Marked for Darkness

Harlow worried her bottom lip as she twirled the key between her fingers. She stared out the window of her hotel, watching the cars passing and the people shuffling to and fro.

It was relaxing to watch the bustling city below, but her mind never strayed from the key still moving between her deft fingers.

Who had sent her the key and why? She couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew the address the person had given. At last she pushed away from the window and crawled onto the bed, pulling her laptop into her lap.

She googled the address and the photograph listed made her blood turn to ice.

It was the house her parents had lived in.

Her childhood home.

Harlow had slung her bag straps over her shoulder and was out the door before she could talk herself out of it.

***

A taxi took her to the bus station, and from there, she rode to Binghamton. Being over eight grand richer made it so that throwing an obscenely large tip at the taxi driver kept him from acting like the asshat she’d first encountered in the city. She kept the key clenched in her sweaty palm, fearful if she loosened her grip even slightly, that it would disappear.

That this chance would disappear.

In the back of her mind was the faint, gnawing worry that whoever now owned her parent’s house clearly knew she was in New York and where she was staying.

Her stomach flipped as she wondered who would be there, if anyone. She knew she shouldn’t be rushing there by herself. She wondered if she messaged Rex if he’d meet her in Binghamton…

But no. He was likely at work, and she didn’t want to disturb him. She’d responded to his earlier text after receiving two more. A not-so-subtle nudge for her to reply. In the end she’d taken a rain check on a second date, with the excuse of saying she wanted an early night. But now, at least two hours out of the city, her thumb hovered over the keypad, wanting to tell him where she was heading.

In the end, she shoved her phone back into her pocket, thinking better of it.

Even if she begged him to come and he did, it would take Rex three hours to make it there.

She’d have to face whatever it was on her own.

Anticipation, but also excitement thrummed through her. The old man that reeked of tobacco sitting beside her finally got off when they made a stop just before Binghamton.

And when the bus drove through roads with buildings and houses, she began to feel a tug of familiarity. Her chest ached with it. At last they rolled to a stop by the curb, the driver announcing they’d arrived in Binghamton, Harlow leapt to her feet and ambled up the narrow walkway. Her heart sprinted wildly as she descended the steps and breathed in the town of Binghamton.

The station was miniscule by comparison and she searched for a taxi that could take her to the other side of the town. Parked on the curb were a handful of cabs and Harlow groaned internally at the prospect of shelling out another ridiculous amount of cash, but she climbed into one and gave the address.

The salt-and-pepper haired man behind the wheel nodded with only the slightest hesitation before pulling out into the street. The buildings were admittedly beautiful crafted with well-tended brick that had a centuries old charm. Like a photograph from a postcard or something out of the Hallmark Christmas channel.

Tepid jazz slinked through the vehicle. Harlow held her breath as they turned onto her road. Heart pounding, she watched the numbers crawl, when at last, the car halted at the end of the lane.

“Want me to drop you here, or take you up?”

Harlow glanced at the fee counter and tried to keep her eyes inside their sockets. “Here is fine.” She tossed a hundred dollar bill up to the man and climbed out. The driver was still speaking, but Harlow didn’t hear anything as she shut the door and stared through the thick trees and shrubbery. The driveway looked freshly paved. She didn’t remember it ever being paved.

A cool breeze rattled the branches that had just begun to leaf, pulling strands of hair over her shoulder. Behind her, more trees rustled, and Harlow felt as though someone watched. Or maybe it was just paranoia over the whole situation.

With a deep breath, Harlow started up the driveway. The trees closer to the house looked well-pruned, and the garden wrapping around the two-story brick house was immaculate. Her breath hitched as she took it in in all its full splendor. She recalled playing card games with her sister out on the wooden porch in the summers or climbing the trees.

The memories bombarded her, making her eyes sting as they filled with tears. The swing was new, but Harlow could still picture her mother and father sitting on it, smiling as she and her sister played tag in the yard. The way her mother would rest her head on her father’s chest, and he’d press a kiss to her hair. Soaking up the sunshine and love.

Harlow had paused once or twice to watch them. The way they were content to just be near each other. As if nothing in the world could have prevented their love. She’d told herself that one day she’d have that. But so far, she could barely go out with a guy a few times before they blew her off. Deep down, Harlow hoped Rex would be different.

She’d turned to her art as an expression of the passion she was missing, but Harlow felt that pang in her chest regardless. That longing.

The key felt hotter in her palm, as if it burned to get closer to what it unlocked. Her shoes seemed to be imbedded into the pavement as she stared at the front door, half expecting it to open and her mother to walk out, smiling.

Her heart thundered wildly, battering her ribcage, but at last she forced herself forward. Up each step she climbed, looking for some evidence that someone lived here. That she was about to walk in on some poor unsuspecting family. But the driveway was empty, and there were no lights on in the house. Neither meant that someone didn’t live here because someone had clearly cared for the property.

Try as she might to mute her footsteps, they still sounded like booming thunder over the wooden porch. She stopped in front of the dark, cherry-wood door; heart caught in her throat.

Slowly, she lifted her fist and knocked.

She waited for what felt like ages before knocking again. When no one answered, she swallowed hard and inserted the key.

Harlow closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, then turned it. The lock clicked and the door swung open.

The foyer was empty. Bare. Her shoes creaked over the freshly polished wood floor and she held her breath, half expecting another set of steps to follow. To her left, a wood staircase curled up to the second floor, but Harlow went straight into the main sitting room.

White sheets covered the sofas and tables, but Harlow saw them all in her mind. Exactly as they’d been over a decade ago. The air smelled of dust. Of everything slowly deteriorating with time. But as she entered the kitchen, her breath left her in a rush.

There on the sparkling marble countertop was a narrow, crystal vase.

And a single, freshly cut rose. Red as blood and fully bloomed.

Left just for her.

Her pulse drummed in her ears as she saw the envelope beside it. Her name scrawled in the same elegant hand as the note with the key.

She picked it up, slowly. As though touching it would cause whatever trap she’d walked into to go off.

Her breath hitched as she waited.

When nothing happened, she tore the seal and pulled out the note from inside.

Ms. Marks,

This house was kept for you alone. I hope that you will call it home once again.

A.K.

Harlow’s hands trembled.

A.K. Who was A.K.? Why was this one signed when the previous one hadn’t been?

She dropped the note onto the counter and backed away looking around for any sign that someone watched her. The house was silent. Even the wind stirring the trees outside the kitchen window seemed to halt its breath, waiting.

Stumbling from the kitchen she tore back through the house, threw open the front door and fled.