The Darkest Place

By Rick Sanders

A child becomes a man . . . but his childhood does not leave him. Even in the strange, menacing place known as the Void.

The effects of Charlie's dysfunctional upbringing refuse to fade. Physical and mental abuses by an alcoholic father and a bullying brother cause him to question nearly everything about himself. About life. About death. 

About Jennie. He cannot forget the girl from elementary school, who died all those years ago.

Charlie meanders through his days, mostly staying out of life's way and eventually coveting the booze, a stark reminder of his many failings, though he has plenty of excuses to offer. His small circle of friends becomes smaller with each passing year. Or stranger.

But Jennie is always there. In the Void. She is his this time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: thewordverve inc
• Release date: Apr 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386888673

Rick Sanders

Jayanthi Gaspar is a recently retired elementary school teacher from College Station ISD in Texas, where she taught for twenty-two years of her twenty-six year career. Interestingly, Jayanthi’s love for writing and learning began in her own elementary-school years. Her teacher would post magazine pictures on the board and ask the students to create their own stories. Young Jayanthi enjoyed this exercise very much, getting positive feedback from her teacher and peers. Jayanthi’s path to becoming a teacher was a natural fit for her. As a published children’s book author, this trend continues, as she seeks to teach and inspire through her writing and experiences with world travel. Having traveled widely, she now wants to share and infuse the growing global mindset with the emerging generation of students. Since her retirement, she has dedicated her effort to pursue her passion for writing about our increasingly interdependent world. The Curry Kid Explores India is her debut children’s book, the first book in her Wonders of the World series. One smart cookie, the Curry Kid travels to the various Wonders of the World, where he will learn about the unique cultures of each area, as well as meet some exciting new characters. Through her books, she hopes to spark an early interest in the world around us and to reach children who may not get the chance to visit other countries and learn about their cultures except through books. Jayanthi is a mother of two sons, Philip (a doctor of podiatry) and Jeremy (a doctor of internal medicine). Her husband, Julian, is a professor of international finance at Texas A&M University in College Station, Texas.

Book preview

Chapter One

H ow long have I been dead?

Ever since the accident, when you were a little girl. We’re the same age, right? Charlie looked around uncomfortably as the darkness settled in and the atmosphere took on a viscous quality. The bare silhouettes of dead trees seemed to come alive as they moaned and danced in the cold wind. He could barely see the trail that led out of the void.

But I don’t know how old I am, she said. There is no time here.

Charlie stared at her. That doesn’t make any sense—you’re an adult now. You must have some idea of the passage of time just by seeing the changes in your body. Do you remember how you used to look, back when you first got here?

"I only remember today. And now you."

Chapter Two

Charlie Dale sat stone-faced at the old wooden bar as boats in the Inner Harbor silently glided by just outside the open door, creeping in and out of his consciousness like meandering ghosts. He had become older beyond his years since he left that house in New York and moved back to Baltimore, eventually graduating from college there. But he still looked young—enough so that he was carded in every bar he entered, just until he became a regular, and that took little time at all. Charlie was old enough to drive, old enough to drink, and old enough to have finally escaped the clutches of academia. His graduation certificate was folded neatly inside the glove compartment of the car he was living in. He didn’t know the make or model of the car, only the color—dirty white. He had bought it used with student-loan money that had not been completely consumed during his final semester at the University of Maryland. It had a roof that didn’t leak, and he could park it in different places indiscriminately, but he was never in one place long enough to be hassled by the police.

During most days, Charlie hung out in bars, tossing back cold beers much like his father had back in the day, and occasionally drawing portraits of customers on cocktail napkins, and then wadding them up and dropping them onto the floor. Charlie felt comfortable in most of the taverns in Fells Point, and a few more farther into some of the infamous areas of downtown Baltimore, but he spent more time in the ones by the water—like the one he was in. It was early fall, and the afternoon breezes caressed the harbor like a cool lullaby wrapped in velvet. But as beautiful as it was in the city, the water taxis ran almost empty all day long, going up and down the Inner Harbor on imaginary tourist runs. The captain and his mate didn’t seem to care; they were paid by the hour. Sometimes they would come into the corner bar after they were docked and laugh about how much money they had made boating that day. Charlie would occasionally laugh with them and nod his head as they shared some anecdote about the Chesapeake Bay that he could relate to, but most of the time he tried to be invisible—even though such pretense was usually not necessary.

