In The Dark

“In The Dark”
Marcus Cox

Sully McCartney was about to make his first national television appearance. He was going on the morning talk show, “Wake Up America“, to talk about his novel, The Street.

The book was about a corrupted cop, named Coby Cameron, that involved in a drug trafficking scandal in Los Angles. Due to some unintentional marketing the book shot up the national best seller list and was sitting atop it for the eight consecutive week.

Sully was insanely nervous about this appearance. Before the show the writer had to go through make up, hair and all sorts of stuff he wasn’t use to. Sully was just a small time boy from Oregon. This was actually the first time he left his home state, and it just had to be to go to New York.

The show had just gone to commercial break and Sully was told to take the stage. He walked out onto the set to see a leather seat that he was directed to go to, and the two hosts, Don Phillips and Cherie Rice. What Sully noticed most of all where all the lights. That bothered him a lot. The writer sat in the leather seat and felt kind of cozy, but still he didn’t feel comfortable.

Sully’s nervousness reached it’s epitome when he heard a stage hand say “Where back in five… four… three…”

After a couple seconds Don said, “Welcome back,” with a huge smile across his face. “We’re now sitting down with the national best selling author of The Street, Sully McCartney.” Don turned from the camera and looked at Sully. “How are you this morning?”

“Fine,” Sully said.

“You look a little tired,” Cherie commented, “Was the time difference between here and your home state of Oregon too much?”

“No,” Sully replied, “I’m an insomniac.” Don and Cherie laughed with tremendous force at Sully’s comment. “No. Seriously,” Sully said, “I’m clinically diagnosed insomniac.”

The two hosts stopped laughing and their fake looking smiles vanished from their faces. “Really?” Cherie said. “Didn’t a doctor prescribe you any medication?”

“Yea. But I do my best writing at about one or two in the morning. I have a very unique writing style.”

“Okay,” Don said, “Whatever works, I guess.” The host laughed again.

“So,” Cherie said, “is it a thrill to have a national best-selling novel?”

Sully just nodded his head.

“I hate to bring this up,” Don said, “but it is your first interview since the success of the novel and this is a question on most people’s minds about the book; what is your response to the Los Angles police officer accusing you of
stealing his likeness for your novel?”

Sully shifted in his seat. “You know,” he said, “I have never met Officer Cameron in person. I once talked to him over the phone when the accusation first came up. I don’t even know what this guy looks like, so how can I steal his likeness?”

“Good question,” Cherie answered.

“These accusations that I’m trying to ruin this officer’s good name are insane and unfounded. It’s only a coincidence,” Sully assured.

“Kind of a big coincidence, don’t you think?” asked Cherie.

“I bet there have been odder.”

Don nodded. “So, are you working on any new books?”

“Yes,” Sully replied, “I’m actually working on the sequel to The Streets. The now retired officer heads north to Oregon and discovers new trouble there. He isn’t the main character in this one, but he is still there for a nice portion of the story.”

“What is the main character like?” questioned Cherie.

“He’s a drug dealer. Very ruthless. Will do anything to make a quick dollar. He is working with the former police officer in a new more elaborate drug trafficking ring.”

“Well that sounds very good. When can that be expected out?” Cherie asked.

Sully thought for a moment. “Well I’m just about done with the first draft right now. So I’d say there’s a good chance it will be out in about anywhere from nine months to a year from now. No guaranties.”

“Well thank you for being here with us today,” Don said. He then looked to the audience and said really loud, “He’s Sully McCartney. The book is called The Streets. It’s available now.”

With that the audience applauded and Sully’s interview was over. After signing a few dozen books he left back to his hotel, packed his things and caught the first flight to Oregon.

* * *

Sully entered his apartment to find a message on his machine from his good friend and editor, Bill. “Hey Sully,” the message started, “Just saw your interview and thought you did a good job. Kind of interested in reading the new book you were talking about. Well I’ll talk to you when you get back into town. Adios.”

“Figures,” Sully said to no one. He hated giving out uncompleted stories because he something that he read in a writing book; if someone gives you there opinion it can completely change the story.

