Nightfall

by Douglas, Penelope

  My arms itched, wanting to touch him. God, I wanted to hold him.

  But before I could work up the courage to pull away or hug him back, he whispered, “I’m not like that.” And he pulled up, staring down at me almost nose to nose. “And I’ll see you on the bus tomorrow night, Emory Scott.”

  He released me and swam for the edge, leaving me cold in the pool.

  What?

  The air chilled, and I watched as he pulled himself up the ladder, and I spun around just in time, giving him my back as his naked body exited the pool.

  Shit.

  Unable to help myself, I surrendered to the pull and glanced over my shoulder.

  But it was too late. He was fastening a towel around his waist, the cords and muscles in his back intimidating and everything about him was perfect. Without sparing me another glance, he opened the men’s locker room door and disappeared inside.

  Ugh. What was he doing? Why wouldn’t he just stop? I swam for the edge of the pool, picked up my shit without bothering to dry off, and stormed into the girls’ locker room.

  Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? Didn’t guys like him want…something else? Or someone else?

  He was getting to me. Making me think I was wrong about him or something. For years, he’d had this whole “what you see is what you get” vibe, and now he wanted to convince the world that we were wrong.

  I didn’t need the trouble. I had much bigger problems than him, and I didn’t need this.

  I dressed, stopped at my locker to grab my bag, and before I knew it, I was halfway home already, lost in my thoughts and replaying every frame with him in my head.

  My throat swelled with a golf ball-size lump, and I couldn’t stop feeling his arms around me.

  It was nice.

  I didn’t want to want more. Everything I said about him was true. He was shallow, and he was using me. Bottom line. I couldn’t forget that.

  There was a moment, though, when he held me, where he was me, and I was him, and we weren’t alone. It felt like I was supposed to be there.

  I closed my eyes as I walked, tears wetting my lashes.

  I was looking for meaning where there wasn’t any because I had nothing else. It wasn’t real, and he didn’t feel it, too. Remember that, Em. Don’t forget it. For a few seconds, I saw what I wanted to see.

  Heading into the town square and up the small incline into the park, I gazed at my gazebo that I was building, the beams still wet from rain, but the smell intoxicating. I loved the smell of wood.

  Circling the structure, I saw it was still in pristine condition, my foundation holding up and no vandalism so far.

  Tires screeched on the street, and I looked over to see Sticks crowded with people and four black vehicles racing up to parking spots on the curb, Will’s truckbed loaded with people.

  Tires peeled, smoke billowing into the air, and people shouted as car stereos blared.

  “How’s it going?”

  I looked over my shoulder, seeing Trevor Crist holding a football. He tossed it back to his buddy down on the sidewalk.

  “Hey,” I muttered, looking back at Sticks.

  Will climbed out of the driver’s side, grabbing the black T-shirt out of the back of his jeans and pulling it on as Damon came up behind him and appeared to be whispering something in his ear. I couldn’t see their faces.

  People cleared the sidewalk as they crossed it, walking into Sticks.

  “Look at it this way,” I heard Trevor say. “Once they graduate, Devil’s Night is dead. Thank-fucking-God, right?”

  I turned to him. “Not going to carry on the family tradition?”

  Trevor was three years behind his brother Michael. Plenty of time left in high school.

  But he just scoffed. “You mean the once-a-year beef fest where my brother and his friends get the whole town to suck their cocks because they’re too stupid to remember how to be men the other three-hundred-sixty-four days of the year?” He shook his head. “No.”

  I snorted. I may have misjudged him. The silver spoon in his mouth was salty.

  “When everyone grows up and realizes they’re nothing,” he continued. “I’ll laugh and celebrate then. Or when they finally get arrested for all the dumb shit they pull.”

  “Some brother you are.”

  He shrugged, but I smiled a little. He might not be so bad, after all.

  And I understood where he was coming from. I wouldn’t cry if my brother got into a little trouble.

