The Face of Midnight

by Dan Padavona

“What the hell is going on?” Becca asked.

  The moonlight caught a tuft of disheveled, red hair when he jumped again.

  “Oh, my God. It’s Riley.”

  Becca shook her head disapprovingly. I was already moving for the back door.

  He rounded the house with the fearful apprehension of someone expecting an attack.

  “Riley, get your ass in here before someone sees you.”

  He made a worried glance over his shoulder. As he started toward me, I could see him limping.

  Grabbing him by the shirt collar, I yanked him into the kitchen and shut the door.

  “What happened to your leg?”

  “Don’t worry about my leg,” he said, wincing and clutching at his thigh. “Are you crazy? Are you so far gone that you actually went through with it?” His eyes traveled over the shabby interior. “It hardly seems worth the risk.”

  “What is he doing here?”

  Becca’s angered looks moved between us as if she were watching a tennis match played by her worst enemies.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “He’s the one who told me about the foreclosure.”

  “You told him about me,” she said. “Jesus, how could you do this?”

  I didn’t open my mouth quickly enough to stop her bolting from the room. She ran up the staircase. I heard her stomp across the floor, then the door slammed shut.

  “I didn’t mean to upset anyone—”

  “Then why did you come, Riley? What the hell did you think her reaction would be?”

  He’d moved into the moonlight. One eye was blackened. I could see four bloody grooves torn into his cheek from ear-to-nose, spaced apart in an exact fit of nailed fingers.

  “Who did this to you?”

  “Nobody.”

  Unwelcome memories of a young Riley showing up at my doorstep with black-and-blue marks on his neck and back revisited me. His current state made him look as if he’d tripped into a thresher.

  “Bullshit. Was it that cop? Harry Jenkins’s relative?”

  “No…no problems with the police. Why would I have issues with them?”

  “Then who?” I screamed.

  My outburst made him flinch, and I immediately felt bad for yelling.

  “Donna.” His eyes fixed on the floor. My spine turned to jelly. “Donna did this to me. Are you happy?”

  “What?”

  I fell back against the wall and slid into a sitting position. I rubbed my temples, trying to make sense of what he’d told me.

  Donna?

  “She’s crazy, Steve. You need to know.”

  “I know she’s crazy.”

  “No. You think you do, but you don’t.”

  He was on one knee, eyes even with mine. It was an effort for him to stay in that position without teetering.

  “Whatever fixation she had on you is the tip of the iceberg,” he said. “She’s completely out of her mind. If she finds you with that girl, she’ll kill her. She’ll kill you, too.”

  It felt as if a sledgehammer pounded my belly. I expected Riley to suddenly grin and say what a sucker I was for falling for his ridiculous story. But those wounds were real, and so was his grimace whenever he moved too quickly.

  “I’ll tell you something else,” he said, propping one hand against the wall to keep from falling. “I think she’s the one who put Harry Jenkins in the hospital.”

  “Harry? Why?”

  My voice sounded very faraway, as though someone else’s.

  “Why?” He laughed without hint of hilarity. “For you, of course. She found out what they’d done to you.”

  “Please say you didn’t tell her about Jenkins.”

  He looked away.

  “How was I to know she’d almost kill a complete stranger for crossing you? Anyhow, the police are looking for her. She’ll have to lie low if she doesn’t want to go to jail.”

  I pictured Harry Jenkins in a hospital bed, blackened and bruised, wires running from his body to a life support machine.

  “I’m sorry for suspecting you,” he said.

  The reminder of his accusation flared new anger. Seeing tears in his eyes doused it.

  “I had motive.”

  “You sure as hell did, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for knocking that bastard’s teeth down his throat. But I shouldn’t have thought you’d…”

  His voice trailed off. He looked away from me, out the window toward the dark rectangle of the barbecue pit and the craggy silhouette of forest entrance. His shoulders shook.

  I let him work the sobs out of his chest and pretended not to notice. Another thing I’d done too many times when we were kids.

  After a while, the crying stopped, but he was too shamed to turn around.

  “You know,” he said with the suggestion of a laugh under a sniffle. “There’s scuttlebutt about town of two people…kids, they think…stealing yogurt and sports bars off delivery trucks behind the supermarket. Imagine that.”

  “I’m positively sure I couldn’t.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Any rumors of a break-in on the west side of town? Or a death-defying escape from an irate homeowner?”

  “No. Can’t say I’ve heard of such a dastardly act. Should I have?”

  “Absolutely not. Things like that don’t happen in Barton Falls.”

  This time his laugh came from deep inside. It was my gift, perhaps my higher purpose for being a part of Riley’s life, that I could always make him laugh when he most needed it.

  His eyes were red, cheeks wet, and I don’t think he cared anymore. We sat on the kitchen floor with our backs to the wall.

  “How did you get here? Don’t tell me you walked all the way from town.”

  “Nah. The car is at the bottom of the hill behind a row of bushes. I can be discreet when I need to be.”

  “And you’re absolutely sure nobody followed you?”