The bar was empty on this particular day, with the exception of Charlie Dale. The bartender had propped the door open hours earlier, as he often did on perfect days like this one. Besides the water taxis, sailboats could be seen out on the harbor, crisscrossing the dark blue-gray water in the intense sunlight, their colorful reflections stalking them like bright, impressionistic paintings. When Charlie first started coming to Fells Point, he enjoyed watching the activities on the water, but after a couple of years, he spent more time watching the level of beer in his mug until it diminished enough to order another. Sometimes he would look up and see someone he knew from high school or college coming in the front door, and he would shrink down into his jacket and turn his head toward the back of the bar until they went away. Once, Lori came in—a girl he knew from college. She began to walk over to him, but stopped when she saw him make an obvious attempt not to be seen. So she sat at a cocktail table at the front of the bar and had a glass of wine while she read a book. Charlie was jealous and angry that she would dare to come in and intrude upon his space, his life. Jealous because he assumed her life was so much more than his had become—but he felt that way about everyone. And angry because she would not leave, which meant he would either have to walk past her on the way out the door, or stay and drink in miserable silence, which was also not much different from his normal routine.

That was weeks before, but it was still fresh in Charlie’s memory. Her short, blond hair had bounced off her shoulders when she left, her hips swaying slightly in her tight jeans as she descended the marble stairs. Charlie experienced an emptiness so overwhelming that it seemed to have a physical presence. He felt like he had been punched in his stomach. And that was when he started thinking about Jenny.

Reminiscing about Jenny was Charlie’s default mechanism whenever he experienced loneliness, rejection, or regret, which was almost always. She was the one who got away, or perhaps the one he simply hadn’t gotten. He met her when they were both in third grade; they were in the same class. It was Charlie’s first crush, and in his mind, she was his girlfriend. It was young love, but to him it was true love. She had long, brown hair and piercing, dark-brown eyes. Charlie had a skateboard, and he would walk uphill to the end of his block and skate down in front of her house, imagining she was standing at her bedroom window staring down at him. He would do this over and over for hours, until he was called in for dinner or some other family function. The old, rusty wheels would go clickety-clack, clickety-clack as he bounced loudly along the cracked concrete, trying to balance himself on the thin piece of wood as it slammed into sections of raised sidewalk and intruding tree roots.

His brother had helped him make the skateboard from a piece of wood, and wheels he had taken off a pair of roller skates they’d found in a dumpster. That was when Lenny, his older brother, was still almost nice to him. Years ago, maybe a decade and a half. Charlie had talked to him only once since things had changed between them, and that was because they lived under the same roof at the time. He wasn’t even sure if he’d recognize the bastard if they were ever in the same place at the same time again. Charlie’s hatred for his older brother grew even though they were no longer in each other’s lives, and he suspected he would hate him even in death.

Jenny died that same school year so long ago—the victim of a hit-and-run accident. Although it didn’t seem like it could have been much of an accident if the driver killed her and then drove away. Charlie hadn’t understood death back then; he was simply too young. But he learned very quickly about the vacuum that is created when someone you love is there one day and simply gone the next. Forever. For a while, he continued to skate by her house, holding on to some perverse belief that she was still up in her bedroom, looking down at him as he flew past her window.

When Charlie became an angry, rebellious teenager, he fantasized about finding her killer and exacting revenge in a violent and meaningful way. But those thoughts eroded when he later found out who the killer actually was.

Another beer, Charlie?

Charlie looked at his empty mug and then at the bartender. He glanced to his right and saw that the door was still open, but the blue sky was beginning to darken some.

Sure.

His glass was removed and replaced with a full one, beer foam dripping down along the sides.

Thanks.

