The Darkness Within

A Psychological Thriller

By Bradley Shadows

Daniel Mercer had always believed that every man carried a little darkness inside him.

Some men buried it beneath religion. Others drowned it in whiskey. Some disguised it with expensive suits, respectable jobs, and pleasant smiles.

Daniel had spent forty-three years pretending his darkness didn't exist.

But lately, it had started talking to him.

And the worst part was that sometimes it made sense.

The clock on his bedroom wall read 2:17 a.m.

Daniel sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his trembling hands. His wife, Rebecca, slept beside him, unaware of the battle taking place just a few feet away.

He hadn't slept properly in eleven days.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the same face.

Arthur Bell.

The man who had destroyed his younger brother's life.

The man who had walked out of a courtroom smiling while Daniel's brother was sentenced to fifteen years in prison for a crime he hadn't committed.

The man who had lied under oath.

And gotten away with it.

Daniel rubbed his face.

"Stop thinking about him," he whispered.

But the thought came anyway.

You know where he lives.

Daniel closed his eyes.

"No."

You know when he leaves for work.

"Shut up."

And you know nobody would blame you.

Daniel stood abruptly, walked into the bathroom, and splashed cold water across his face.

When he looked into the mirror, the man staring back seemed older than forty-three.

His eyes were bloodshot. Dark circles hung beneath them. His once-neatly trimmed beard had become uneven.

He looked like a stranger.

"You're not that kind of man," he told his reflection.

For a moment, he almost believed it.

Then he remembered his brother's voice during their last prison telephone call.

"Don't let this eat you alive, Danny."

Daniel had promised he wouldn't.

But promises were easy to make when you weren't the one living with the anger.

He switched off the bathroom light.

In the darkness, the thought returned.

What if Arthur Bell deserves what's coming?

Daniel didn't answer.

Because somewhere deep inside him, a part of him believed it.

By daylight, Daniel Mercer was the kind of man people trusted.

He managed a small hardware store on the outskirts of Briar Falls, a quiet town where everybody knew everybody else's business.

He volunteered at the local food pantry.

He helped elderly neighbors repair broken fences.

He had never been arrested, never started a bar fight, and never raised a hand against his wife.

People called him dependable.

Honest.

A good man.

And Daniel had spent his entire adult life trying to deserve those words.

But goodness, he was discovering, wasn't something a person possessed forever.

It was a decision.

Sometimes a decision you had to make every hour.

That morning, a customer named Harold Jennings entered the store carrying a defective electric drill.

"This piece of junk quit after two days," Harold complained, dropping it onto the counter.

Daniel examined the drill.

"I can exchange it for you."

"I don't want another piece of garbage. I want my money back."

"That's fine, sir."

Harold leaned forward.

"You people sell cheap junk and expect customers to smile about it."

Daniel felt something tighten in his chest.

Normally, he would have apologized and processed the refund.

But that morning he imagined reaching across the counter, grabbing Harold by his shirt, and slamming his face into the cash register.

The image was so sudden and vivid that Daniel stepped backward.

Harold frowned.

"What's your problem?"

Daniel swallowed.

"Nothing. I'll get your refund."

Coward.

The word appeared in his mind with startling clarity.

He insults you, and you stand there smiling.

Daniel gripped the counter.

He could feel his pulse beating in his temples.

"Sir," he said carefully, "I'm going to need a moment."

He walked into the storeroom and closed the door.

For several seconds, he stood perfectly still.

Then he punched a cardboard box.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

When he stopped, his knuckles were bleeding.

He stared at the blood.

And something frightened him more than the violent thoughts themselves.

For a few seconds, striking that box had felt wonderful.

Three nights later, Daniel received an envelope in the mail.

No return address.

No stamp.

Someone had slipped it directly into his mailbox.

Inside was a single photograph.

Arthur Bell stood outside a restaurant, laughing with two men in business suits.

On the back, someone had written:

Some men never pay for what they've done.

Below the sentence was an address.

Daniel recognized it immediately.

An abandoned textile mill outside town.

