted by Photobucket.com"><i>We can only truly see the stars when all the lights go out.</i> When demons from her past resurface, Kali is forced to make a choice between her fiancé of four years and the man she once loved more than life itself. Facts are scarce and trust is crucial in a world where the only truth is in what you believe.

<i><center> There is no good or evil, save in the way you see the world. There is no dark or light, save in your own vision.

- Juliet Marillier</center></i>

It was the hand on her shoulder that woke her. Shifting uneasily in her bed, she opened heavy eyes and saw the shadowy figure standing over her.

“James?” she murmured sleepily. “I thought you were in Munich.”

“Kali, it’s me.” The quiet voice, so foreign and yet so recognizable, pulled her fully out of her slumber and into a sitting position.

“<i>Peter</i>?”

“Yeah.”

“What . . . why the <i>hell</i> are you here?”

“I just want to talk, Kals.”

“Why aren’t you in <i>prison</i>?” she spat.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m not interested. Get out.”

“It’s about James.”

“You lost the right to talk about him four years ago.”

“Kali, you’re in danger.”

“Only from you.”

“Kali, <i>please</i>.” She sighed and ran a hand through her tousled hair, her eyes finally starting to make out his figure. Almost a head taller than James, he had always towered over her. She could barely see the outline of longish hair and his face was hidden in the shadow, but she knew what she would see. Slate grey eyes, thin nose, soft lips, black hair. How could she not remember? The face was burned into her memory as vividly as James’ was.

“Get out of my house,” she said quietly.

“Just a cup of tea. Then you can send me on my way.”

“How did you get in?”

“It’s not important.”

“Peter, <i>what are you doing here</i>?”

“Sit with me and I’ll tell you.” She sighed. Her better judgment was telling her to exile him immediately, send him out into the snow and out of her life. But natural curiosity was piqued too much to let him go, and she never had been able to resist him . . .

“I’ll be out in a minute.” He nodded and walked out of her room, closing the door gently behind him. She got out of bed, pulled on some pants and a bra, and rinsed her teeth, glancing at the clock. 2:54. <i>What was he doing here?</i> The last time she’d seen him had been . . . four years ago. In <i>court</i>. She grimaced as the memory started to wash over her, pushing it firmly out of her head and pulling on a shirt, walking out of the door. He nodded at her and walked wordlessly to the kitchen, making tea as she sat silently at the cheap countertop, moving around the apartment and finding the tea as if it were his own, even though he’d never been there before.

She knew what would be in her cup long before she took a sip –Bengal Spice, one spoon of sugar and three of milk. She stilled after she tasted it, running a hand through her dark hair and setting her cup on the countertop.

“You haven’t had it in years, have you?” he asked gently, taking the seat opposite her. She smiled bitterly and shook her head. He always had been too perceptive.

“Not since.”

“Since the trial.” She paused, closing her eyes lightly before opening them, steeling myself against his smooth words and smooth looks.

“What are you doing here?” she asked yet again. “And if you don’t answer now and answer honestly I’m throwing you out,” she added when he opened his mouth to respond.

“I’m innocent, Kali.”

“They found your <i>blood</i> on the <i>knife</i>,” she spat, furious. How dare he? It was one thing to walk into her room in the middle of the night for a valid reason, quite another to pretend to be innocent after all these years. She had seen the evidence herself – what did he think he was doing? She wasn’t about to forgive him and fall back into his arms. No, he had some explaining to do. A lot of explaining to do. “Let me rephrase that. They found your blood on the knife that <i>killed her</i>.”

“Kali, I –”

“No, Peter. No. I was at the trial. I was there, okay? I testified, you freak!” She stood up, knocking her chair over backwards. “I testified <i>against</i> you! Or have you already forgotten? Did you forget I helped put you in jail? Did you forget that I told you I never wanted to speak to you again? Did you forget all that?!”

“No, Kali, I just –”

“Get out,” she said quietly, furiously. “Get out!” She flung a hand towards the door, her hand quivering.

“Kali,” he said, taking a slow step towards her.

“Stay away from me,” she said venomously. “Murderer!” Quick as a flash, he closed the distance between them and pinned her hands behind her, holding her firmly against her struggles. “Let go of me!” she shouted, kicking frantically. “Help!” she screamed, loud enough to be heard through the walls of her apartment. She opened her mouth to scream again, but he pushed her mercilessly against the countertop and held her wrists with one hand, covering her mouth with the other.

“Kali, you <i>will</i> listen to me,” he hissed, his mouth next to her ear, low and deadly. “You will stop struggling and sit down and hear me out because whether you know it or not<i> you are in danger</i>, and I am not about to stand by and let you get hurt. Do you understand me?” She flicked terror-filled eyes towards his, her wrists digging painfully into the counter, still futilely struggling against his grip. “Kals, I am not the danger here,” he whispered brokenly. “Believe me.”