  In the distance, Will took out a cell phone as he stepped into the hangout, looking like he was filming a couple of the guys rough housing.

  “That is true, though, isn’t it?” I thought out loud. “About the risk of getting arrested, I mean. They film everything with that phone. It’s pretty careless.”

  Trevor followed my gaze, everyone knowing that the Horsemen recorded their escapades. There was proof of all the petty crimes and pranks they’d pulled.

  “If anyone had half a mind to,” I went on, “there would be no way to ignore their behavior if someone shared those videos in the right place, you know? Can you imagine the embarrassment?”

  The places they’d robbed? Vandalized? The underage girls—maybe guys, too—or hey, maybe there were even married women on that phone. The town would go crazy.

  He was silent for a moment, and when I looked back at him, his gaze was still on the crowd in Sticks, but his expression was serious as the wheels in his head turned.

  “They’re too comfortable in their surroundings, that’s for sure,” he added.

  I nodded. “False sense of safety and all that.”

  They took video—probably pictures, too—because they knew they were invincible. Even if anyone found it, would it amount to any more than a slap on the wrist and some very embarrassed parents?

  Money solved all problems.

  Trevor still stood there, gazing after them in the billiards hall.

  “Learn a lesson from this,” I told him. “Don’t document your shit. The Internet lives forever. Got it.”

  But I didn’t think he heard me as he absently nodded.

  “See ya,” he said, finally turning away and heading back to his friend.

  I gazed across the street, hearing the music from here and knowing I’d made the right decision. I wouldn’t belong in there with them. Could you imagine? Me? Like, having fun?

  I’d be wondering what the point was the whole time. I couldn’t not be serious, and he was never serious.

  Turning, I picked up my bag, but the flap flew open, and I spotted a packet of papers inside.

  Pulling them out, I turned it over and saw “Lolita Study Guide” written on the front.

  “Huh?” I mumbled. I’d looked everywhere for this! Including this bag, both of my lockers, my house, the garbage…

  What the hell?

  But as I looked over the packet, my name written at the top, I saw the questions already completed. All of them. Neat, block lettering in pencil.

  I flipped through, inspecting every page and reading every answer, seeing that it was all completed, the answers impressive, even for me, although a couple of the responses kind of pissed me off.

  I dropped my hands, staring off. I thought for sure Godzilla and the granola bar was Will, but this was snuck into my locker, as well. And it was done tonight. This wasn’t in my bag before I went swimming.

  There was no way he’d done this. Unless he buttered up a girl to do it for him.

  It did look like a guy’s penmanship, though.

  I raised my eyes, making out his black T-shirt and chocolate-colored hair as he stood near a pool table inside Sticks.

  He wouldn’t have to look for me, because I had a question that needed answering.

  See you on the bus tomorrow night, Will Grayson.

  Emory

  Present

  I blinked my eyes open, the blurry room in front of me slowly coming into view. The weight of a truck sat on my back, and I rolled myself over, peeling
my face off the pillow.

  My arm draped over the other half of the empty bed.

  It was just a dream.

  I stared at the ceiling, still feeling him next to me in bed, but I knew he wasn’t there. He was closer than ever now, but I felt his absence more than I ever did.

  Tears ached behind my eyes, remembering how he felt and how much I really wanted to feel that again right now.

  He barely looked at me yesterday. He always looked at me.

  God, who put me in Blackchurch? My brother wouldn’t have the clout for this. I’d heard he’d married, but it had been years since I’d seen him. Why now?

  No, it had to be someone else. Someone who wanted to give Will his revenge and didn’t give a shit about me.

  There were lots of possibilities.

  Sitting up, I winced at the soreness in my stomach, and I reached out, tonguing the cut on my lip. It was funny, and I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t mind the pain. I actually kind of liked it. It was familiar. It reminded me that I was alive.

  Strange as it was the past several years—free and on my own—I hadn’t felt that in a long time.

