Night in the Lonesome October

by Richard Laymon

‘I should’ve known.’

  ‘“Instead of the cross, the Albatross about my neck was hung.” ’

  ‘Nice poem for a night I killed someone.’

  Eileen squeezed my hand. ‘If he’s dead, we’ll deal with it.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘One way or another.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to see what’s feasible. Maybe we can take him for a drive, dump him somewhere outside of town. Maybe in Gunther Woods.’

  ‘Is your car working?’

  ‘Got a new battery. It’s fine now. I’ve been thinking maybe we bring him up closer to the road, then go get my car and put him in the trunk.’

  I imagined us trying to carry the dead, naked bum up to the road.

  Without gloves.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I muttered.

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Eileen.

  After taking a very circuitous route, we came upon the Old Mill Stream a block east of the Division Street bridge. As we decended its embankment, I realized I’d forgotten for quite a while to worry about anyone following us.

  Nobody was following us, I thought.

  Oh, yeah?

  Now I was worried again.

  When we reached the shore of the stream, I whispered, ‘Let’s wait here a minute and make sure nobody’s coming.’

  ‘Was someone behind us?’

  ‘Not that I know of. Just wanta be careful.’

  Nodding slightly, Eileen whispered, ‘Nothing wrong with a healthy dose of paranoia when returning to a crime scene.’

  We crouched among some bushes. Eileen put an arm across my back, and I could feel her breast against the side of my arm.

  Breath tickling my ear, she whispered, ‘If somebody’s following us, I hope it ain’t one a them frightful fiends.’

  ‘You and me both.’

  For a while after that, we were silent and listening. I heard the breeze in the leaves around us. I heard a car, but it sounded far away. Now and then, a bird twittered. An owl hooted. Something small scurried over the ground somewhere up the embankment from us.

  I was aware, every moment, of Eileen’s breast touching my arm. I could feel its warmth through the layers of my shirt and her sweatshirt. I felt its slight movement each time she breathed in or out.

  Is she doing this on purpose to get me excited? I wondered.

  At least it’s taking my mind off our troubles.

  ‘I don’t think anyone’s coming,’ she whispered.

  ‘Ready to go?’

  ‘Might as well get it over with.’

  When we stood up, the side of my arm lost her warmth and felt chilly.

  I took the lead. We walked along a path by the shore of the stream. Though I held my flashlight ready, I kept it off.

  We walked in silence.

  Soon, the Division Street bridge came into sight. The area underneath it looked black.

  We can’t go under there, I thought. The others might’ve come back by now.

  At least I’ve got a flashlight this time.

  Not very far from the bridge at all, I stopped and studied the area. Because we were approaching from the opposite side, everything looked much the same, but reversed, as if I were observing my memories of earlier that night in a mirror.

  It was different in other ways, too. No lovers were lingering by the parapet. No cars were going by. And the approach to the blackness below the bridge was more cluttered with foliage than it had been on the opposite side.

  To enter, we would need to force our way through tangles of bushes. Or wade in the stream.

  Either way, I thought, they’ll probably hear us coming.

  I turned to Eileen and whispered. ‘How about calling it quits?’

  ‘How about going to jail?’

  ‘I just think we might be pressing our luck.’

  ‘Just think how great we’ll feel after it’s taken care of.’

  ‘I don’t know. I have a bad feeling about this.’

  ‘It’ll be fine. We’ve got the flashlight.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘If anyone’s in there ... anyone alive ... we’ll take off like bats outa hell.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘It’ll be all right.’

  ‘I sure hope so.’

  ‘Why don’t you give me the flashlight and I’ll go first?’

  ‘Nah, that’s all right.’ Not waiting for any more suggestions, I turned away and headed for the dark passageway under the bridge.

  I felt tight and heavy inside. My heart hammered. My penis retreated and my scrotum shriveled. My bowels squirmed.

  This is not a good idea, I thought.

  But I kept moving, anyway.

  Being a guy isn’t always a picnic. To keep women from thinking we’re jerks or cowards - and consequently scorning or dumping us - we do what they want us to do. Even when we don’t want to do it. Even when we know better.

  I knew this was a bad idea.

  But I’d already voiced my objections and Eileen still thought we should go through with it.

  Okay. Let’s just see.

  I started trudging through a waist-high thicket. It snagged my jeans, rustled and crackled. Dry leaves crunched under my shoes. Twigs snapped.

  They’ll hear us coming a mile away.

  I halted. Eileen put a hand on my back and stopped behind me. I turned the flashlight on.

  Its beam drove a narrow, widening tube of brightness into the black, lighting air and ground, the stream, rags and an old mattress and mashed cans and broken bottles.

  But no naked man sprawled on the ground.

  No people at all.

  Until I swept the beam a small distance to the left. Near the far end of its reach, it dimly illuminated a low, squatting circle of men. Hairy, filthy, bloody.

  All of them looking at us.

  Chewing.

  Blood spilling from their mouths.

  Behind my back, Eileen grunted with shock and despair and horror as if she’d just watched a panda get beheaded.

  I shut off the flashlight fast.

  Eileen whispered, ‘Fucking shit.’