He turned the photograph over again.

His first instinct was to throw it away.

His second was to drive to the mill.

He hated how quickly the second instinct had arrived.

Rebecca entered the kitchen carrying a basket of laundry.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

She looked at him.

"Daniel."

He slipped the photograph into his pocket.

"Just something from work."

Rebecca set down the basket.

"You've been acting strange."

"I'm tired."

"You're more than tired."

He looked away.

She moved closer.

"You hardly sleep. You barely eat. Last night I heard you talking to yourself in the bathroom."

Daniel's stomach tightened.

"What did I say?"

Rebecca hesitated.

"You kept saying, 'I won't do it.'"

He said nothing.

She took his hand.

"Whatever you're going through, you don't have to go through it alone."

For one brief moment, Daniel wanted to tell her everything.

The thoughts.

The anger.

The terrible fantasies that frightened him during the day and comforted him at night.

Instead, he forced a smile.

"I'm fine."

Rebecca studied him.

"No, you're not."

Then she walked away.

Daniel remained in the kitchen, listening to her footsteps fade.

He took the photograph from his pocket.

On the back, beneath the address, he noticed something he hadn't seen before.

A second sentence, written in smaller letters.

Midnight. Come alone.

Daniel told himself he was only going to find out who had sent the photograph.

Nothing more.

At 11:48 p.m., he pulled his truck onto the gravel road leading to the abandoned mill.

The building stood against the night sky like a dead thing refusing to fall.

Broken windows stared into the darkness.

Weeds grew through cracks in the pavement.

An old loading dock sagged beneath the weight of years.

Daniel parked near the entrance.

His headlights illuminated a black sedan.

Someone was waiting.

He stepped from the truck.

"Hello?"

A figure emerged from the shadows.

A tall man wearing a dark overcoat.

"Daniel Mercer."

"Who are you?"

"My name isn't important."

"Then why am I here?"

The stranger smiled faintly.

"Because you want Arthur Bell to suffer."

Daniel felt his jaw tighten.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do."

The stranger stepped closer.

"Your brother is sitting in a prison cell because Bell lied. You know it. I know it. Half the town suspects it."

Daniel stared at him.

"How do you know about my brother?"

"I know quite a few things."

The stranger reached into his coat.

Daniel stiffened.

But the man produced only a folded piece of paper.

"Arthur Bell has enemies, Mr. Mercer. Powerful enemies. People who would prefer that he disappear."

Daniel shook his head.

"You're talking to the wrong man."

"Am I?"

The stranger unfolded the paper.

It contained a photograph of Daniel standing outside Bell's office.

Daniel recognized the moment.

He had gone there two weeks earlier, intending to confront Bell.

Instead, he had stood across the street for nearly an hour before driving home.

"Anger is an interesting thing," the stranger said. "Most people spend their lives pretending they don't feel it. But you? You've been feeding yours."

Daniel's hands curled into fists.

"What do you want?"

"To offer you a choice."

The man held out a small envelope.

"Everything you need is inside. Bell's schedule. His routines. The places he goes when he thinks nobody is watching."

Daniel didn't take it.

The stranger's smile widened.

"You've imagined it, haven't you?"

Daniel felt cold.

"Imagined what?"

"Making him pay."

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Daniel whispered, "That doesn't mean I'd do it."

"No," the stranger agreed. "It doesn't."

He placed the envelope on the hood of Daniel's truck.

"But eventually, Mr. Mercer, every man discovers what he's truly capable of."

The stranger returned to his sedan.

A moment later, its engine started.

Daniel watched the taillights disappear down the gravel road.

He stood alone beneath the broken windows of the mill.

Then he looked at the envelope.

He could leave it there.

Drive home.

Tell Rebecca everything.

Call the police.

Those were the choices a good man would make.

Instead, Daniel picked it up.

The next afternoon, Daniel sat alone in his truck outside Arthur Bell's office.

The envelope lay unopened on the passenger seat.

He had carried it with him all morning.

At noon, he had finally looked inside.

