Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed! I was super nervous writing this, never mind posting it, so the support I was shown here (and on Tumblr and AO3) was amazing and unexpected. Another thank you goes out specifically to Hikari199111, who was my amazing beta and knows exactly how to twist my awkward wording into something coherent.
This is the end of the In the Dark, and the next chapter, The Darkness Bride, is technically the second part of the series.
It's still evening when he comes to. The convenience store itself is bright, the headlights of an ambulance shining through the front windows, but he can see the encroaching darkness of the sky beyond. An EMT kneels over him, fingers pressed to the pulse in his neck. Once she realizes he's awake, she begins to ask him questions about his condition and medical history. He answers as best he can, but it's a blur and the next thing he knows she's saying he'll be free to go once he's patched up and has talked to the police about what happened.
She leads him out to the back of the ambulance. The cashier is already there, an orange blanket wrapped around her shoulders, talking softly to another EMT. As the EMT who brought him over helps him up into the ambulance, a police cruiser pulls up and the other EMT leaves to go meet the officers.
He's forced to sit through a full examination, during which he reviews what happened in his mind. It was . . . terrifying, to say the least. He knew the presence was dangerous, but not to this extent, not this kind of dangerous. He didn't think it would kill people. More specifically, kill them for him. Perhaps he made a mistake trusting and feeling safe around the presence.
The EMT wraps a bandage around his upper arm, drawing his attention to the injury. While all his thoughts are true, the reason the presence became so furious was because he was wounded. He knows it wouldn't hurt him, so he had no reason to fear. As for other people, he knows it's selfish of him, but he's far too shaken up to manage being concerned with what could happen to those "other people" at the moment.
The gauze is secured with medical tape and the EMT says he can leave once he talks with a police officer. He sits next to the cashier on the bumper and a matching orange blanket is draped over his shoulders.
"For shock," the EMT explains before leaving to bring the officer over.
The cashier looks remarkably calm for experiencing what she did. Under the blanket, he can see that an entire side of her clothing is red, soaked through with blood. She doesn't appear to be injured, so she must have been lying on the floor, near the man when . . . when . . .
She turns and smiles weakly at him, but it doesn't reach her eyes, which remain hollow. He returns the smile, knowing his is just as empty. He's about to ask her how she's feeling when the EMT returns with the police officer.
"You two are the only witnesses?" he asks. At their nods, he continues, "If you follow me, I'm just going to ask you a few questions."
As they head towards the store front, the other EMT and officer wheel a black body bag out the door on a stretcher. He swallows hard and, out of the corner of his eye, sees the cashier pull the blanket tighter around herself. The officer leads them inside once it has passed.
"Now, I would like you both to describe what happened when the gunman first entered the shop."
They begin the tedious process of explaining and reenacting, the officer interrupting with a few clarifying questions every now and then. When he gets to the part about hiding in the bathroom, the officer goes over and flicks the switch, surprisingly turning the light on, revealing nothing out of the ordinary besides a blood-smeared doorknob.
"You said the lights went out while you were in here?"
"Yeah, but I never turned this light on."
The police officer looks at the light curiously, but turns it off and asks him to continue.
"I was about to call the police when the gunman started yelling something, but was cut off. I thought maybe the cashier had done something, so I looked out. It was too dark to really see anything, so I tried to get closer. And that's when I saw the gunman just . . . lying there, in-in –" he trails off. He can't even think of what happened; there's no way he's going to be able to say it.
"Okay, that's fine. What about you?"
The cashier takes a deep breath before speaking. "I grappled with the gunman for a bit; I may not look like much, but my mother made sure I would always be able to defend myself. He punched me in the stomach and it knocked the wind out of me, but before he could do anything, the lights went out. He kept asking who was there and he sounded really freaked out. He seemed to think someone was there and he shot at them, but then everything just stopped and he fell to the floor. I felt the side of my clothes getting wet . . . and realized it was blood. Then I heard him fall, from seeing it, I suppose, and knew that I had to call –"
"So you have no idea what caused the gunman to collapse like that?" the officer cut her off.
