Dark Night

“You think the dark is empty until it hands you back the worst part of yourself.”

As dusk crept in, the house sank into a cool darkness, thick and unmoving, like a shroud pulling tighter with every passing minute. The light outside faded into a soft charcoal haze, swallowing the last remnants of the day. Within these walls, the silence pressed heavily against me, a constant, oppressive reminder of the secrecy and exile now defining my life. There was no comfort in this house—only shadows and memories of conversations held in hurried whispers and secretive texts.

Luke’s warnings had been relentless, a barrage of messages hammering the same point: Don’t touch the light switches. Don’t turn on the TV. Don’t even think about using the heat pump. I knew he was right. The police were still watching—maybe not as close as before, but enough. I couldn’t afford a slip-up. And yet, as the temperature steadily dropped, I had to battle the temptation to flick the switch, to fill the space with some sign of life.

Instead, I turned to a more familiar kind of warmth.

A glass of shiraz. Well… several glasses, if I were being honest.

I drained the last dregs, setting the empty glass on the island bench with a soft clink. My breath hung in the air, faint and ghostlike, goosebumps crawling up my bare forearms. I shivered and reached for my jacket draped over the back of a dining chair. Pulling it on, I hugged it close around me, a feeble barrier against the cold that was seeping into everything—my skin, my bones, my thoughts.

Luke had been gone all afternoon. No updates. No vague messages. Just silence.

I didn’t know where he was or when he’d be back. The uncertainty gnawed at me. Every creak of the house set my nerves alight. I needed air. Movement. Something.

Reaching for my handbag, I slung it over my shoulder. I made for the door, but paused as my eyes flicked to the wine glass still sitting on the counter, now empty and stained the colour of old bruises.

“Okay,” I whispered to it, the word barely audible, as though we’d been mid-conversation. It was absurd, I knew, but somehow the glass had become a silent companion—witness to my solitude, my spiral, my resistance.

Setting my bag aside, I unscrewed the cap of the half-finished bottle and refilled the glass. The shiraz swirled in the bowl like liquid velvet, catching the last flickers of natural light that filtered through the curtain slits.

It’s going to be a cold walk anyway, I reasoned, taking a small sip that lingered warmly on my tongue. The wine offered something the heat pump never could—comfort that didn’t risk discovery.

As I packed the bottle gently into my handbag, cushioning it between a scarf and a small notebook, I took another slow drink, savouring the softness of the moment. The glass felt at home in my hand, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave it behind.

Luke will never miss the glass, I reasoned. It wasn’t theft—it was survival. And perhaps, on some level, defiance. I was still here. I was still me.

And with that, I stepped toward the front door, shiraz in one hand, escape in the other, the darkness outside waiting to swallow me whole.

My hand reached out for the front door handle, fingers curling around the cold metal, but I abruptly froze, every muscle in my body locking into place. A soft footstep on the front porch—a sound so quiet it could have been imagined—halted me. But it was there. Definite. Deliberate.

My heart began to pound, loud and arrhythmic, as if trying to warn me of something unseen. I stared at the door, paralysed by dread, each second stretching impossibly long. No Guardian would be at the front door, I reminded myself, clinging desperately to that rationale, they'd just appear randomly through a wall! But that logic did little to ease the electric current of fear prickling along my spine.

Slowly, cautiously, I took another step forward, holding my breath as though even the sound of inhaling might give me away. I strained my ears, trying to listen beyond the door, but the silence that followed was so intense, it became its own kind of noise. My pulse thudded in my ears. Must have misheard, I told myself, willing the tension in my shoulders to loosen, even just a little. Probably just a leaf. Or a bird. Or a—

A shadow moved across the peephole.

I flinched.

My breath hitched, sharp and shallow. Every hair on my body stood to attention, and a cold sweat began to gather at the base of my neck. Shit, I mouthed silently, my limbs seized by adrenaline. There really was someone there.

The instinct to flee buzzed just under my skin, but so did another impulse—curiosity. Unwise, stubborn, reckless curiosity. Gritting my teeth, I lifted the glass to my lips and took a small, calming sip of wine. The taste was warm and grounding. Then, steadying the glass in my trembling hand, I edged closer to the door. My steps were slow, deliberate, silent. My hand hovered over the wall for balance as I leaned in toward the peephole.