  Climbing out of bed, I found my glasses on the nightstand and slipped them on, looking down at my boxers and tank top. Aydin had undressed me when he put me to bed, offering me some bottoms from his drawer. I looked around the room, not sure where he’d slept, but he’d stayed out after he patched me up last night.

  Walking to the mirror, I turned and looked at myself.

  My hair had coiled and ratted, wild and messy as it fell around my face and down my chest and arms. Dried blood coated my left nostril, and the skin on the inside corner of my right eye was purple. My cheek was red from where he’d slapped me, a cut adorned my bottom lip, and a white bandage was wrapped around my upper right arm.

  Reaching out, I touched my reflection in the mirror, feeling it. Remembering.

  Every hair on my arms rose. Every inch of my skin hummed. The air coursed through my fingers, and the muscles in my legs flexed, standing tall and strong.

  I curled my fingers into the mirror, alive.

  I was a fighter once.

  Closing my eyes, I flattened my hand against the mirror once more, feeling warmth from the other side.

  Were one of them in there keeping an eye on me? Was Will in there?

  “Hi,” someone said.

  I opened my eyes and turned toward the door, seeing Micah stand there in black cargo pants, his hands full of stuff.

  I backed away from the mirror, grabbing the sheet on the bed to cover myself as he entered the room in his bare feet.

  “Some clothes,” he said, gesturing to the pile in his left hand. And then he set down a plate. “And in case you’re hungry.”

  I looked at the juice, fruit, a small baguette, and a wedge of what looked like brie, my stomach growling. Aydin had soup brought up to me last night, but I couldn’t remember the last time I ate anything substantial, and I was starving.

  Dropping the sheet, I grabbed the bread, broke it in half, and cut off some cheese with the butter knife, smearing it on the bread.

  Lifting it to my mouth, I ripped off a piece with my teeth and chewed.

  Jesus. My mouth salivated, and I almost felt nauseous at the taste because I was so hungry. I groaned, loading on more cheese and then drinking the juice.

  “You want a bath?” he asked.

  I looked over as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. His abs flexing and his hair hanging in his eyes, all messy-sexy.

  I choked, coughing with my mouth full. “With you?”

  He just chuckled, stuffing his T-shirt into his back pocket. “I’ll draw you one. You look rough,” he explained. “How do you feel?”

  I opened my mouth to say ‘fine’ or ‘I’m hanging in there’, but surprisingly, I just nodded. “Good.”

  I took another bite and stuffed a piece of apple in, too.

  I felt good.

  Weird.

  Walking to the tub in the corner of the room—that wasn’t in the bathroom, maybe because the previous owner of the house liked his wife to bathe in full view of the bed—he started the water, dipping his hand in the stream and adjusting the temperature.

  “Rory told me what you did,” he said, sitting on the edge of the tub and looking over at me. “Thank you.”

  I’d seen enough in my twenty-four hours here to know all wasn’t what it seemed. Rory was the one who’d spoken in the cellar yesterday. The one who didn’t want me here, hoped I’d die out there, and liked things just as they were because he had all he needed here.

  “Are you and him…?”

  I didn’t finish, just letting him figure it out.

  He smiled and looked back at the water, but I caught the blush on his face.

  I ate some more fruit and the rest of the bread before finishing the juice he’d brought me. Everything tasted so good, probably because I knew it was safe. If they’d wanted to drug me, they could’ve already done it.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Maybe noon.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Time isn’t relevant here.”

  I wiped my mouth with the napkin, studying him. “Do you know how long you’ve been here?”

  “A little over a year, judging by how many times the crew comes to restock us and clean,” he told me. “We’ve all been here a while. Rory was the last to show up, about seven months ago.”

  No clocks. No calendars. No connection to the life outside. The only way to count the months was to count the resupplies.

  It was like constantly waiting for something you weren’t sure would ever happen, much less when.

  “You don’t seem like you should be here,” I told him.