They both shake their heads.
"Do you know about his injuries? Let me tell you: puncture wounds, straight through, all over his body – like he fell into a pit of spikes. If you have any idea what could cause wounds like that . . . Was there a fourth person in the store?"
More head shaking.
"Even if there was, officer," the cashier begins, "we wouldn't have been able to see them. It was too dark. The cameras might have –"
"The cameras stopped recording when the lights went out."
"But that's impossible! They're connected to a completely different system from the lights, with a backup power source that keeps them recording in case of a black out."
"I know. What about the light in the bathroom?"
"I not sure, but I think it's on the same circuit as the rest of the lights."
"So, logically, it should have gone out with the others. As of right now, we suspect some sort of vandalism that rigged the cameras to stop recording and the lights to blow out, but that should have included the one in bathroom. It may not seem important, but we have to consider every detail significant."
The officer asks them a few more neutral questions and tells the cashier her clothing is needed as evidence. While the EMTs bring her to the ambulance to change into a pair of spare scrubs, the officer takes down his information and says he's free to go.
He feels bad leaving before checking on the cashier and making sure she's okay, but he needs to get home and have a serious talk with the presence. Once he's out of sight of the convenience store, he breaks into a sprint and doesn't stop until he's locked his bedroom door behind him. He takes a step, ready to demand the presence come out, but he's slammed back against the door. A mouth covers his own and moves against it hungrily. The tongue tries to push its way in, but he seals his lips and turns his head away.
"What is wrong with you!"
"What?" The presence sound genuinely surprised at his anger.
"You can't just murder someone!"
"He hurt you," it says with a much colder tone and a narrowing of the eyes.
"So? Now he's dead and I'm in the middle of a police investigation –"
"I don't care about what happens to anyone else. I'll kill the police officers as well if they're making you this agitated."
"What?" he breathes. Now it's his turn to be surprised. His breath hitches when the presence places a hand over his eyes.
"If you think we share the same morals, then you must be blind. I decide what I do for myself. I don't follow your human conventions."
He shoves the presence off and strides across the room to his bedside table to pick up the nightlight. "You listen to this."
"Only because it prevents me from gaining proper form. I gave it back to you because I like you, but I can take it away again just as easily." The presence is right behind him, wrapping around his arms to pin them to his sides. The action presses against his wound and his fingers lose their grip; the nightlight easily slips through them as the presence extracts it from his grasp. With his arms held down, he can't reach for it before the presence has already moved away. Whirling around, he's prepared to demand for it back, only for his voice to die in his throat. The presence has the nightlight in a gentle grip, staring at it with a solemnity that seems almost melancholy.
"To think, this is what kept me at bay all those years. I used to curse its very existence . . . but now I can hold it in my hand." It pauses and looks at him, smiling softly. "I can hold you now, too." He shivers as it reaches out a hand and cups his cheek tenderly.
"It's been unplugged for years."
"You knew I was there. I was waiting for you to invite me."
And he had. 'This is for you.' It wasn't intended as such, but, as the presence already said, it doesn't follow human conventions. That clearly includes ethics about murder and he supposes he can't blame it for being on a different moral spectrum. Seeing that demonstrated right in front of him was traumatizing, but due to the previous years of torment – ironically, also at the hands of the presence– he has a remarkably durable mental state.
Unbidden, he takes a step toward the presence. "Now what?"
"'Now what' indeed. You know very well what I want and I believe you want the same, don't you?" The presence's smile would have seemed much more dangerous if its words didn't already have him trembling with anticipation.
He forces himself to focus; there will be time for that later. "We have to set some rules first."
"Rules?" It looks affronted at the very suggestion. "I already said –"
"Yes, yes. I know what you said. How about you listen to what I have to say?" The presence glares, but remains silent. "You can't kill people. I don't care what they've done to me or how angry you are – you just can't kill them."
He thinks the presence is very much like a petulant child as it bites out, "Fine."
His breath of laughter is swallowed by a kiss. It is a short dragging of lips over lips, almost as if it was just to quiet him. He laughs again at that thought. "And especially not in front of me.
