The Devil We Know [CW: Novel]

[Tacos]

Hi guys, this is just something I've been doing on the side, and will update hopefully on a regular basis with new chapters. This is strictly the writing thread and any reactions must be kept to the separate thread.

Hey, reader. My name is Trent. Glad to know you chose to read my story, or I guess, my life’s tragedy. Before you get into this, I warn you that this story is what you could easily call a “feels trip.” However, even without a permission slip, we’ll be going right along anyway.

Chapter 1: Where it Began

About thirsty-seven years ago, a businessman and a nurse accidentally collided on the stairway of the New York city subway. The man’s briefcase flew open and out it vomited a flurry of unfinished work and signed papers. The poor girl felt nothing but guilt for creating such a mess and immediately knelt down to aid the man in retrieving what remnants of his work hadn’t disappeared in a rather inconvenient gust of wind. She jumped after flying sheets, releasing miniature apologies every few seconds while the man did nothing but chuckle at how sincere and regretful the poor woman was.

As the nurse was finishing up collecting the man’s paper, she snatched a small, black, 3.5 x 2 card that was lying a good thirty feet away from the paper she had recently snatched from the dusty floor. It was completely unscathed on the front, the golden text contrasting itself from the black. The man’s name, number, and place of business were all listed on the card. The bottom of the card was covered by a sheet of dust and was incredibly scratched, a large contrast present between the state of each side of the card. She never bothered to check the other side, as she’d found what she’d wanted on the front. She shoved the card into her pocket, the corner crinkling, the folds collapsing in upon each other.

The nurse approached the man with a stack of paper, dumping it on his lap. She opened her mouth to speak, her tone sassy and her voice gentile, without any rasp. “Here you go, Stan.” The nurse’s face contorted into a smirk when Stan gave her a confused look.

“H-how did you know my name?” Stan stammered out his words as a drop of sweat slipped off his brow. A train roared by and suddenly everything was moving in slow motion to Stan. The nurse’s dirty-blonde hair began flowing with the sudden gust of wind conjured by the train. It was at that moment that he looked into her eyes, and saw their deep blue matched the color of the sapphire implanted in the center of her necklace. Stan’s mouth was hanging wide open.

“”Well I’ll just keep that a secret.” The girl smirked at the man, her playful side becoming eminent. “Good day Stan. This game of 52 Pick Up was fun.” The woman’s sneakers squeaked as she turned and made her way to the slowing train. She took one last look behind her to see Stan staring back at her, and she once again released a smile before her pink sneakers disappeared inside the train.

Stan couldn’t help but regret not asking her name or at least for a form of communication. He held his hand up, clenching it as he grunted in frustration. He enclosed his other hand around the handle of his briefcase and ventured off to his eternally tedious career.

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*Dum, ba dum, dum bum bum, ba dum.* Stan’s phone burst to life as he was settling into a chair with a bottle of beer he had found lurking in the corner of his refrigerator. Stan wasn’t used to calls outside of work and was astonished when the drum beat began to play. He sighed as he stood up, placing the beer on a coaster that sat on a table adjacent to Stan’s recliner. He grabbed the phone resentfully and held it up to his ear after pressing the “accept” button.

“Hello?”

“Well you don’t sound happy to hear me at all, Stan Fitzgerald.”

Stan’s face contorted in confusion. His brain cycled through the voices he had recognized before stopping. A toothy grin spread itself across his face. “Well I hadn’t expected it to be you, mystery woman.” He let out a hearty laugh.

“Mystery woman. Got a nice ring to it. But I prefer Linda better.”

“Linda… Do I get the pleasure of knowing your maiden name?”

“We’ll leave that for another time. So what are you doing, handsome?”

Stan’s cheeks flushed red. He hadn’t had a woman outright flatter him like that… ever actually. “Was going to relax with what I consider to be a well-deserved bottle of beer after an awful day at work. How did you even get my number?”

“I like having my secrets, Stan. Another time, another place. But maybe I could answer your questions over a real drink.”

Stan was flabbergasted. A woman wanted to talk to him? “Well, where would we go?”

“Look out your window.”

Stan’s shoes clicked against the floor as he hustled over to the only window in his apartment. Down outside the complex entrance was Linda. Her sapphire eyes were already staring back at him when he looked down, and she began to wave. Stan almost flew out of his apartment door, rushing down the carpeted stairs of the building deciding that love had no time for elevators. When he reached the lobby, he slowed down, attempting to leave the building with a bit more suave and bravado. He pushed the glass door open and stood next to Linda, staring at her up and down. Her dress was the same blue as her eyes and her necklace, and it hugged her skin and flattered her in all the right places.

“You must have hurried coming down here. I mean look at your hair!”

Stan pulled out his phone and saw his reflection in it, gasping as he licked his fingers and began trying to get the brown strands to settle back down to his scalp. He released a chuckle before he took Linda by the arms as they strolled on down to the bar to begin their life together. If only they knew...

[Tacos]

Chapter 2: Darkness Without a Dawn

As you can imagine, like any cliche story, Stan and Linda continued to go on multiple dates. On the second, Stan learned Linda’s last name was Santorin. And boy was that a huge detail to leave out. Joseph Santorin was currently the president of the United States. On the third date, Stan got the full story.