One eye shut. The other pressed against the tiny glass.

And then—my stomach dropped.

My heart stuttered violently in my chest.

Karl? My brain took a second to compute what I was seeing. I pulled away from the peephole, blinking hard, then leaned in again for confirmation. The figure stood still, hands in his jacket pockets, posture relaxed—but alert. I didn’t need a second look.

Shit! Detective Karl Jenkins!

He wasn’t in uniform. No high-vis, no badge, no clipboard. Just black jeans, a black hoodie, and a stare that swept across the street like a man casing a joint. This is no official visit, I realised, a knot tightening low in my gut. Whatever reason he had for being here, it wasn’t procedural. It was personal.

I began backing away from the door, slow and soundless, like prey edging away from a predator. My eyes stayed fixed on the front door as if it might open on its own, as if Karl might suddenly force his way through.

Is he going to knock? The question pulsed in my head, over and over, as my feet found the safety of the tiled hallway, then the softer, carpeted living room. A chill crept over my arms. My skin, already raw with tension, prickled into fresh goosebumps.

I misjudged a step as the carpet shifted beneath me, and my balance wavered. My handbag slipped off my shoulder with an awkward jolt, catching in the crook of my elbow. I winced and jerked it back into place with clumsy hands.

There was still no knock. No voice. No movement.

Why isn’t he knocking?

My panic was now fully awake, pacing wildly beneath the surface of my composure. Whatever his game was, I wasn’t ready to play. Not like this. Not alone. Not now.

Without another moment’s hesitation, I darted across the living room. The carpet muted my steps as I headed for the far side of the house, where the stairwell led down to the second living room. The air felt heavier the further I went, like the house itself was holding its breath with me.

Reaching the doorway, I flattened my back against the wall and peered around the doorframe, every nerve on high alert. My eyes swept the lounge behind me. No signs of movement through the blinds. No shadows advancing across the floor.

Karl wouldn't break in, would he?

My thoughts were tangled—half logic, half fear. But this wasn’t the same Karl I remembered from our earlier encounters. His presence on the porch, silent and unannounced, dressed in plain clothes like someone trying not to be seen, gnawed at me.

I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t know what he knew. And worst of all, I didn’t know how much longer I could remain invisible.

Startled by the sudden, loud ringing of a mobile phone on the benchtop, I froze in place, wine glass trembling slightly in my grip. The piercing sound shattered the taut silence of the house like a gunshot, sending a jolt through my entire body.

I remembered seeing the phone earlier—abandoned among other orphaned possessions Luke had amassed from those he'd helped escape through the Portal. Phones, wallets, loose change... all redundant in Clivilius, all carelessly strewn about like shed skins. I'd thought nothing of it at the time.

But now, that phone felt radioactive.

Paralysed by indecision, I stood stiffly, staring at it. Whose was it? Luke’s? Someone else’s? The urge to dash over and silence it warred with a flood of panic—would the sound draw Karl’s attention? Had he heard it already?

Before I could act, the ringing stopped, and the house fell eerily silent again. I exhaled shakily, praying Karl had dismissed the sound, convinced it was nothing. Please just walk away, I silently begged, each heartbeat drumming harder in my chest.

But my prayer was short-lived.

The phone shrieked back to life with relentless insistence, vibrating against the bench with a tinny rattle. This time, the sound sliced straight through my nerves.

Knowing I had no choice, I dropped my handbag onto the step with a thud and clutched the wine glass tighter. With quick, silent steps, I rushed towards the kitchen bench, heart hammering.

Then—I froze.

A tall silhouette loomed suddenly at the kitchen window, casting a warped shadow across the room. My stomach dropped. Someone’s there. My brain screamed at me to move, and I dropped like dead weight to the floor, landing hard on my hip and sliding across the cold tiles until I came to a halt behind the island bench.