"Don't be so quick to think you've won. I have a rule of my own: I'm keeping the nightlight."
He expects to feel a jolt of panic at the added stipulation, but finds that it's perfectly agreeable to him. "Fine," he mimics. "I don't need it anymore."
The smirk he gets is positively deadly and he's kissed again, this time with a much different intent. He closes his eyes as the tongue slips into his mouth and slides over his own. A hand sneaks under his shirt to splay across his ribcage, the other moving to the nape of his neck.
Much too soon, he has to pull away from the kiss for air. As he gasps, the presence whispers into his ear, "Now we just have to 'fulfill the contract' so to speak."
Before he can answer, the hand on the back of his neck turns him around and presses him into the wall. The presence is behind him again, this time pushing a knee between his legs while one hand settles on his hip and the other tugs at the bottom of his shirt. He hastily pulls it off, but has to quickly bring his arms up to brace against the wall as teeth latch onto his shoulder. His cry is choked off when the hand on his hip slides into his pants and squeezes him firmly. Coherent thoughts are driven from his mind when the presence begins to stroke him. His knees feel weak and he struggles to remain standing, so he simply rests his forehead against the wall to focus on breathing steadily.
As aroused as he is, it's not long before his pants become uncomfortably tight and he moves one of his arms from the wall to fumble at the button. The presence, sensing his difficulty, finally releases his shoulder and assists him. He steps out of his pants with a sign of relief and a hum of pleasure as the hand returns. Though it feels good, he wants more, needs more, and pushes back to the presence's hips. He moans at the hardness he feels there. The presence grinds against him and whispers in his ear, "Spread your legs."
He whimpers as he steps apart and the presence moves slightly away from him. A finger trails down his side and over the curve of his ass before pressing into him. Standing up, this feels much different. It takes more effort to relax, but he finds it easier as the pleasure builds with the finger's movement. The addition of another finger brings some pain and he cants his hips in an attempt to bring the digits in contact with that spot inside him. They brush across it and he gasps sharply. The presence changes the angle so it hits the spot directly. Its other hand resumes stroking his cock and he very near collapses right then, but both hands draw away to solidly grip his hips.
Once he's positioned closer to the wall, one arm wraps around to the opposite hip and the other guides the presence as it enters him. His knees feel weak as he is filled and he leans into the wall, adjusting his arms so it's more comfortable. Keeping the injured arm close to his chest, he extends the other and bends it so his hand is near his head. The presence's now free hand comes up and laces their fingers together, holding the position as it catches its breath. He remembers it had to pause before as well and rolls his hips back, a challenge to start moving.
There's an answering growl in his ear and the presence pulls out and snaps back in. The thrusts are rough and fast and fingers dig into his hip hard enough to bruise. He can feel puffs of hot breath against his ear and twists his head back to seek out the presence's mouth. The kiss is hungry, making him feeling like he's being devoured.
Knowing he's close, he starts pushing back into the thrusts, trying to meet them. The presence, aware of his efforts, breaks the kiss and slows its pace, using the hand on his hip to guide him into a rhythm. Once he's moving on his own, the hand moves to wrap around his cock. It hardly moves, letting him create the friction.
There's so much stimulation and it feels so good and he's so close. The presence moans into his ear and that sends him over the edge. He swears it causes him to black out, as the next thing he's aware of is being laid down on his mattress and bundled against the presence's chest. He shudders at the feeling of skin on skin at every point they touch.
The good kind of exhaustion overcomes him again, but he forces himself to stay awake for one more thing.
"Tell me your name."
There's a long pause and he's sure the presence isn't going to answer.
"Pitch Black."
The name is unusual, like everything else about the presence.
"My name –"
"I know who you are, Jack Frost. I've known who you are for a very long time."
I typically don't like leaving notes at the end of a chapter, but I just want to say something I believe to be very important. This may look like a happy ending for both Jack and Pitch, but think about how this relationship began and developed. It's not healthy by any means and those themes will be explored further in the sequel. Just keep in mind that this all came out of rape.