The bartender nodded and walked away.

Charlie thought about Jenny a lot lately, not because he had become more nostalgic, but because he was going to see her again. The first time he had seen her after she died was in the dark place behind the locked door in his basement—the one in the house in New York. She was his age, although she had died almost a year earlier. Even in death she had grown, just as he had continued to grow in his life. He suspected when he saw her again she would be twenty-three, just like him.

Charlie was eight years old when he first looked into the void, and he was complacent with the horrors that he saw—not because he was fearless, but because the travesties of his own life had laid his soul so bare that those visions beyond the veil were more bearable than the life he had been given.

And now Charlie was going to move back into that house, this time without his family. He had sold almost everything he owned and added that to his inheritance money so he could put a solid down payment on the place. He would start teaching at the high school on Long Island in November, when the current art teacher went on maternity leave. The principal had told him it would only be a temporary job, but he wanted more. He hoped that once that teacher got a taste of freedom and motherhood, she wouldn’t be coming back. Charlie was actually counting on it.

Charlie was counting on a lot of things. He was counting on a schedule of events that included him receiving money from a job he had not even started. He was counting on closing on the house where he and his family had once lived for a short time. He was counting on moving into it without his brother, Lenny, finding out about it. And he was counting on being able to look through the void and seeing Jenny, maybe even figuring out a way to communicate with her again, to let her know that he was still there for her.

Charlie thought he may be going mad.

He looked up from the bar and noticed it was twilight. The bartender was just closing the door.

Gettin’ cold out there, Charlie. You want another?

No, I gotta go. What do I owe you?

Ten’ll do it.

Charlie handed him a ten-dollar bill and a handful of ones.

Thanks, Charlie. See you tomorrow?

Probably. But he knew better.

Charlie walked out the front door into the cold autumn evening. The last water taxi was just coming in. The sky was turning an odd green color along the horizon, and stars were coming out, even though it wasn’t quite nighttime. Happy couples bundled up in thick sweaters and leather jackets, huddled against each other as they walked along Thames and Broadway. Noise and music spilled out of the Cat’s Eye Pub, assaulting the lonely and the homeless with equal impunity.

Charlie got in his car and drove deeper into the city, seeking his home on the street for that evening. As he drove, he thought about how the events of his childhood had brought him to this place.

Chapter Three

Little Charlie sat petrified in the darkened hallway, kneeling just outside his bedroom and listening to the voices erupting from the bottom of the stairs. He flinched each time his grandmother screamed at his father. You leave those boys alone, Allen! You hear me? And then there was silence for a moment before he started shouting again, loudly slurring the usual excuses for his behavior—how the world had wronged him, and that they were his children to raise, not hers. And then more shouting.

It was unclear who had won the battle, but eventually the argument ended and his father started staggering up the stairs, his elongated shadow growing as it crawled up the wall next to the stairwell. As the old man crept ever closer to the second floor, he distanced himself from the lamp in the living room below, further distorting his shadow presence and making him seem even more frighteningly misshapen. Charlie froze until his dad stumbled on the stairs and started cursing. Then he punched the wall. Charlie, still on his knees, used his hands to shimmy backward along the worn carpet into his bedroom. The last thing he saw before he shut and locked his door was the top of his father’s balding head as he mounted the top of the staircase.

His older brother, Lenny, had already turned the bedroom light off. They huddled in the darkness, each on their own bed. Charlie remembered a time when Lenny would protect him, holding him tightly in the darkness of their locked room until the storm was over—until their dad would become tired of it all or would simply pass out. Those days were gone, and Charlie didn’t know why. Had his brother gotten tired of looking out for him, or was he starting to dislike his younger brother? He certainly felt that the distance between him and Lenny had grown during the years of their drunken father’s abuse.

Charlie wanted to crawl under his covers and hide but was afraid that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to run from his father should the old man break down the door. He heard his grandmother downstairs calling his father’s name again. He heard his brother’s shallow breathing on the other side of the room. He listened intensely as his father’s footsteps drew closer and then stopped just outside the door. Charlie held his breath. He felt his body jump inside him when his dad began pounding on the door. Charlie heard his grandmother’s footsteps as she ran up the stairs to intervene. The pounding became louder, more desperate.