Sully picked up the phone and dialed Bill’s number. The phone rang twice and then Bill answered. “Well hello there.”

“Hey Bill. How’s it going?” Sully replied.

“Ohh, moderately neat-o,” he said, “Did you get my message?”

Sully could hear the eager in Bill’s voice. He sighed and said, “Yea, and you can read what I have as long as you don’t give me your thoughts on the book!”

Bill laughed in triumph. “Okay, I can do that.”

“I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”

“Sounds good. Adios for now.” The two men hung up their phones.

Sully went into his study and printed off the 187 pages he had typed thus far. He paper clipped them together into fifteen page increments, just the way Bill liked it. The writer stuffed the unfinished novel into a manila envelope and left the apartment.

* * *

After the short drive Sully arrived at the rather large house of his friend Bill. Sully walked to the front door, manila envelope in hand. As he was about to push the door bell, the door swung open. Sully jumped. “Welcome,” Bill said.

“I hate it when you do that,” Sully replied. The two entered the house. “So, I didn’t look too nervous this morning, did I?”

Bill chuckled. “Sully, you always look nervous,” he said, “But if it’s any constellation, you didn’t look any more nervous than normal.”

They entered the kitchen and Sully set the envelope on the counter. “Would you like a drink?” Bill asked, pulling out a bottle of vodka.

“No thanks,” Sully said.

Bill proceeded to pour himself a drink. “So that’s the new book?”

Sully nodded.

“Seems a bit thin.”

“Well, it’s not done and still in single space.”

“Okay,” Bill said taking a drink from his glass. “About how much do you have left?”

“I’d say I’ll be done in about two or three days,” Sully replied, “I should actually get home to do some writing.”

Bill nodded. “Sounds good.”

Sully exited the kitchen saying, “Bye.”

“Adios,” Bill called back.

Sully exited the front door and walked to his car. As he was unlocking it, another car pulled up. Sully glanced in the window to see a man that he swore he saw before, but just couldn’t pinpoint from where.

* * *

Sully entered his study, which was just about pitch black. A small amount of moon light entered the room from a single window. Even with the sever lack of light knew exactly where every thing in the room was. All that was in the room was a desk with his computer on top and a chair in front of it.

Sully went and sat at his desk and turned on his computer. He was getting a little drowsy as he waited for the computer to turn on. He actually nearly fell asleep a couple of times. Must stay awake, he thought to himself. Once the computer was on he opened the word processor that he was writing the new book in. The writer scrolled down to the end of the document and started to write. After writing a couple of sentences Sully felt extremely weak. He tried to continue to write but everything faded to black.

* * *

Sully came too about six hours later to see another 12 pages written in the story. He moved the cursor to where it had been when he blacked out. Sully started to read what he had written that night.

The main character, William Mathews, was reading an article in the newspaper that his journalist friend had written. It was about the drug trafficking scam that was going on in Oregon. The drug trafficking scam the William was involved with.

“Another good night’s work,” he said to himself.

Sully saved the work and turned off the computer. He exited the study to get some breakfast. As he was eating his food his phone rang. “Hello,” he said with a mouthful of waffle.

“Is this some sort of sick joke?” said the voice on the other end of the line.

Sully swallowed. “Bill?”

“How did you find out my real last name?”

Sully was confused beyond belief. “What do you mean?”

“You damn well know what I mean!” Bill yelled, “I read the story. William Mathews is my birth name! I changed it about a year before I met you!”

“Listen man,” Sully said trying to explain himself, “It’s just a coincidence. I did not name the character after you.”

Bill stayed quiet for a minute. “This is just way to weird for me,” he said.

“Listen,” Sully said, “I’m going to come over and we can sort this all out. Maybe I can in lighten you about a few things.”

“Okay. Adios,” Bill said.

Sully hung up the phone and left the apartment.

* * *

When Sully arrived at Bill’s house he noticed the car that pulled up when he left yesterday was still there. Sully walked up to the front door and waited for Bill to open it. As Sully expected the door swung open. Sully entered.