She stared at him, and something in his voice and in his eyes caused her to ever so slowly stop her struggles and look quietly up at him. She nodded slowly, and he took his hand off her mouth.

“Hear me out?” he asked quietly. She nodded.

“Okay.” He let go of her wrists and stepped back, gracefully standing the chair back up and pulling his chair around to face hers. He sat fluidly, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and took his mug lightly in two hands and turned it slowly in his grip.

“They convicted me based on the knife,” he began slowly. “You said it yourself – they thought my blood was on it because she had tried to defend herself, that she had stabbed me with it before I killed her.”

“I know, Peter,” she said quietly.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He took a sip and set his cup on the counter. “But what if my blood wasn’t on it because of Jenna? What if <i>she</i> never stabbed me?”

“Peter, the jury saw your cut. On <i>your</i> stomach. Made by <i>your</i> knife.”

“What if she didn’t stab me at all? What if <i>I </i>was stabbed defending <i>her</i>?” he asked quietly, watching her carefully.

“Peter, what . . .”

“What if there was a third person. What if <i>he</i> stabbed her, not me. What if I had tried to defend her and been hurt in the process, and then he had killed her with the same knife?” Kali frowned.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything in the trial, if you believed that?”

“I did, remember? I tried. But I couldn’t name the attacker; he was wearing a hood. And they just took it as further proof of my guilt, thought it was a stupid story I made up.”

“Prove that it wasn’t.”

“They found a fingerprint on the knife handle. One they thought made perfect sense because they thought it was taken from the knife drawer in his and Jenna’s house. They never even brought it up. But the knife wasn’t from their house. It had been bought just twenty minutes before from the store, untouched. They found the receipt.”

“Bought by who?” she whispered, a sense of dread overcoming her. Only one person had been living with Jenna at the time. Only one person would have had access to her knife drawer. <i>No</i> . . . It couldn’t be.

“I’m so sorry, Kals.” He pulled a receipt from his wallet, still crisp after four years, and handed it gently to her. She looked down at it, trembling. <i>Macy’s Cambridge. 9/17/2002. 8:24 p.m. Checker: Kelly Valverez. Calphalon Precision Utility Knife, 8.” Visa. ************4892. Cardholder: James Denton.</i>

“No . . .” She stood up, eyes wide and frightened, and glanced frantically around. “No . . . you’re lying. It isn’t . . . it can’t be . . . he didn’t . . . you . . .”

Wordlessly, he handed her a picture of the knife. And clear as day on the base of the blade were the words “<i>Calphalon Precision series. 8”</i>”

Kali trembled, holding the picture in one hand and the receipt in the other. Jenna and James had been living together. Had been <i>married</i>. She closed her eyes and let the memories of those years wash back over her. Her with Peter. Jenna with James. They had all been friends – had lived just two houses away from eachother, went on constant double dates. She had been Jenna’s maid of honor, Peter James’ best man, when they got married just a year after graduation.

She had based the last four years of her life, her relationship with James, their <i>engagement</i>, on the premise that Peter had betrayed her – and her two closest friends – unforgivably. She still remembered getting the call from James when she was

out at a friend’s. He was sobbing, saying he had seen Peter run out of the house, bleeding, and found Jenna’s body inside.

Later, when Peter had tried to tell her his story, she had already spent too much time with a distraught James to even listen. She called the police and refused to speak with him, save at his trial, where she had taken the stand and testified for the prosecution. She had stepped down, shaking, and walked away, when Peter locked eyes with hers. “I didn’t do this,” he’d whispered when she crossed the table. “I love you.”

She hadn’t listened.

“Peter . . .” she choked out, shaking her head. “This . . . no.” He was there in an instant, taking the evidence gently from her hands and setting it on the counter, holding her hands tightly in his, looking down at her and meeting her eyes with his. “<i>No</i>. You’re wrong. You have to be wrong. Please, tell me you’re wrong.” Her voice broke, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“But . . . but how did you get out? Did they release you?” He nodded.

“Two months ago.” She frowned, puzzled in the midst of her pain.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come sooner?”

“James changed his legal name, moved across the country, changed all his records. He’s been impossible to track down. Did you wonder why you moved so suddenly?”

“He said it was for business. He changed jobs.” Peter raised a silent eyebrow and Kali looked down. “So how did you find us, then?”

“I tracked <i>you</i>,” he said softly.

“Where are the police?”

“Coming in the morning. James is due home tomorrow, right?”

“I came home early.” A quiet voice laced with danger sounded near the door to the kitchen, the body following it soon after.

<i>James</i>.