  Whirling around, I gasped, ‘Let’s go!’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  They didn’t get us. I don’t really think they tried very hard. We heard them scurrying and grunting behind us for probably less than a minute. When we climbed the embankment, they apparently quit ... not willing to risk being seen by whomever else might be up and about at such an hour.

  Eileen and I kept running. We ran for blocks and blocks, gasping for breath, often glancing back, our shoes slapping the pavement of sidewalks and streets. A few times, we ducked out of sight to hide from approaching cars.

  Mostly, though, we just kept running. I hardly paid attention to where we were ... just so we were running away from the bridge. Then Eileen hit my arm and pointed across an empty parking lot toward a Speed-D-Mart and laundromat, both open 24 hours a day.

  ‘Come on,’ she gasped.

  As we ran through the parking lot, I thought she wanted us to go inside one place or the other ... to get off the streets and hide? Then I spotted our destination; a pair of pay phones between the. entrances.

  The narrow walkway in front of them was empty.

  Unusual, I thought.

  Though I’d been disoriented for a while, I now knew where we were. I’d used this Speed-D-Mart myself many times. And there were usually panhandlers loitering nearby, shuffling along with hands out, murmuring requests for money.

  Not tonight, though.

  Bet I know where they are, I thought. Having a little midnight snack.

  It’s way past midnight.

  Instead of snatching up one of the phones, Eileen turned around and slumped against the wall. She panted for breath. She wiped her face with a sleeve.

  ‘You okay?’ I whispered.

  ‘You kidding? Jeezus! You see what they were doing?’

  ‘I think so.’

>   ‘Jeezus!’

  ‘Well, we left’em in the dust.’

  ‘They were eating him.’

  ‘Looked that way.’

  ‘Yaaah!’

  ‘It’s all right. We got away.’

  ‘We’ve gotta call the cops,’ she gasped. ‘Maybe they can get ’em.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘It’s okay with you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I don’t think we ... need to worry about ... getting blamed.’

  I nodded. Any evidence of me or Eileen at the crime scene would be insignificant, if not obliterated entirely by the gang of trolls.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Eileen said. She pushed herself off the wall and lurched over to one of the phones.

  ‘I don’t think we have any change,’ I said.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. You can ... don’t need it to call the cops.’

  ‘Oh.’ I hadn’t known that.

  She picked up a handset and tapped nine-one-one on the keypad. ‘Anonymous?’ I asked.

  She nodded. ‘Is this a bad idea?’

  ‘I think we have to.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said into the mouthpiece. ‘Somebody’s getting murdered down by the Mill Stream under the Division Street bridge.’ She hung up. ‘There.’ She picked up the handset again. Holding it in the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she quickly rubbed its surfaces. Then she hung up again. With a sleeve, she wiped the keypad. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  We ran around the nearest comer and down the block. After turning the next corner, we slowed to a walk. We were both huffing for air. Eileen took hold of my hand. We walked quickly, not talking, keeping watch on the area around us.

  Once, we hid when a car approached. We didn’t hide again, however, until we were just around the corner from my apartment. Beside us was the churchyard’s wrought-iron fence. ‘Let’s go in here,’ I whispered.

  Eileen looked behind us.

  ‘Come on.’ I pulled her hand.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just wanta make sure.’

  I thought she might resist, but she stayed with me as I led her through the gateway of the old cemetery. The church in front of us looked dark at every window. The graveyard was illuminated only by the dim glow from nearby streetlights. Through the bars of the fence, I could see the sidewalk where we’d just been.

  ‘What’re we doing?’ Eileen whispered as we hurried among the tombstones.

  Most of them weren’t large enough for us to hide behind.

  ‘Here.’ Near the fence was a vault the size of a small shed. We crouched down behind it.

  ‘What’re we doing here?’ Eileen asked again.

  ‘Just want to make sure nobody’s following us.’

  ‘Did you see anyone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank God for that, anyway.’

  In silence, she looked around the graveyard. We had our backs to the vault, but both of us were squatting like catchers behind home plate, not leaning against it.

  Though I didn’t watch the sidewallc, we were near enough to hear anyone walking by.

  Or pedaling by?

  It isn’t the bike hag I’m worried about, I thought. It’s the trolls from under the bridge. Or Randy.

  ‘We could’ve picked a different place,’ Eileen whispered.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Bone orchards aren’t my idea of a good time.’

  ‘Lots of good hiding places, though.’

  ‘Yeah. No telling who else might be hiding here.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ I told her.

  We went silent. She put a hand on my back. It felt warm through my shirt. After a while, she said, ‘I wonder what’s happening under the bridge right now.’

  ‘Cops must be there.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Hope they went in force.’

  ‘The trolls are probably long gone.’

  I nodded, certain Eileen was right.

  ‘Think they were really eating him?’ she asked.

  ‘Looked that way.’

  ‘How could they?’

  ‘It happens.’

  ‘Right under the bridge? That’s on campus, for godsake.’

  ‘It probably doesn’t happen every night.’

  ‘Nobody’s missing,’ she said. ‘Not that I know of. We’d hear about it if anyone disappeared.’