I lay perfectly still, every muscle locked tight. My breath was caught in my throat, suspended like a lifeline I dared not touch. Had he seen me? Had I been fast enough? I clutched the stem of the wine glass like a talisman, absurdly comforted by its familiar weight in my hand.

The tiles pressed their chill into my skin, but I hardly felt it over the throb of adrenaline surging through me. Every creak, every groan of the house felt amplified, taunting me. The smallest movement might give me away.

Then—rattle. The side gate.

My entire body tensed, a gasp catching behind my clenched teeth.

Shit! My lips shaped the word silently as I drew the wine glass to them, forgetting for a moment that it was empty. The rim touched my mouth like an old habit, a futile search for comfort in ritual.

I shifted slightly and peeked over the top of the island bench. The figure had disappeared from the window. That both relieved and terrified me. Where was he now?

Remaining half-crouched, I inched forward, one trembling hand reaching across the bench towards the now-silent phone. The impulse to grab it, to check who had been calling, burned inside me. But then—the broken window. I faltered.

The memory slammed into me: the jagged glass near the back of the house. Karl knew it was there. Was he testing to see if the house was truly empty? The fact he was dressed in all black haunted me. That wasn’t the look of a detective on duty. That was someone trying not to be seen.

I set down the wine glass, its soft clink sounding thunderous in the silence. My fingers hovered just above the phone.

If I take it, I reasoned grimly, Karl will know someone’s here. I hesitated for one more second, then withdrew my hand. I couldn’t risk it. The phone stayed where it was.

Whisking the empty wine glass from the bench, I darted silently back towards the stairs, blood pounding in my ears. I needed to disappear.

But before I could descend, a sound froze me in place—the sharp thump of something solid, followed by the brittle crack of shattering glass.

He’s inside.

The certainty hit like ice water down my spine.

My breath caught again, my limbs threatening to lock. My options were collapsing around me like a burning building. My only escape route was the stairwell. I crouched in its shadow, barely daring to move, muscles tensed to flee.

I didn’t believe Karl would harm me—at least not intentionally. But if I caught him mid-burglary? If he realised I knew something I shouldn't?

I gritted my teeth.

Would that change everything?

A suffocating silence wrapped itself around the house. Every creak of the floorboards above sent fresh jolts of panic through me. I clung to the wall for balance, my breath loud and uneven in my ears, each inhale sounding like a betrayal. The hammering of my heart made it difficult to focus. I didn’t dare move, frozen in place by the sheer weight of fear.

Then something shifted.

A familiar prickling sensation bloomed across my arms, a static whisper beneath my skin. The hairs stood on end, and I recognised it instantly. Portal energy. That subtle tingle was unmistakable, like the atmosphere moments before a storm. I tilted my head toward the bottom of the stairwell, and there it was—the unmistakable swirl of Portal colours, their ethereal glow painting itself along the far wall in a dance of impossible hues.

Help has arrived. The thought came in a gasp of relief, caught halfway between hope and disbelief. But who? My breath hitched. Luke? Or Cody?

With no time to hesitate, I grabbed my bag and hurried down the stairs, my legs propelled by instinct alone. But my footing betrayed me—my toes caught the edge of the final step, and gravity pulled me forward.

Strong arms broke my fall.

“Gladys!” Cody’s voice was a mixture of shock and urgency, his grip tightening around me as I stumbled into him. His face hovered close to mine for a moment, his presence grounding me. The warmth of his touch was jarring in contrast to the cold panic that had overtaken me.

“What are you doing here? And where’s Luke?”

“There’s an intruder,” I whispered urgently, glancing back up the stairs. “You need to get out of here.”

Fear burned in my chest, sharp and unrelenting. My brain was working overtime, panic and confusion colliding in my mind. Cody’s eyes darkened with immediate concern. He didn’t ask for clarification—he simply grabbed my arm and started moving, retreating back toward the lower living room.

“Do you know who it is?” he whispered as we moved, his steps deliberate and silent.

“It’s Detective Karl Jenkins,” I said, the name tumbling from my lips like a curse. Speaking it aloud made it more real. He might not have known the name, but the gravity in my tone said enough.