  “Nobody.” He looked at me pointedly. I’m sure he knew I was thinking of Donna. “You know, when I told you about this place, I never really believed you’d actually go through with it.”

  “I wish we hadn’t, but we didn’t have a choice. Circumstance forced us.”

  “Well, circumstance or not, this is crazy, Steve. It might be the middle of nowhere, and thank God you’re keeping the lights off. But somebody is going to notice.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? Getting caught is a certainty. Might not happen tonight or tomorrow, but it’s going to happen. You’ll both go to jail.”

  He concentrated on his hands, then nervously chewed his thumbnail.

  “What do you see in that girl?” he asked.

  “She’s a good person. I don’t know the whole story, just that she’s been dealt a bad hand in life.”

  “And you’re the knight in shining armor who will save her? Get real, Steve.”

  I could hear Becca moving around upstairs. I wondered if she was trying to listen in on our conversation.

  “You know the way my father is,” Riley said. “And you know my mother turned her eye and avoided the…situation. My parents wouldn’t give a shit if I got caught trespassing. They’d probably expect me to disappoint them. But your folks…they’re good people, Steve. You’ll break their hearts if you keep going down this road.”

  “Is that what you came all the way out here to tell me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not here because I want to be. And neither is Becca.”

  “You have a choice. Let her go. You can’t save everyone.”

  It went silent upstairs, as though Becca heard and waited on my reply.

  “How would you have felt if I’d turned my back on you?”

  Riley looked down. I’d hit a sore spot.

  “You don’t know anything about that girl. For all you know she might be dangerous.”

  “She’s a lot of things. Intelligent—brilliant, really—resourceful. Braver than anyone I’ve ever known. But she’s not dangerous.”

  “You figu
red all of this out in less than a week?”

  He laughed, and I grew angry again.

  “Go home, Riley.”

  He sat forward and glared incredulously at me.

  “I came here to help you.”

  “I appreciate you trying to help, I really do. But my mind is made up.”

  “You’re making a big mistake.”

  Riley rarely got angry, but when he grew frustrated, his face colored to match the red of his hair. I could see he was very frustrated now.

  “Have a little faith in my decision. I’ve thought this through.”

  “At least, tell me where you’re headed so I’ll know where to send the hearse.”

  “Pennsylvania first, then Maryland. Hopefully, we’ll reach the deep south before winter catches up to us. By then, I’ll have a plan to turn this mess around. Maybe get a job down there, get the both of us off the street, start over.”

  “Like I said: ‘knight in shining armor.’ You’ll play the hero and get the both of you killed.”

  “Thanks for the support, Riley. It’s all going to work out.”

  Riley pulled himself up too fast, forgetting about his injuries. He flinched and grabbed hold of his leg.

  Looking back at me, he shook his head. His eyes were conciliatory, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

  When he started for the door, I jumped up and pushed it shut. I believed I was about to lose my best friend. If he walked out that door, I’d never see him again.

  “You’re too hurt to walk down the hill, especially at night.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself just fine.”

  “You can stay here. With us.”

  He glanced derisively around the downstairs.

  “No thanks. I don’t want any part of this.”

  Riley shoved my hand off the frame and pulled back on the knob. I watched him limp along the back of the house, one arm extended to the wall to keep him upright. How he’d made it up the hill I’ll never know.

  I fought myself from going after him. Once Riley made up his mind, there was no changing it.

  “Come on, man. Come back inside.”

  He stopped at the corner with his back to me, breathing hard, leaning against the wall.

  “Don’t go, Steve.”

  Those three words were a kick in the groin. I didn’t know what to say.

  Before I found my voice, he slipped around the corner and disappeared.

  I’m not sure how long I stood in the doorway. For a while, I could hear him trudging through leaves, the sounds of his descent getting softer as he drifted down the hill. Then I couldn’t hear anything at all.

  I stared toward the dark corner of the house. I kept hoping he’d come around the corner again.

  I knew better. He’d stubbornly limp down that rutted hill and drive himself home in the dark.

  There was a moment when I was out in the frigid moonlight, smelling the pine and overgrown grass scents roll across the yard, when I had a moment of clarity: I needed to go after him. I needed to risk leaving Becca alone and run after Riley while I still had the chance to catch him.

  But I didn’t.

  I’ll always regret my decision.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Movie Night

  “How could you allow him to come here?”

  My heart leaped. I started to believe Becca was part-cat, she moved so silently.

  “I didn’t know he was coming,” I said, catching my breath as I leaned against the kitchen wall. “Don’t worry. Riley isn’t going to turn us in.”

  “How do you—”

  “Because I know him,” I said, louder than I intended.

  Her mouth hung open. I knew I’d frightened her.

  I composed myself and tried to speak more gently.

  “Nobody else knows we’re here. You’ll have to trust me on this one.”

  She studied me. It was hard to make out her features in the dark.

  “Trust.” She spat the word. “I barely know you.”

  The moonlight caught her. She wore her jean jacket, and a sack was thrown over one shoulder.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting away from this place. Getting away from you. I should never have agreed to let you follow me.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Goodbye, Steve.”