Kali’s heart stopped. She looked around the tiny kitchen frantically, eyes wildly looking for escape.

“I heard you screaming for help,” he said quietly, dangerously. “But when you were okay, I thought I’d listen in. I wondered why the murderer was here, what pathetic story he had come to tell you. Now I know.”

“James . . .” Kali said waveringly.

“You don’t <i>believe</i> him, do you Kals?”

“I don’t know what to think. But you haven’t been honest with me.” James silently glanced down at his hand, and Kali saw the object shimmering in it. A knife from their dining room table. Oh <i>lord</i>.

“Kali, he’s a liar. He’s a murderer. He killed my wife and your best friend. Who are you going to believe, him or me?” She opened her shaking mouth mutely, unable to respond. “Let me rephrase that,” he said softly, taking a slow step towards her. “What are you going to choose. A murderer’s life. Or yours?”

Adrenaline and terror were coursing in equal measure through her veins, fear and panic closing in on her from all sides.

“Leave her out of this,” Peter said quietly, stepping between her and James. “This has nothing to do with her and we both know it.”

“Oh I do beg your pardon but it has <i>everything</i> to do with her.”

“Don’t hurt her.”

“You’re the one meddling with her mind, telling her wicked lies.”

“They’re not lies,” Peter said quietly, meeting James’ eyes with strength.

“Kali, could you leave for a minute?” James asked, his eyes never leaving Peter’s. “Let us talk?”

“I’m not leaving,” she whispered. Four eyes whirled to focus vividly on her, the electric currents in the room snapping taut. “James, I don’t know what’s going on. But please, put the knife down and let’s<i> talk</i> about it.” James looked silently between the two of them, unmoving. Then, suddenly, he leaped at Peter, knocking the man down and holding the knife up as if to stab him.

Kali watched, frozen, as Peter grabbed James’ knife hand and held it, quivering, from reaching down to stab him. The two struggled on the floor and Kali was still frozen in inaction, not by fear, but by indecision. Before tonight she might have encouraged James to stab Peter, to kill him by the same method he had killed Jenna. But after their conversation, after seeing the mad light in James’ eyes, Kali was no longer sure. Her instincts were telling her one thing, her four years of laughter with James something entirely different.

“Kali,” Peter said, holding James off with difficulty. “Please.”

And something inside her snapped. She made her decision. Peter forced the knife in James’ hand to the floor beside his head and Kali, knowing exactly what she was doing with the strangely simple movement, stomped on her fiancé’s hand. James screamed; Peter used the momentary advantage to spin James on his back; Kali kicked the knife away and picked up the phone, dialing 911.

“Kali, honey,” James whispered, pinned to the floor by Peter, as she held the phone in her hands. “Don’t do this.” Kali swallowed visibly as the operator picked up.

“911, please state your emergency,” the crisp voice echoed out of the phone. Kali paused, watching the eyes of the man she had shared a life with for four years and a friendship with for almost ten.

“Hello?” the operator’s voice asked.

“Hi,” Kali said, her voice cracking, closing her eyes against James’ pleading stare. “I’d like to report an attempted murder. Please come quickly.” James closed his eyes briefly, opening them once more to look at her, distraught. “624 Elm street. Yes. No. Yes, we’re okay. Just scared. Thank you.”

Kali took off her scarf and tied James’ hands firmly together and to the counter as Peter held them behind his back, sparing him no mercy with her knots. Done, she moved to face him, standing two paces away and watching his eyes.

“Why’d you do it?” she whispered. “She was your <i>wife</i>. Why?”

“I loved you,” he whispered back, not meeting her gaze. “I’ve loved you since the beginning.”

“You . . . what . . . are you serious?”

“You’re so beautiful.” He tried futilely to step forwards and Kali instinctively stepped back towards Peter. “But you loved <i>him</i>,” he spat.

“So you <i>killed</i> her?”

“I did what I had to do. But Kali, whatever happens, I love you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do. So much. I always will, no matter what.”

Kali just shook her head, slipping her hand down to meet Peter’s as they heard sirens approaching up the street.

“Goodbye James,” she said softly.

The house was bathed in blue light and three officers handcuffed James, taking him swiftly outside to the waiting patrol car. He looked one last time to her, eyes filled with so many emotions Kali couldn’t begin to distinguish between them. She stood still as the officers led him past her, her hand holding Peter’s, eyes creased with pain.

“I’ve been such a fool,” she whispered, eyes on the ground.

“We’ve all been fools.”

And she just held his hand, shivering and shocked, as they took her fiancé away into the night.

<center><i>This was written as a personal challenge to try to expand beyond what I normally write. It’s pretty dialogue heavy, and I tried for some suspense/sense of

mystery, which isn’t usually what I turn to. I hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think. </i>

</center>