Cody didn’t hesitate. We turned sharply, stopping at the narrow storage space tucked under the staircase. In the low light, his silhouette shifted with confidence as he opened the door to the cramped closet. He turned to me with clear intention.

“Wait for me in here.”

I stared at him, mouth slightly ajar, incredulous. “Are you serious?” My gaze darted from the closet to his face. The thought of squeezing into that tiny, stale space while he did… what, exactly, with Karl, made my stomach twist.

“Wait for me in here. I'll deal with Karl,” he repeated, gently but insistently.

“What do you mean, ‘deal with’?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, but tight with dread. The question slipped out before I could stop it, borne of a sudden and very real fear.

What if he hurts him? The idea of Cody using force—lethal force—had always lived somewhere in the back of my mind, filed under “things too dark to unpack.” He was a Guardian, after all. A man capable of lying, stealing, disappearing without a trace. I knew what Guardians were asked to do. I’d seen what Luke was becoming.

I wasn’t sure I could handle watching Cody become something else. Or worse—dragging me into that world with him.

“Just keep quiet,” Cody whispered. His hands rested on my shoulders, then gently pushed me into the cramped space. There was no time left for protest. His movements were careful, but firm. He didn’t answer my question—and maybe that was answer enough.

I crouched inside the closet, the door closing behind me with a quiet click, and everything went dark.

Enveloped in the thick darkness of the storage space, I fought to quiet the ragged breaths clawing their way out of my chest. The air in the cramped cupboard was stale and dense, tinged with the must of old cardboard and forgotten things. My every inhale was shallow and shaky, as if I could somehow disappear into silence itself if I just breathed quietly enough.

My body trembled with tension, muscles clenched so tightly they ached. My knees were tucked to my chest, handbag crushed against me, though my fingers could barely hold steady. What the hell is going on up there? The question rang through my mind again and again, useless, maddening. I had no answers—only the gut-twisting fear of what I might hear next.

Then the sounds began.

A distant crash above sent shockwaves through the floorboards, followed by a sequence of low groans and grunts that made my blood run cold. I flinched with every noise. My imagination painted the rest—Cody being thrown, maybe into a table, maybe a wall, the thud of a body hitting the ground. Please, don’t let it be Cody. I squeezed my eyes shut as if it would stop the images from playing out behind them.

I shuffled backwards instinctively, edging myself deeper into the claustrophobic space, knocking over a crate of dusty CDs. The plastic jewel cases clattered like bones. My breath caught as I froze, praying the noise hadn’t been heard.

Then—another brutal thud. A body slamming against the wall above me with such force it sent a flurry of plaster dust cascading onto my hair and shoulders. I ducked involuntarily, arms thrown protectively over my head. A low moan filtered through the floorboards, and my stomach turned over.

From somewhere above, I heard heavy feet stumble toward the stairs, accompanied by the dull scrape of something being dragged. My throat constricted.

Then I heard it—“Fuck!” A deep voice, close now, and all too familiar.

Karl.

Every nerve in my body screamed. I felt like a hunted animal, crouched and cornered. His voice was lower than usual, raw with something that wasn’t just anger—panic, maybe. It had a ragged edge to it, like a man whose plan had just gone horribly wrong.

The dragging noise grew louder, closer. Carpet fibres protested under the weight of something heavy. I pressed my back to the cupboard wall and shoved my knuckles into my mouth, trying to suppress the sob building inside me.

Then came the words that made my blood turn to ice.

"Shit, this isn't Luke Smith."

My brain reeled. The words echoed like a gunshot. Then who did he think Cody was? What the hell was Karl planning to do to Luke? The implications twisted my insides into knots. It wasn’t a reconnaissance mission. Karl hadn’t come to talk. He’d come to act. Possibly to hurt. Maybe even kill.

A rush of dizziness overtook me as bile rose in my throat. I swallowed hard against the acid burn, blinking through the hot sting of tears that threatened to fall. My world was turning upside down faster than I could process. I wasn’t just hiding from a man—I was hiding from a man who had crossed some kind of line. A detective no longer bound by duty, but by desperation. And I was caught in the middle.

The shuffling stopped. A single heartbeat of silence.