Sully and Bill walked into Bill’s living room. There were three chairs around a coffee table. On the table was the manuscript and in a chair was the familiar man Sully saw from the previous day. Bill sat in one chair and Sully sat in the other.

“So,” Bill started, “How did you find out my real name?”

Sully didn’t hear what Bill had said. He was too busy trying to figure out where he had seen that strange man before.

“Sully!” Bill yelled. “How did you find out my real name?”

“I told you,” Sully replied, “I didn’t. It’s all a coincidence.”

“Kind of a stretch,” said the mysterious man.

That’s when it hit Sully. “What is he doing here?” Sully asked Bill.

Bill looked from Sully to the man, and back to Sully again. “This man is a long time friend and business partner.”

Sully shifted in his seat. “Why would a book editor, like yourself, have a business partner in a police officer?”

“Excuse me?” Bill said.

“This man arrested my father on murder charges three years ago. A murder he didn’t commit.”

“Sully,” the man said, “Your father was a bad man. And even if he didn’t commit the murder that’s no reason to go about and slander my good name.”

It took Sully a minute to grasp this new information. “You’re Coby Cameron?” he asked.

“Yes he is,” Bill said getting out of his seat. “And now don’t you think this is a bit of a coincidence. The first likeness you stole was of an officer that put away your father and now you stole the likeness of me?”

“It must be a subconscious thing,” Sully tried to explain. “When I write my stories I black out. When I awake the story is longer. It’s all subconscious. I swear it.”

Coby stood up and left the room.

“Listen,” Bill said, “Sully, you’re a good man. But I think you’re dealing with some bad stuff right now. If I were you I’d stop writing. I’d start taking you sleeping pills. I’d leave the state of Oregon and never come back. You’ve made more than enough money off your first book. You could start a new life.”

“What are you saying?” Sully asked.

“I’m just saying. At the very least you should leave here, and never come back. It would be best if you don’t even try to contact me.”

Sully new something bad was happening with Bill, but wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out. He stood up and walked toward the exit.

“Adios,” Bill said.

* * *

Sully drove back to his apartment. The troubled man pondered what he should do for many hours. He came up with several options; skip town, like Bill suggested; just stick around and see what happens; or report Bill and Coby, although he wasn’t quite sure what they were up to.

Sully decided to just stick around for the at least the night. Sully took a sleeping pill around seven o’clock but an hour later it still hadn’t kicked in. He had lied in bed for about another hour trying to relax but it just seemed not to work.

Sully got up and went to his study. After he turned on the computer he continued to work on his book. Like the night before that one, and all the other night’s he wrote, Sully blacked out.

* * *

When Sully awoke several hours later the room was pitch black. He looked up through the window and saw no moon shining in. The writer felt around for the mouse. When he finally found it Sully tapped it till the screen saver shut off and the word processor came on. The first thing he noticed was the words “The End” at the end of the manuscript. Sully scrolled up to the point where he had left off. He read what he wrote until he hit a point of similarity.

The text read: “This man arrested my father on murder charges three years ago. A murder he didn’t commit.” What the hell? Sully thought to himself.

A little bit later a second similarity occurred: “‘Listen,’ William said, ‘You’re a good man. But I think you’re dealing with some bad stuff right now. If I were you I’d stop writing articles. I’d leave the state of Oregon and never come back. You could start a new life.’ With that the journalist left.”

Sully came to the realization that he was the journalist. The stuff he had been writing was actually happening.

“William had joined Coby in the other room. ‘He knows too much’ Coby said.

“‘I know’ Williams replied. ‘Do you think he realizes we framed his father?’

“Coby shook his head. ‘It’s possible but not likely.’”

Sully gasped as he read that. His closest friend was more of a fiend. He couldn’t believe he had trusted Bill. But that shock didn’t compare to the last paragraph of the book.

“The journalist sat in the dark staring at his finished article. As he was looking over it he heard a voice from behind him say “Adios” and a pair of gloved hands wraped tightly around his neck.”

“Adios.”