  I reached out as she blew past me. She threw my hand off her shoulder. I tried to grab her again, but she was already out the door and following Riley’s path.

  “Becca, stop.”

  Outside, the cold sliced through me.

  Her shadow disappeared around the side of the house as I ran to catch up.

  “You’ll freeze to death.”

  My voice echoed down the hill. In the moonlight, the gravel road and the weedy overgrowth framing it appeared silver, frozen, dead.

  She cut across the front lawn. In a moment, she’d reach the road. I figured she’d only last a few miles before the cold overcame her.

  “Where do you think you’re going? We’re several miles from the nearest town, and you can’t go back to Barton Falls.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  I grasped her shoulder. Becca spun away, all muscle and fury.

  I reached out and mistakenly grabbed hold of her hair. She rotated her body and drove her palm into my chin.

  Stars flared across my vision.

  “Why?” She screamed. “Why won’t you let me go?”

  She struck my face and beat fists against my arms. I fell back into the grass and covered up. “I hate you! Do you hear me? I hate you!”

  My eyes closed. It felt as though a hurricane pelted me with debris.

  I tasted blood. Punches hammered my chest and battered my arms. A prizefighter would have tired faster.

  We nearly tore the lawn to shreds before she tired. The top two buttons of her jean jacket were ripped off, and there was a tear in her shirt collar. Though my t-shirt was in one piece, it was stretched to the point of no longer fitting.

  My shirt was soaked with her tears, and the salt of them mingled on my lips. She sobbed, violent hitching noises like a woman drowning. I pulled her into my arms and held her under the stars on that lonely hill, wondering how a storm could have spun up so fast.

  “Everything I touch I break.”

  I stroked the bangs from her eyes.

  “I don’t think that’s true,” I said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Her hand found the chilled flesh of my chest where my shirt hung loose.

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  “I think you should.”

  She was quiet now. Quiet like the night.

  “It’s this house,” she said, drying a tear with the cuff of her jacket. “It’s this fucking house. I hate it here, Steve.”

  “I don’t like it either, but it’s too cold to travel. At least, it’s safe.”

  “Is it? It doesn’t feel safe.”

  A coyote barked and howled from a long way off, a lonely sound.

  “You’re upset because of Riley. I understand. I get it. But nobody else knows we’re here.”

  My teeth began to chatter. My fingertips were numb.

  “Let’s get inside before we freeze to death,” I said.

  “I don’t want to go back in there.”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  I carried her bag for her. She walked unsteadily, one arm hooked with mine as we stumbled through the overgrowth.

  Shutting the door behind us, I gave the backyard another glance. The shadows were sharp off the barbecue pit and the generator. The forest seemed unsettlingly close, the tree shadows stretching toward the back door. It gave the impression of darkness closing in on us. I pulled down the window shade.

  I walked Becca into the den, where she curled up on the sofa with her feet tucked under her knees, shivering and hitching.

  “I’ll grab the heater.”

  She didn’t seem to hear me.

  Leaving her alone mad
e me uncomfortable, even if it was a quick run to-and-from the bedroom. The old house unnerved me in the dark. It felt like someone was watching me.

  I yanked the cord from the wall and hustled back down to the den. I had a moment of panic when I didn’t see her on the couch where I’d left her—I didn’t think she’d try to leave again; she’d released her fury—then I saw her in the corner of the sofa, her hands tucked between her knees.

  I turned the fan to high and pointed the heater at us. It probably wasn’t healthy to sit directly in front of the heat, but I wanted the chill out of my bones.

  She stared into the torn remains of a tissue. I could see she’d been crying while I was away.

  “I don’t remember my mother,” she said. “I should. I was two-years-old when I last saw her, and I know kids are supposed to remember a parent’s face when they are that age.”

  She leaned her head against my shoulder and stared out the den window. The light from the television turned everything black beyond the glass.

  “She was a heroin addict. That’s how I first ended up in foster care—her own family had sworn her off and wanted nothing to do with me. How bad a person am I that I don’t remember my mother’s face?”

  “You’re not,” I said. I dropped my arm around her shoulder.

  She stuffed the tissue into her jeans pocket and glanced off to where the kitchen descended to the cellar. I realized with some unease she was staring at the locked cellar door. The door we’d never opened.

  “I know what foster care is supposed to be: a second chance at having a real family. But it was never that way for me, except for the Cornell professor. In my first home, I was one of six kids, all of us foster children.”

  “Six?”

  “It’s insanity. Some states allow you to have eight.”

  “Who would want that many kids?”

  “Most foster parents have their hearts in the right place. But some do it for the money—the government kickbacks are pretty enticing—and that’s why my family had six. The county stepped in and broke us up after a few years. I spent the next several years bouncing from home-to-home, wondering if my next family would be the one I’d hoped for.”

  She shook her head. The colors of the television screen yellowed her skin and made her appear jaundiced.

  “I became a little angrier with each move, you know? It got to the point where the good foster families didn’t want to deal with an older child with behavior issues. It wasn’t until the professor took me in that I felt like I had a real parent. I really miss him.”