Then the faint creak of hinges.

The door.

The storage cupboard door was opening.

I clamped my hands over my mouth, shrinking in on myself as best I could, willing the shadows to swallow me whole.

A sliver of moonlight, struggling to pierce the veil of the clouded night sky, spilled weakly through the open doorway, casting pale ribbons of silver across the cold concrete floor. My breath hitched in my throat as the harrowing sight before me came into view. Cody's limp body was unceremoniously shoved into the cramped space, limbs folding grotesquely as he slumped forward. His head lolled at an unnatural angle, and his eyes—those warm, earnest eyes I’d come to trust—stared straight into mine, vacant and haunting.

Time seemed to stop.

My hand shot to my mouth, stifling the guttural sob that erupted from the depths of my chest. Hot, stinging tears streamed down my cheeks, silent and relentless, as I stared into the ghost of the man I realised that I loved. The pain was blinding. Something inside me fractured with the force of it.

The door clicked shut with a dull finality, plunging us once more into darkness. The air thickened with the suffocating weight of death, of helplessness, of everything I hadn't said. I tried to breathe, but the tightness in my chest refused to loosen. My entire body trembled uncontrollably, the shock and grief rippling through me like aftershocks from a quake. The warmth of my tears gave way to a cruel burn, drying in streaks on my cheeks like molten salt.

In the stifling blackness, I dared to reach out. My fingers inched towards Cody’s silhouette, craving the impossible—that his skin might still be warm, that there might be a flicker of life. But as soon as they brushed against the cold fabric of his jacket, I recoiled violently, a fresh sob breaking loose. I curled into myself, trying to retreat into a corner too small to contain my pain.

Above me, the unmistakable creak of footsteps on the staircase broke the stillness like a gunshot. My breath caught. Every fibre of my being seized with dread. Has Karl come back? The thought sliced through me. Did he hear me? Did he see me? Am I next? The questions spiralled, each more desperate than the last.

Fumbling blindly in the dark, my hands scrabbled across the floor in search of something—anything—I could use to protect myself. But there was nothing. Just forgotten bricks, plastic tubs, and the lifeless form of the only man who had tried to save me.

Then came the sound I feared most: the swift creak of the door opening again.

I gasped, shrinking further into the shadows, bracing for the worst. Harsh moonlight split the blackness in two, illuminating Cody’s body. For a second, hope flared—please be alive, please just be unconscious—but the way his limbs sagged in the light, his unresponsive body falling unceremoniously through the open door, said otherwise.

And then, a voice.

Sharp, panicked, undeniably feminine.

I stared, frozen in disbelief, as a woman’s silhouette filled the doorway. Sarah? The name rose in my mind like a gasp. She fumbled with Cody’s body, shoving it back under the stairs with awkward, unsteady hands. There was no compassion in her movements. No care. Just panic. Her breath came in harsh pants as she wrestled the weight of him through the narrow opening. Then, with a thud that rattled through my bones, she slammed the door shut, and Cody’s body fell against it on our side like a rag doll.

The door remained closed.

I could only imagine Sarah pressed against it from the outside, forcing it shut, hiding the scene—hiding me.

Inside the dark, I couldn’t move. My limbs refused to obey me. I sat paralysed, my body an unwilling prison. I waited—stupidly—for Cody to stir, to groan, to reach for me and whisper that it was all a mistake, that he was fine. But the silence was unrelenting. Oppressive. Final.

The tears came again, thick and fast, carving searing lines down my cheeks. My sobs turned to gasps, each one raking my lungs, leaving me light-headed and hollow. I felt my strength leaving me, piece by piece.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. It no longer mattered. Only one truth remained, curling cold and sharp in the pit of my stomach: No one is coming for me.

The hope I had clung to so desperately—Luke, Beatrix, even Cody—had disintegrated. I was alone, sealed in with the body of the man I loved. A love I had barely had time to name. A love that had been stolen from me before it had the chance to take root.

With my knees digging painfully into the concrete floor and the ache of grief settling deep in my bones, I finally surrendered to it all. The fear. The loss. The unbearable finality.

I collapsed under the weight of it, and I wept.