You boys open up this door, damn it!

"Allen Dale, you get away from there! This is my house, and I won’t have you hitting those kids!" Hearing his grandmother’s voice so close made Charlie less terrified, but he still wanted his father out of the house. He hated the old man; he wanted him dead. He would pray until late in the night, asking God to slay his father, but so far, God didn’t seem to be listening.

Leave those boys alone. You need to go downstairs and sleep it off or get out of here. I’ll call the police!

Mom, they’re my kids. The cops will be on my side. Their mother’s been babying them, turning them against me, and you’re no better.

Charlie heard bumps against the door, some loud and some even louder, as the two adults scuffled. There was a resounding thud on the floor just outside the door . . . and then silence. Charlie heard footsteps going down the stairs, and then the front door opened and slammed shut. He cautiously crept to his bedroom door and unlocked it. Turning the doorknob ever so slowly and then opening the door just a crack, he peered out into the hallway. There was a body on the floor, a dark, misshapen lump stretching out toward the stairwell.

Charlie walked out and stood over it. Nanie? Nanie, are you okay?

Silence.

Nanie? Charlie started crying—soft, muffled sobs that echoed in the empty hallway.

Don’t just stand there, ya little jerk.

Charlie almost fell as Lenny pushed him into the wall. Lenny bent over and stared at his grandmother. Nanie, are you all right? Say something! He turned to Charlie with an expression that bordered on fear and anger. Turn the light on. Go downstairs and get a kitchen towel or something, and put ice in it. Hurry!

Charlie flicked on the hallway light and looked down at his grandmother’s prostrate body. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing; she was facedown on the carpet. He ran down the stairs. The first thing he did when he entered the living room was lock the screen door. He looked through the glass at the darkness beyond the front porch. Shadow people walked along the sidewalk in very small numbers, lolling their heads back and forth, looking into the lighted doors and windows of the row houses that lined the block. The moon looked full, but it was obscured by fast-moving gray clouds. Charlie stood back and closed the heavy wooden front door and locked it too. And then he froze. The body shadow on the door in front of him seemed much too large to be his own. It was elongated and menacing, and he thought someone was standing behind him. He turned around slowly, instinctively covering his head with his forearm. He soon realized that the lamp had been knocked to the floor, and it was making his shadow bigger. He picked it up and placed it gingerly on the table next to his grandmother’s easy chair.

Charlie, what are you doing down there? I told you to go to get me some ice!

Charlie ran into the kitchen and pulled a dish towel off the handle of the oven door and laid it open on the floor next to the refrigerator. He then grabbed the ice bin, dumped a bunch of ice cubes into the towel, folded it, and ran back up the stairs to his brother.

He handed Lenny the makeshift ice pack. Has she moved, Lenny? And then, What are you gonna do with the ice?

Lenny just looked up at him with a scowl and a shake of his head. Then he leaned over their grandmother. Nanie? Wake up! Lenny shook her shoulders back and forth. He pulled harder on one shoulder and pulled her over so she was lying face-up. He lightly patted her cheek. She opened her eyes and stared up at Lenny, seemingly not aware of what was happening. Charlie sat down next to his brother.

Charlie, she said. She tried to sit up, but couldn’t. Lenny, help me stand.

Where do you hurt, Nanie? Lenny asked.

My head. I think I hit the door with the front of my head.

Lenny cradled the back of her head with one hand while he used the other to gently place the iced towel on her forehead. Here, this will help.

Thank you, Lenny. Ooh, that’s cold.

Daddy hurt you again, didn’t he? Charlie asked.

I’ll be all right. Your daddy’s a good man. He just can’t control himself sometimes, that’s all.

I hope he dies! Charlie blurted out.

Lenny punched Charlie in the arm. Shut up, ya little snot. You can’t talk like that. God’s listening!