  He scooped some bath salts into the tub and pulled a towel and washcloth over from the nearby table.

  With Stalinz Moreau as a father, I thought Micah would be different.

  He stared at the water. “My father hasn’t been seen in public in nine years,” he explained. “He lives on a yacht that’s constantly moving from port to port, and the only way my five brothers and sister can see him is when we take a helicopter to follow whatever coordinates he sends us.”

  I’d heard that somewhere. It was actually pretty smart. When you supplied weapons to terrorists and competing factions in third-world countries, upsetting the “consistency” of the tyranny already in power, many people would want you dead.

  “People think wealth means choice and freedom,” he continued. “But oh, how I envied those filthy, barefoot kids running around some of the worst neighborhoods I drove through growing up.” He looked up at me, finally. “It’s nice not starving, but I don’t want to live like he does. I don’t want power. I don’t give a shit about money. I’ve had it, and now I’d just rather have peace of mind.”

  I approached him. “So you’re the black sheep?”

  He flashed a sad smile. “‘Who needs to learn a lesson about family loyalty and not being a pussy,’” he recited his father’s words, no doubt.

  So we were all stuck here. Maybe I wasn’t so alone then.

  Keeping my bottoms and top on, I stepped into the tub, the hot water instantly spreading amazing, glorious chills all over my body.

  He smiled at my attempt at modesty by keeping my clothes on, but I really just wasn’t ready for him to leave.

  I sat down, letting my eyes fall closed at how good the water felt. Taking the bait, he tipped my head back and water poured over my scalp, wetting my hair as he filled the cup and did it again and again.

  I opened my eyes, looking at the mirror across the room as water cascaded down my back, over my chest, and soaked my tank top.

  “What happens when the resupply team shows up?” I broached.

  “They resupply.”

  Yeah, duh.

  “You know what I mean,” I told him.

  If I were stuck here for the time being, I’d use that time wisely. I needed to map the house, explore the land, and start stocking food, water
, and maybe another weapon.

  Micah held up his wrist, showing me his bronze-colored bracelet.

  I studied it, just realizing they all wore one. It hadn’t struck me yesterday, but now that I was seeing it, I remembered they all had one on.

  “It tracks us,” he said. “And it doesn’t come off. Believe me, we all try.”

  I didn’t have one, though.

  “It vibrates when the team is coming,” he explains. “Security arrives first, and if we’re in our rooms like good little boys, they simply flip a lock to keep us secure. If we’re not, then they’ll find us and lock us in our rooms themselves. When the doors open again, they’re gone, the fridge is stocked, the toilets are clean, our wardrobe is replenished, and every piece of furniture is shining. Almost like we get a do-over every month.”

  “A whole new chance to not break, spill, or bleed all over the floors again, huh?”

  He snorted. “Yeah.”

  “Can you talk to them when they arrive?”

  “We can try.” He removed the now-soaked bandage on my arm. “But ultimately, the ones in charge aren’t the ones we see. The team is just doing a job.”

  He soaped up a washcloth and gently cleaned off the blood on my arm.

  “And while Aydin is correct that you should stay put, because you won’t make it out of here alive,” he went on, “I wouldn’t trust that they’ll be the ones to save you when they come.”

  I tensed. “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, they had to have noticed you being brought here in the first place, right?”

  My heart skipped a beat, and I paused, thinking.

  It was safe to assume they saw me brought in or helped bring me in. He was right. If Aydin didn’t lock me in the cellar and keep me undetected like he’d threatened to do, they might not care anyway when they came in a month. They still might not rescue me.

  “Like I said,” he repeated. “It’s a job.”

  Well, I wasn’t going to sit here and do nothing. Someone had an agenda bringing me here, and it wasn’t Will.

  I looked over at the glass again, imagining he was watching as Micah slipped the cloth inside my tank top and washed my back.

  “How do they know when you’re ‘fit’ to go home?” I asked. “I mean, people have gone home since you’ve been here, right?”