The Dark Side of the Wall

By Emlynn McDermott

Summer is around the corner, and both temperatures and tensions are rising. Jane Smith is middle-aged and newly divorced, with two kids, two jobs, and a two-bedroom apartment that is one bedroom too small. Add a sick parent and an overly friendly neighbor to the equation, and it is no wonder Jane has trouble sleeping.

Zave is Jane's eldest daughter. Smart, sassy, and somewhat bored, Zave blames her mother for her parent's divorce and spends her free time testing boundaries. As she struggles to fit in at her new school, she finds an unexpected friend in the woman next door.

Hayley Jo Richardson is that neighbor. Initially drawn to Zave, she soon befriends the rest of the Smith family. There's only one problem. The more time Hayley Jo spends at their apartment, the more things start to go wrong. Jane isn't the only one who is having trouble sleeping.

A fictional story, The Dark Side of the Wall examines how access to new technology changes behavior. When science makes what was once impossible, possible, we must reassess the limits of our behavior. The dark side of the wall is a place within us all.

Trigger warnings: bullying, mental health, drug overdose

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abracatdabra Press
• Release date: Aug 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781940084022

Emlynn McDermott

Author Emlynn McDermott is an avid reader who is happiest with her nose in a book—doubly so if that book is one she is writing. Ms. McDermott lives in Florida with her husband and a cat that bites her ankles if she sits still too long. When she isn't busy writing and self-publishing, she enjoys pretending to catch fish. If you enjoy this book, please consider leaving a review. Even a single sentence helps.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Jane Smith dug her fingers deep into the small of her back and sighed while waiting for the computer to transmit her latest report to management. Working seven days a week on a split schedule was really getting to her. Her entire body ached. Weekdays, she was the sole administrative assistant in the Health Sciences department at Alapaha Technical College, where she had been employed for more than ten years. On weekends, she transformed into the night auditor at a local hotel, a new job and one she already regretted taking.

As soon as the screen displayed the message confirming transmission, Jane logged off and grabbed her purse. Stifling a yawn on her way past the front desk, she waved at the clerk, who was busy with an early morning check out. Outside, the air was cool for late spring. It was also windy, and she made a mental note to bring a light sweater on Saturday evening as she headed for the shelter of her car. The vehicle was old, but at least she owned it outright. This morning, it even started on the second try.

Born Jane Marie Levitt, Jane had married John Michael Smith at the age of twenty-two and become Jane Marie Smith. Jane Smith! Today, she was divorced and had lost not only her beautiful maiden name and her husband, but also the family home. Although she had been eager to receive the house in lieu of monetary support as part of the settlement, that was a mistake. The mortgage payments were unaffordable on her income alone, and she was soon forced to sell. It was a difficult choice that had strained her already fragile relationship with her older daughter, Zave. On more than one occasion, Jane had tried her best to explain the family’s new circumstances in terms a teenager would understand. It was no use. Zave was old enough to question her parents but not mature enough to understand adult responsibilities. Only the passage of time could improve the situation.

Now, Jane felt she was also beginning to lose her sanity.

To replace the family’s three-bedroom two-story house on a quiet cul-de-sac, she had rented a spacious two-bedroom apartment with a convenient roommate layout, or so the brochure promised. As bad luck would have it, that same floor plan became anything but convenient when her seventy-five-year-old father developed a chronic condition that made it difficult for him to continue living alone. After careful calculation, Jane realized that she had no affordable option other than to move her dad in with them. It was a small sacrifice for someone she loved, but the sudden turn of events complicated her already difficult transition from married life to single motherhood.

After the move, the girls shared one bedroom while her dad settled into the other. Jane slept on the sleeper sofa in the living room that, when open, impeded direct access to the front door. To make matters even worse, both baths in the apartment were located directly off of the bedrooms. As a result, she showered in her dad’s room each morning, both disturbing his sleep and robbing herself of any sense of privacy in her own home. They were probably violating a fire code and definitely out of compliance with the lease, but those seemed the least of Jane’s problems at the moment.

§ § §

The drive home was uneventful despite the number of vehicles on the road, and Jane was lost in thought as she turned into the entrance to her apartment complex. Because the sun was already up, she almost missed seeing the lamp in the living room flicker as she drove past on the way to the parking lot.

Almost, but not quite.

Jane pulled into her assigned space, put the car in park, and turned to stare. A tree at the end of the walkway cast a shadow across her unit. As she watched, the lamp blinked on and off again, the illuminated shade just visible in the soft morning light. Are the girls playing a new game? If so, she would have to put a stop to it. The last thing she wanted was attention from the neighbors or the rental office.