Charlie started crying. He was tired of his older brother hitting him and yelling at him. Lenny was starting to act like their dad, and it was scaring Charlie.

Now, you boys settle down, Nanie said, trying once again to get up. There will be no more hitting or name calling or wishing ill of others. She pushed herself up with one arm, still holding the ice to her forehead. Then she turned her legs underneath her and slowly stood up, wobbling slightly once she was fully erect.

Charlie held her free arm. Here, I’ll help you down the stairs.

Lenny pushed him out of the way. You’re too small. Let me. Lenny held her arm and eased her down the steep staircase. Once downstairs, he helped her into her easy chair so she could rest. She had removed the ice, and Charlie could see how red and swollen the top of her face was. Her right eye was starting to turn purple.

Nanie, Charlie said, we should call an ambulance. You don’t look so good.

His grandmother smiled and returned the ice pack to her forehead, making sure some of it touched the top of her sore eye. It’s all right, Charlie. I’ll be fine. Besides, your mother should be home from work soon. She’ll know what to do. In the meantime, can one of you boys get me a glass of water?

I’ll get it, Lenny said as he sprung up and ran toward the kitchen. He almost tripped over the ice bin, which was still sitting on the kitchen floor. Charlie could hear his brother yelling. Charlie, ya little jerk. I almost killed myself on the stupid ice bin! Don’t you know how to put stuff away?

Charlie’s head dropped as tears started welling up. His grandmother reached out to him and gently lifted his chin until their eyes met. Charlie, she said, your brother loves you. He’s just not good at expressing himself. You understand, don’t you?

Charlie nodded, but he did not understand. If his brother was so bad at expressing himself, how could he make Charlie feel bad all the time? Lenny could express rage and hate, and he could be dismissive of his younger brother altogether, but he hardly ever said nice things to Charlie anymore. What Charlie felt, but was too young to understand, was that Lenny’s heart was black as coal. He carried around a deep-seated hatred within him like an extra organ in his body, and of all the things Lenny despised, he hated his little brother the most.

His mother protected him from Lenny, and both she and Nanie tried their best to protect both boys from their father. While Charlie grew distant from his father, mostly out of fear, Lenny tried his best to please the old man—watching him work on their parents’ cars or the plumbing in their grandmother’s house. Sometimes he even helped their dad with mechanical things. Lenny wanted to be loved by his father, so he figured the best way to do that was to be just like him. His plan was working.

Lenny was still in the kitchen cleaning up when Charlie heard banging on the storm door.

Rose, the door’s locked. Please open up. Charlie? Lenny?

Charlie ran to the door at the sound of his mother’s voice. He opened the heavy wooden door and swung it wide, and then fumbled with the little aluminum latch on the screen door. His mother came inside, gave him a quick hug, and then looked around the room.

Why did you have the storm door locked? You know there’s no key for it. Did something happen? She looked at her mother-in-law lying back in the chair, holding a towel to her head. She placed her bags and purse on the floor and then locked both doors again. She slowly walked to the center of the living room just as Lenny was coming out of the kitchen. She put her arms out and enveloped both her sons, but Charlie held on to her much more tightly than Lenny did.

Mom, Daddy got drunk again and hit Nanie, Charlie said.

You don’t know that! Lenny blurted out. The door was closed. You didn’t see anything! She could have tripped. Ain’t that right, Nanie?

Lenny’s grandmother looked at him with her one good eye and said, Your father’s a good man, Lenny, but he’s got a problem. Yes, he did this to me, but I still love him, and you should too. That also goes for you, Charlie.

Charlie did not release his grip on his mother and moved to the back of her so he would not have to look at his grandmother’s face. Lenny slipped out of her grasp and went over to the television, ignoring the others.

Rose, did Allen hit either of the kids?

No, Janice, they were locked inside their room. He was banging on their door, so I went up to stop him. We had a bit of a scuffle, but the boys were fine. He must have left right afterward.

"Must have? You don’t know? What, were you unconscious? How hard did he hit you?"

"Now, Janice, calm down. He didn’t hit me. I just got slammed into the door. I may