“I’m not really sure,” I say. And that’s the truth. I’m not sure.
Some days, I’m still so angry. My father lied. He took the blame for Cooper’s crimes. He found that box of jewelry and tucked it away, keeping his secret. Trading his freedom for Cooper’s life. And because of it, two more girls are dead. But on other days, I get it. I understand. Because that’s what parents do: They protect their children, no matter the cost. I think of all those mothers staring into the camera, the fathers melting into puddles by their sides. They had a child who was taken by the darkness—but what if your child was the darkness? Wouldn’t you want to protect them, too? It’s all about control, after all. The illusion that death is something we can contain, cupping it into our palms and holding it tight, never letting it escape. That Cooper, given another chance, could somehow change. That Lena, dangling herself in front of my brother, feeling the fire singe her skin, could pull away at just the right moment. Walk away unscathed.
But it’s just a lie we tell ourselves. Cooper never changed. Lena couldn’t outrun the flames. Even Daniel had tried it, attempting to control the anger that was inherent inside of him. Desperate to push down those little glimpses of his father that would peek through in his weakest moments. I’m guilty of it, too. All those little bottles in my desk drawer, calling to me like a whisper in the night.
It wasn’t until I found myself hovering over Cooper in my kitchen, looking down at his weakened body, that I had a taste of what it really felt like: control. Of not only having it, but taking it from somebody else. Snatching it up and claiming it as your own. And for one single moment, like a flicker in the dark, it felt good.
I smile at Sophie before turning around again, walking down the last few steps, feeling my shoes hit the pavement. I make my way toward my car, hands in my pockets, watching as dusk smears the horizon with pinks and yellows and oranges—one last moment of color before the darkness settles in again, the way it always does. And that’s when I notice it: the air around me buzzing with that familiar electrical charge. I stop, stand completely still, watching. Waiting. And then I cup my hands and grab at the sky, feeling a slight fluttering in my palms as I squeeze them shut. I stare down into my clenched fingers, at the thing I have trapped inside. At the life, quite literally, that rests in my hands. Then I bring it up to my face, peering through the tiny hole between my fingers.
Inside, a single firefly glows bright, its body pulsing with life. I stare at it for a while, my forehead pressed against my clenched fingers. I watch it radiate up close, flickering in my grasp, thinking of Lena.
Then I open my hands and set her free.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
None of this would have been possible without my agent, Dan Conaway. You believed in this book before anyone else, signed me after reading only three chapters, and have graciously answered all of my frantic questions every day since. You took a chance on me and it changed my life. Thank you will never seem like enough.
To everyone at Writers House, you’ve been a dream. To Lauren Carsley, thank you for picking my book out of what was, I’m sure, a very large stack. To Peggy Boulos-Smith, Maja Nikolic, and Jessica Berger in the rights department, thank you for championing this story overseas.
Thank you to the entire team at Minotaur, St. Martin’s Publishing Group, and Macmillan. To my wonderful editor, Kelley Ragland: your editorial eye has been invaluable, and I feel so lucky to have you in my corner. Thank you to Madeline Houpt, for keeping me organized along the way; David Rotstein, for creating the cover of my dreams; and Hector DeJean, Sarah Melnyk, Allison Ziegler, and Paul Hochman, for getting the word out. Also, a huge thanks to Jen Enderlin and Andy Martin, for your early enthusiasm and confidence in this book.
Thank you to my UK editor, Julia Wisdom, and all of the folks over at HarperCollins UK. Additional thanks must also go to all of my wonderful foreign publishing houses for translating this story into so many different languages.
To Sylvie Rabineau at WME, thank you so much for seeing the screen potential for this story. You’ve launched this dream of mine to completely new heights.
To my parents, Kevin and Sue. Despite what the subject matter of my books may suggest, my parents are incredibly loving and supportive people who have cheered on my passion for writing since as early as I can remember. None of this would have been possible without your love and encouragement. Thank you so much—for everything.
To my sister, Mallory. Thanks for teaching me how to read and write (seriously!), for diving headfirst into my bad first drafts, and for always giving the most valuable feedback, even when it makes me grumpy. Also, thanks for making me watch all those scary movies with you at a questionably young age. You have always been, and will always be, my very best friend.
To my husband, Britt. You never let me give up. Thank you for spending years cooking dinner while I was holed up in my office, for listening to me talk about these people I invented every single day, and for always being my loudest and proudest supporter. For that, and a million other reasons, I love you. I couldn’t have done it without you.
To Brian, Laura, Alvin, Lindsey, Matt, and the rest of my wonderful family, thank you for your never-ending excitement, enthusiasm, and support. I’m lucky to have you all in my life.
To my hype squad and very first outside readers: Erin, Caitlin, Rebekah, Ashley, and Jacqueline. Whether you were screaming from the sidelines or sending quiet whispers of encouragement, I heard every word. Thank you so much for being my people. I don’t know what I did to deserve friends like you.
To my wonderful friend, Kolbie. Your enthusiasm throughout this entire process has been infectious. You always cheered me on and kept me excited, even when I never had any good news to share. Also, I admire your willpower for waiting to read the book until it was actually published. I hope it was worth it!
And finally to you, wonderful reader, with this book in your hand. Whether you bought it, rented it, borrowed it, or downloaded it, the fact that you are reading these words right now means that you are also playing a large part in making my wildest dreams come true. Thank you so, so much for your support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STACY WILLINGHAM worked as a copywriter and brand strategist for various marketing agencies before deciding to write fiction full-time. She earned her BA in magazine journalism from the University of Georgia and MFA in writing from the Savannah College of Art and Design. She currently lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband, Britt, and Labradoodle, Mako. A Flicker in the Dark is her first novel, and she is currently writing her second. You can sign up for email updates here.