Eager to end the kids’ shenanigans, she got out of the car and hurried up the walkway toward the front door. The apartments were townhouse-style, each with a separate entrance. Theirs was the end unit. Their only immediate neighbor was a young woman named Hayley Jo Richardson. Hayley Jo worked for a company that developed computer software for medical devices, but, other than that, Jane didn’t know much about her. She did seem fond of Zave, which was nice.

Jane had her key out and was almost at the door when the light blinked again and a shriek emanated from within her apartment. Seconds later, Hayley Jo opened her front door.

Is everything alright, Jane? I heard screaming.

I don’t know. I just got here. Jane’s heart was in her throat as she fumbled to insert the key in the lock.

Before she could do so, the door flew open. Zave stood in the entryway hugging her younger sister, Lula. Both girls were dressed in pajamas, their eyes wide with fright. Jane scanned their bodies for injury. Seeing none, she hugged them tight against her and realized Lula was trembling.

Are you two okay? Where’s your grandfather?

Here, came a weak reply from inside the apartment.

Are you hurt, Daddy?

Everybody’s fine. That fool light has been blinking on and off again. It really upset the girls this time.

Jane glanced back over her shoulder and attempted to dismiss her neighbor while shepherding her children back into the privacy of the apartment.

Looks like everything’s okay, Hayley Jo. Thanks for your concern.

No worries. Let me know if you need any—

Jane closed the door, cutting off the rest of the younger woman’s sentence. She didn’t want to be rude, but she was not in the mood to chat. Inside, she let go of the girls and turned her attention to her father.

Let’s get you back in bed, and then I’ll fix that light. You said this has happened before?

Yes, I saw it blinking the other day. Must be a bad filament or something.

I don’t think light bulbs have filaments anymore, Daddy.

They don’t, grandpa, and they don’t blink either. At fourteen years old, Zave was sure she knew everything.

Jane knew better. Well, back when they did have filaments, light bulbs used to blink when they were about to die. I bet it’s something similar.

It’s not. The teen spoke with authority.

Enough. Jane was too tired and irritable to listen to nonsense. It’s this light bulb, right? She pointed at the offending lamp.

Yes, both girls answered in unison.

Jane switched the lamp off and unscrewed the bulb. Problem solved. Now, I’m going to help your grandfather get back to bed, while you two get dressed.

But we haven’t had breakfast yet, and I’m hungry, Zave objected.

Okay, get some cereal for yourself and Lula before you get dressed.

We don’t have milk. Zave was at the age when almost anything could turn into an argument.

Then make some cinnamon toast.

But Emma’s mom says—

I don’t care what Emma’s mom says.

The teen appeared ready to argue, but must have reconsidered. Come on, Lula. She led her younger sister to the kitchen.

Crisis averted, Jane turned her attention back to her father, who was still leaning in the doorway to his bedroom. As she walked toward him, she lifted the light bulb to her ear and shook it. Zave was right. It didn’t rattle.

CHAPTER 2

Xaviere Smith, better known as Zave, reached into the refrigerator to retrieve bread and butter. You want white bread or white bread?

Her little sister stared at her, confused.

"I was trying to be funny. All we have is white bread as usual." Zave’s tone gave away her disgust.

I like white bread. It’s my favorite.

Of course it is. The teen rolled her eyes.

According to family legend, Zave’s mom had secretly hated her plain-Jane married name—or not so secretly hated it, if their dad was telling the story. Regardless, both parents agreed that when her mom was first pregnant, they thought she was having a boy. Her mother fell in love with the name Xavier. When Zave turned out to be a girl, her mom had just added an e to the end of Xavier and Zave had her name.

Tallulah Belle—Lula for short—was named after their mom’s great grandmother. She was eight years old and a pest. The fact that Lula was still so happy despite the divorce irked Zave. The child didn’t seem to understand that their mom made their dad leave. She also didn’t blame their mom for selling the house. Now, they were stuck in this crumby apartment where they both had to share a bedroom, but her little sister didn’t seem to mind. The child seemed to want nothing more than to spend her free time with her big sister.

Zave plopped two pieces of bread into the toaster and pushed the handle down hard. It popped back up and the little girl next to her giggled. Zave glared, but Lula just grinned and rocked her stupid doll, Patti. The older girl shoved the handle down again. This time it stayed and she watched the coils inside glow red. Soon, the aroma of toasting bread filled the kitchen.

Lula’s attachment to Patti was the sole outward sign that something had changed in her life. Before the divorce, she had played with a Barbie doll, like other girls her own age. Ever since the breakup, she had reverted to playing with Patti, a birthday present when she turned four. It was as if the two were conjoined twins. They were never separated. She even dragged the doll into the bathroom and sat it next to the tub, where it would stare at her while she bathed. This behavior embarrassed Zave.