The stranger had been telling the truth.

There were photographs, addresses, and details about Bell's daily routine.

There was also a note.

You have until Friday.

Daniel didn't know what Friday meant.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

Across the street, Arthur Bell emerged from the building.

He wore a gray suit and carried a leather briefcase.

Daniel's heartbeat quickened.

Bell stopped beside a parked car and answered his telephone.

He laughed.

That laugh.

Daniel remembered hearing it in the courthouse hallway after the verdict.

The same careless, satisfied laugh.

Something inside Daniel began to unravel.

He opened his truck door.

Stepped onto the sidewalk.

Crossed the street.

Every step felt strangely effortless.

This is your chance.

Bell was still talking on the telephone.

He ruined your brother.

Daniel approached.

He deserves it.

Bell looked up.

His expression changed.

"Mercer?"

Daniel stopped three feet away.

For a moment, neither man spoke.

Then Bell lowered his phone.

"What do you want?"

Daniel could hear his own breathing.

"I want you to tell the truth."

Bell sighed.

"Not this again."

"My brother didn't do it."

"The jury disagreed."

"You lied."

Bell's eyes narrowed.

"Careful."

Daniel took another step.

"Fifteen years, Arthur. Fifteen years of his life."

Bell glanced around.

"You're making a scene."

Daniel felt his fists tighten.

For one terrible second, he imagined grabbing Bell and beating him until the man begged for mercy.

He could almost hear the sound.

Almost feel the release.

Then another memory surfaced.

His brother, sitting across from him in the prison visiting room.

Don't let this eat you alive, Danny.

Daniel stared at Bell.

His hands slowly opened.

"I could hate you for the rest of my life," he said.

Bell gave a dismissive shrug.

"That's your problem."

Daniel nodded.

"Maybe."

He turned and walked away.

Behind him, Bell laughed.

"That's right, Mercer. Walk away."

Daniel kept walking.

Every muscle in his body screamed at him to turn around.

He didn't.

When he reached his truck, he climbed inside and locked the doors.

Then he began to shake.

Not because he was afraid of Arthur Bell.

But because he had come so close to becoming someone he no longer recognized.

That evening, Daniel finally told Rebecca everything.

They sat at the kitchen table while he described the thoughts that had been haunting him.

The anger.

The sleepless nights.

The stranger at the mill.

The envelope.

He expected Rebecca to recoil.

Instead, she listened.

When he finished, she remained quiet for a long time.

Then she asked, "Do you want to hurt him?"

Daniel stared at his hands.

"Sometimes."

"Do you intend to?"

He shook his head.

"No. But I'm afraid of what happens when I get angry."

Rebecca reached across the table.

"Then we get you help before that anger decides anything for you."

Daniel began to cry.

It surprised him.

He hadn't cried when his brother was convicted.

He hadn't cried when their mother died.

But sitting in that kitchen, with his wife holding his hands, something inside him finally broke open.

The next morning, he called a counselor.

He also contacted an attorney about the envelope.

The attorney advised him to turn it over to the police.

Daniel did.

For the first time in weeks, he felt something other than rage.

Not peace.

Not yet.

But the possibility of it.

That night, he slept for six uninterrupted hours.

Then the telephone rang.

It was 3:12 a.m.

Daniel answered groggily.

"Hello?"

A familiar voice spoke.

The stranger from the mill.

"You disappointed me, Mr. Mercer."

Daniel sat upright.

"How did you get this number?"

"You had an opportunity to do something meaningful."

"Don't call me again."

"You think walking away makes you a good man?"

Daniel looked toward Rebecca, sleeping beside him.

"No," he said quietly. "I think it means I'm trying to be one."

The stranger chuckled.

"Interesting answer."

Then his voice changed.

"Unfortunately, Arthur Bell isn't going to live long enough to appreciate it."

The line went dead.

Daniel stared at the telephone.

A sickening realization settled over him.

The stranger hadn't been offering him revenge.

He had been looking for someone to carry it out.

And now that Daniel had refused, someone else might take his place.