“La Restaurante Petite.” That was where their third date took place. A miniature but more than elegant restaurant deep in the heart of New York City. Linda was wearing this time, a black dress that glimmered in the presence of light, her same sapphire adorned necklace, a pair of jet black heels that were obviously way too tall for her no matter how hard she tried to make them work, long, incredibly dangly earrings with a pattern far too difficult to describe, and her hair back in a bun commonly seen at a high school prom. What was Stan wearing? A simple black jacket over a white button down that clung tightly to his fit body, a pair of dress shoes to match the color of Linda’s heels, and nice trousers that were just a lighter black than his shoes.

The two sat down at a rounded table, staring affectionately into each other’s eyes. But hiding behind Stan’s hazel eyes was a nipping sense of curiosity. Linda always left him guessing after every time they’d met, but this time wouldn’t be the case. He readjusted his collar before clearing his throat.

“Linda, you told me your last name is Santorin. And the world knows that our President goes by the same name. So please just tell me if there’s some sort of relation.” Stan’s voice was pleading.

“Hush, Stan. I don’t need people hearing this.” Linda sighed and continued on in a whisper. “Yes, I am the daughter to President Santorin, regrettably. The man was an awful person. Dealt drugs like a deck of cards. Tried to oil anybody who disagreed with him in Senate before he became president. In fact, he killed the wives of all three men who he feared would defeat him in his campaign. Then again, that was only the first term. Got the hell out of there the second I turned eighteen. Heard about how candidate Smith’s wife was murdered just about a year ago? And how convenient was it that it happened while my father and him were the two main candidates for Presidency then?”

Linda looked distressed, darting her eyes back and forth across the restaurant. The only other inhabitants were a man and a woman who seemed to be dining together, however, the man seemed bit more dressed up than his date.

“And why couldn’t you tell me this before? I didn’t need the backstory, just a confirmation. Why are you so worried?” Stan laid his hands on top of Linda’s.

“Another day, my dear.”

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And thus, life continued for the businessman and the president’s daughter. Within a few years the two were married. Nine months later, a baby was born, and I’m sure it wasn’t hard to guess his date of conception. And I’m sure that’s where you’re thinking I entered the scene. Actually no, that child was a stillborn. So there went my chance at a brother. A year later, I was born. Trent Ron Fitzgerald, the boy who lived a loveless life. Well, not exactly loveless. It was rather love-filled for the first five joyous years before things turned to shit.

Mom was reading me a book while Dad was out at work. I can’t remember the title. But I do remember it was yellow and detailed a monkey that went on a lot of adventures. But I thought he was stupid so I never bothered to pay attention. I remember hearing the door to the apartment creak open. Mom must have heard it too as she craned her neck to peek outside the doorway.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdPnvfzK9FU

“Stan? Is that you?” Mom’s voice was shaky. The blood had drained from her face and what was left was a face the color of pure snow. But I didn’t notice. My tiny brain was too immature to analyze the drastic situation. She walked over to me, the familiar scratching of her slippers against the floor comforted me. She patted my head and kissed me on the cheek, slipping out the door without uttering a word. She shut the door behind her as quietly as she could. A quick click signaled that the door had been locked.

I sat on my bed, staring at the wall and I pushed the book onto the floor. I swung my legs back and forth. I was bored. The only entertainment I found was hearing the voices straining themselves through the walls. But I was too young to understand the severity of the situation and the words that were spoken.

“Wh-who are you?”

“Miss Santorin, please come with us.”

“Like Hell I would go with people like you. I already know you’re with my father.”

A muffled shout made its way through the door. I began to weep. Quietly though. Shoes scuffed against the tile floors leading to the apartment exit. Another muffled shout rang out before the door slammed shut.

“Mommy? Mommy where are you?”

My weeping began to intensify. I was in tears. My mother wasn’t opening the door. But why should I have expected her to answer? She was obviously gone, taken by the men who worked for her father. I cried for five hours waiting for my father to get home. And when he did, everything changed.

Stan walked through the door. He called out for my mom, but she never answered. It was then that he heard the crying. He rushed into my bedroom and scooped me up into his arms. He quickly rubbed the tears off of my face. Still in his arms, he carried me out into the kitchen. Everything was neat. No chairs tipped, no glasses shattered. It’s almost like nothing happened there. Like my mother never existed. The only thing out of the ordinary was a note lying on the table.

You’re lucky you weren’t here, Stan Fitzgerald. And your son, even luckier. - Your Father in Law.

Dad put me down on the floor. I still didn’t know what was happening, so I crawled over into the other room and sat in front of the fireplace. It was burning, which was unusual considering it was summer. Lying in the corner of the fire place was my dad’s business card. It’s corners were singed. It was lucky it hadn’t been instantly incinerated.

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It’s been ten years and I haven’t seen my mother since. My father fell into heavy drinking. He would down a six pack in two hours each night like it was nothing. I made my own meals. I did the laundry. I took the motherly role in this family. The only thing that man did was pay the bills. Every night I would lie down in my bed and repeat something my mother would always say to me. “It’s always darkest before the dawn, sweetheart.”

I’m well past the darkness. And let me tell you, dawns don’t exist.