Patti was a talking doll, the old-fashioned kind with a pull string. Where Patti used to have hair, she now had a bunch of fuzzy nubs because of Lula’s incessant patting. The talking mechanism had also long since ceased to function properly. These days, instead of speaking, Patti groaned unintelligible demands understood only by Lula.

As if on cue, the child pulled Patti’s string and the doll spoke. Eeeed ahhhh.

Feed me! Lula translated.

Irritated, Zave pressed the handle on the toaster to release the bread that, although warm, was not yet golden brown. Nevertheless, it was hot enough to sting her fingers. While her little sister watched, she used a steak knife from the rack next to the stove to butter each slice. Then, she opened the kitchen cabinet to find some cinnamon sugar and a dish.

While her back was turned, Lula inspected her breakfast. Heh, it’s not toasted yet.

You said, ‘Feed me.’ I’m feeding you. Zave dusted the bread with cinnamon sugar and put both pieces on a small plate.

I didn’t say that. Patti did.

You did, Patti did. Who cares? Do you want cinnamon toast or not?

"I want cinnamon toast," the child whined, emphasizing the word toast.

Here! Zave put the plate on the counter in front of her sister. It landed with a thunk.

You didn’t cut it in half.

Cut it yourself. She opened the drawer where her mom kept the utensils and slapped a dinner knife with a rounded blade down on the counter next to the plate.

Girls, please! their mom called from the living room. I had a long night, and I am trying to get a few hours of sleep. Finish your breakfast and then go to the park. I can’t take any more of your bickering.

Now see what you’ve done, Lula hissed.

Zave scowled at her.

§ § §

The park was walking distance from the apartment, and it was pretty much the best thing about the neighborhood, as far as Zave was concerned. Because she was not yet old enough to drive, it was one place she could go without asking her mom to take her. On one side of the park, there was both a small strip mall and the apartment complex where she and her family resided. On the other side, there was a neighborhood of houses, where Emma Santora lived.

Emma was one of the popular kids at school. She had the best hair and the nicest clothes, and she always said the right thing at the right time. Zave wanted to be just like her. Of course, that was impossible now that Zave’s parents were divorced. These days, there was never any money for cute clothes. Something had to wear out before Zave could replace it, and forget about good hair. Her mom trimmed the ends of Zave’s long, straight hair every couple of months. There were no professional cuts in her future.

Once, Zave had spent an entire day just studying Emma’s hair. As Emma walked, her wavy tresses bounced on her shoulders, enticing every boy she passed. At the water fountain, she had held them back before bending to drink, but a single lock still managed to slip free of her grasp and dip into the water. When she stood, the wet strand clung to her cheek in the cutest little curl. Zave would have left it there, but Emma knew the right thing to do. She swept the damp strand off her face, gave her head a little shake, and continued down the hall, unaware of Zave’s attention.

The Santora’s house fronted on the park. As Zave and Lula settled themselves at a picnic table, the older girl glanced at the door, hoping it would open and Emma would emerge.

"Looking for your friend?" Lula taunted.

Zave didn’t like her sister’s tone. None of your business.

You were. You were looking to see if Emma is home.

Was not.

Were too. You can’t fool me, and she’s not your friend. She doesn’t even like you.

The child’s words stung because they were true. Emma was not her friend. Emma barely even knew that she existed. It was embarrassing that her eight-year-old sister, who didn’t even attend the same school, had realized this. For some reason, Zave felt compelled to lie.

Emma does like me. She even invited me to her birthday party later this month.

Really?

Really.

Lula pulled Patti’s string and the doll groaned. Ahhh uvvv hooo.

I love you! the child translated.

Do you have to take that stupid thing everywhere? You’re much too old for dolls, and no one understands what she says besides you.

I like her. Mommy and Daddy gave her to me.

Well, Daddy’s gone now, so there is no ‘Mommy and Daddy’ anymore. There’s just Mom. Get over it. As soon as the word’s left her mouth, Zave regretted them. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.

Tears welled up in Lula’s eyes. Yes you did. You hate Mommy, and you hate me, and you hate Patti.

Zave reached out and hugged her little sister. I don’t hate you and Mom.

You hate Patti.

Well, maybe just a little. She couldn’t help smiling. You have to admit, her hair looks pretty bad.

Lula scrutinized the doll as though she had never seen it. I guess you’re right. She needs a wig. The child pulled the string again, and the doll uttered something impossible to understand.

Yes and voice lessons. As she spoke, Zave’s eye caught a small movement at Emma’s house. She turned just in time to see the Santora’s car backing out of the