By morning, Arthur Bell was missing.

His car had been found abandoned beside the river.

His briefcase lay open on the passenger seat.

There were signs of a struggle.

Daniel stood in his kitchen, listening to the news report on the radio.

Rebecca watched him.

"Daniel?"

He didn't answer.

"Do you think the man from the mill did this?"

"I don't know."

But deep inside, he feared the answer.

The police had already taken his statement about the envelope. Now Daniel called the detective assigned to the case.

Detective Sarah Collins arrived an hour later.

She listened carefully as Daniel described the late-night telephone call.

"Did the caller give you a name?" she asked.

"No."

"Anything unusual about his voice?"

Daniel thought for a moment.

"Calm. Almost friendly. Like he was discussing the weather."

Collins wrote something in her notebook.

"Mr. Mercer, I need to ask you a difficult question."

"Go ahead."

"Did you ever seriously consider killing Arthur Bell?"

Rebecca stiffened.

Daniel looked at the detective.

A week earlier, he would have lied.

He would have protected his reputation.

His image.

The illusion that he was incapable of terrible things.

But he was tired of hiding.

"Yes," he answered.

Collins looked up.

"Did you make any plans?"

"No. I imagined hurting him. I was angry enough to scare myself. But I never decided to do it."

"Why not?"

Daniel considered the question.

Finally, he said, "Because wanting to do something doesn't make it right."

Collins studied him.

Then she closed her notebook.

"That's an important distinction."

She stood.

"We'll be in touch."

After she left, Daniel went outside.

The morning sun was rising above the trees.

Birds were singing.

Somewhere down the street, a dog barked.

Ordinary sounds.

Ordinary life.

Daniel realized how close he had come to throwing it all away.

He had spent so much time believing that his anger made him dangerous that he had nearly forgotten something.

He still had a choice.

He could feel hatred without obeying it.

He could experience rage without becoming violent.

He could carry darkness without allowing it to rule him.

But as he stood in the sunlight, his telephone vibrated.

An unknown number.

A text message.

You passed the first test, Daniel.

A second message followed.

Now let's see how long your goodness lasts when the people you love are threatened.

Attached was a photograph.

Rebecca.

Standing outside the grocery store.

Taken less than ten minutes earlier.

Daniel felt the darkness stir again.

For a moment, his old fury rose so sharply that he could barely breathe.

Then he looked at the photograph a second time.

This wasn't a test of how much violence he was capable of.

It was a test of whether he would allow someone else to choose the man he became.

Daniel called Rebecca.

"Get inside the store," he said. "Find the manager. Stay where there are people. I'm calling the police."

His voice was steady.

His hands were not.

But he made the call anyway.

And for the first time, the voice inside him had nothing to say.

Three months later, Daniel Mercer stood before the same bathroom mirror where his troubles had begun.

Arthur Bell had been found alive in an abandoned farmhouse.

The stranger from the mill had been arrested, along with two men involved in a blackmail operation targeting witnesses from several criminal trials.

Bell's disappearance had been intended to pressure him into surrendering evidence against his associates.

And during the investigation, detectives had uncovered documents suggesting that Daniel's brother had indeed been wrongfully convicted.

The case was being reopened.

Nothing was guaranteed.

But there was hope.

Daniel looked into the mirror.

He still had difficult days.

There were mornings when anger rose without warning.

There were nights when he dreamed about the courtroom and woke with his heart pounding.

Counseling hadn't erased those feelings.

It had helped him understand them.

He no longer believed that being a good man meant never experiencing an ugly thought.

He understood that character was revealed in what a person chose to do with those thoughts.

Rebecca appeared in the doorway.

"You coming to breakfast?"

"In a minute."

She smiled and walked away.

Daniel turned back toward the mirror.

The man staring at him still had tired eyes.

Still carried scars nobody could see.

Still had a darkness somewhere inside him.

But he was no longer afraid to acknowledge it.

Because he finally understood something he wished he'd learned years earlier.

The darkness inside a man does not define him.

THE END