  ‘Maybe they only eat their own.’

  ‘Ooof.’

  ‘Anyway, maybe that’s not what we saw. We only got a glimpse.’

  ‘I guess it’ll be on the radio first,’ she said. ‘The radio gets everything first.’

  ‘Can’t wait.’

  ‘Whatever happens,’ she said, ‘we play ignorant.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘The cops have no reason to suspect us of anything.’

  ‘We’re a little beat up,’ I reminded her.

  ‘If they question us, we’ll give them the story we gave Kirkus. But they won’t. Nobody’ll even notice we’re banged up except a few students and maybe some faculty, and we can tell them anything we want.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘But we’d better work on the story we told Kirkus. Come up with details so we’ll be able to get our stories straight.’

  ‘Where’d we say it happened?’ I asked.

  ‘Let’s wait till we get inside.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Can we go inside now?’

  ‘Maybe give it a few more minutes.’

  ‘I have to pee really badly, Ed. And I’m wearing your pants.’

  ‘Ah. Okay. I guess we can go in.’

  We stood up and looked around. Then, holding hands, we walked through the graveyard to the place where we’d entered. I leaned out the gateway.

  Nobody was in sight.

  So we left and went around the comer and past the front of the church and up the walkway to the front door of my apartment building. I unlocked the door. We went inside.

  The Fishers’ door was shut.

  The upstairs hallway was dim and deserted. I unlocked my door and we entered my room. When the door was shut, Eileen wrapped her arms around me and whispered, ‘Safe.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  When I woke up Thursday morning, I raised my head off the pillow and looked at the clock on the nightstand.

  10:32

  I rolled the other way. Eileen’s side of the bed was empty.

  Considering what we’d been through last night, I’d thought she might cut her ten o’clock class. She must’ve gotten up and gone to it, though.

  I imagined her sitting at a desk in the English building. I wasn’t sure which class she had, so I didn’t imagine a teacher. Just Eileen sitting there, her face bruised and scratched. I pictured her rubbing her eyes. Yawning. How much sleep did she get, maybe three hours?

  I wondered what she was wearing. Had she gone back to the sorority house for clean clothes of her own? Or did she go to class in my corduroy trousers and sweatshirt from last night? With no bra on?

  Imagining her breasts loose under the sweatshirt, I started getting hard.

  No panties, either?

  A troll got her panties.

  Trolls suddenly swarmed through my mind, sickening me, scaring me, shrinking me. Knowing the torment would continue so long as I remained in bed, I threw the sheet aside and climbed out.

  As I put my robe on, the comfortable aroma of coffee reached me. Eileen must’ve brewed a pot before leaving.

  I went into the bathroom, used the toilet, then hurried to the kitchen. On the table, a sheet of lined notebook paper was standing up like a pup tent. The side facing me had handwriting on it.

  I picked up the paper and read it:

  Dear Eddie,

  As you may have realized by now, I decided not to miss my ten o’clock class. We must keep up appearances so as to avoid arousing suspicion.

  We ought to go about our respective lives as if nothing has happened. (In other words, you should attend your regular classes
, too.)

  For the sake of not drawing any undue attention to ourselves, I think it would be best if we stay apart for a period of time. Let’s give our faces an opportunity to heal before we allow ourselves to be seen again side by side.

  This won’t be easy, but I think it might be the smart thing to do, as we do NOT want anyone to suspect we were involved in any way with what happened last night.

  I will miss you so much, Eddie. Please do not mistake this note for any sort of ‘brush-off.’ In no way am I trying to dump you. I feel so very good when we’re together.

  Hope you sleep late and wake up missing me. Talk to you later.

  All my love,

  Me

  PS Burn after reading.

  I smiled when I read the PS. Then I filled a mug with coffee, sat at the table and read her note again. It made a lot of sense to go about our lives as if nothing were wrong. It also made sense to stay away from each other until our faces looked better.

  But her denial that this was a ‘brush-off’ made me worry that it might be exactly that, or a preliminary move in that direction.

  Why did she even bring it up?

  Just to reassure me, probably. Just to remind me that she’s not Holly.

  Several times, I reread the line, ‘I feel so very good when we’re together.’

  She’d closed the letter, ‘All my love.’

  It’s pretty obvious how she feels, I thought. She loves me. She doesn’t want to stay away from me, just thinks it’s necessary to avoid arousing suspicion.

  Unless she’s lying.

  She’s not lying, I told myself. She’s not Holly. If I start thinking they’re all like Holly, I’m screwed.

  Eileen means what she says.

  Probably.

  I hid her note, then came back into the kitchen, turned on the radio and poured myself another mug of coffee. Rush Limbaugh was on, talking about Bill and Hillary and obstruction of justice.

  We’d done a little obstructing of our own, I thought ... at least to the extent that we didn’t report everything we knew. We’d conspired to do more, but the trolls had saved us from that.

  Oughta send them a thank you.

  Dear Friends,

  Just a quick note to express my gratitude for the way you all pitched in and cleaned up our mess last night. Next time, I’ll provide the wine. Perhaps a nice Merlot.

  Bon appétit!

  Eddie