Evil Without a Face

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Seventeen-year old Nikki Archer knelt on the floor inside her dark closet, rolling another T-shirt to stuff into a canvas duffel bag, her hands shaking. She’d drawn the thick drapes of her bedroom to block the enduring daylight common this time of year and chose to work by a meager light. The darkened space gave her the illusion of privacy and the solitude she desperately needed. Still, she strained to listen for the familiar creak outside her bedroom door, an early warning signal she had unwanted company.

The closet door stood open a narrow crack. She needed the light, but in case her mom came looking for her, the partially closed door would give her time to react and hide what she was doing. She worked until she couldn’t take the shakes anymore. The dim light from a distant lamp on her nightstand seeped in to find her. Its pale glow cast a steady luminous ribbon across her arms.

The reality of her intentions had closed in, seizing Nikki with a rush of guilt, and she stopped and clutched the handle of the duffel to steady her trembling fingers. But it wasn’t enough. Perspiration beaded on her forehead and upper lip. Feeling light-headed, she found a corner at the back of her closet and cowered deep into its shadows. In the cramped space, her heartbeat echoed and her breathing filled her ears, muffling everything except the nagging doubts that had surfaced again. Part of her wanted to stay put, burrowed into her clothes and mementos with the faint scent of her favorite perfume in the air. But she had made up her mind more than a week ago, and the final details would be worked out tonight.

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