Some Choose Darkness

FRANK STOPPED HIS CAR AT THE EDGE OF THE LONG DRIVEWAY. THE farmhouse stood in the distance. It was late afternoon and the shadows of maple trees stretched across the property. He turned the wheel and advanced up the extended drive. The dogs appeared from behind the house to chase his car, hopping at the excitement of a visitor. Frank worried that they would sense his fear from the last time he was here, when he had barely made it to the safety of his car as they tried to rip him to shreds.

He wasn’t about to open the door, but he shut off the engine and waited while the dogs barked and announced his presence. After a minute, the woman appeared on the front porch and shouted at the dogs, and they promptly ran to the back of the house. Frank stood slowly from his car.

Frank walked up the steps and onto the creaky front porch. The woman opened the screen door and Frank followed her inside. They entered the sitting room off the foyer. A large bay window looked out over the fields behind the property. The woman appeared older, now that Frank had a good look at her, perhaps a bit haggard, as if life had treated her badly. She ran a hand through her coarse gray hair as she sat on the sofa.

Frank was prepared for small talk, but didn’t need to be. He had his story prepared, but wouldn’t use it.

The directness of the question caught Frank by surprise, and he felt the sudden need to tell the truth. For months, he’d lied about what he was doing. For months, he’d been deceptive as he tried to find any useful thread that might lead to the whereabouts of a woman he was rapidly believing might be alive. But for some unexplained reason, the woman in front of him now seemed as though she’d be impervious to his stories. “I’ve been hired to see if Angela is . . .”

Frank felt as though he were falling. The air drained from his lungs, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and weak.