The Omen Days

by J. T. Ellison

  When I pass the Frist and step onto the sidewalk on Broadway, I realize I don’t want to be out anymore. Seeing the changes is going to depress me. I want to go home, climb into bed, pass out. Say goodbye to this fuck-awful night. I turn back, swing over to Demonbreun, walk down 11th, barely keeping my balance on the decline.

  My apartment in is the Gulch, in a one-way alley behind Bar Louie and The Pub. I’m right in the midst of the action, and it’s usually packed with people, but tonight, it’s empty, quiet, eerie. One brave soul is out walking her dog, a big-ass Aleutian something that I’ve seen around before. I give her a little wave, then head into my building.

  My apartment is cold and quiet. I grab a beer from the fridge and sit down, hard, on the couch. I slug down the beer, toss the can toward the kitchen, then half fall, half roll onto my side, cheek against the cheap leather. The lights outside blink incessantly, and I put my hand over my eyes.

  Autumn.

  Even the thought of her name sends a spike of pain through my body so intense it numbs me.

  And then I’m gone. Gone. Spinning and drifting and trying like hell to get her out of my mind, slipping into sleep when I hear a voice, soft and elegant, saying my name, over and over, like a prayer.

  Zachary. Zachary. Zachary.

  I open my eyes and she’s there, sitting on the coffee table. Autumn still looks sad, but she’s alone.

  God, I am so drunk I’m manifesting my ex-girlfriend in my living room. What was in that whiskey?

  “Zack. Wake up.”

  And . . . bonus. She talks, too. Great. Okay. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe it’s a dream come true.

  I sit up, wiping my lips. I taste awful, cigarettes and beer and whiskey. She smells good, like cinnamon and cloves. Yep, it’s a dream. I’m going to wake up with my hand wrapped around my cock, like I do so often when I dream about Autumn. I play along.

  “Autumn?”

  “Hey.” She reaches over and brushes a strand of my too-long hair off my forehead. She used to do that when we were together, and she’s done it in all the dreams I’ve had of her since.

  Except this isn’t a dream.

  I sit bolt upright and scramble back into the couch.

  “Jesus Christ. You’re here. How’d you find me?”

  “Calm down. I followed you from the bar. You left your door unlocked. For a cop, you aren’t very cautious.” She looks around, smiling. “This is a nice place. I’m surprised you live alone.”

  “The guys were sick of me.”

  “I meant without a girlfriend. Or a wife.”

  Silence. She smiles again. Her hand drops back into her lap. She’s sitting on the coffee table, facing me, smiling and talking, and I can’t decide whether I’ve gone round the bend or she’s actually here.

  “I’m glad,” she says. “I would have been jealous.”

  “You don’t have the right to be jealous. Not about this.”

  She nods, her hair flipping with the movement. “You’re right. I don’t. Honestly, I’d be happier if you did have someone. I wouldn’t feel as bad about . . . everything.”

  “Oh, you mean bailing on me, on us, on our life and plans? Now you feel bad?”

  I stand up, brushing past her, and go into the kitchen. My apartment is pretty nice. Reclaimed wood, exposed brick, lots of glass. The kitchen is a decent size. I like to cook, like to nest. Autumn gave me those gifts. She showed me how important it was to have a home, not a place to crash at night.

  I grab another beer from the fridge. Slam the door. She’s watching me. With a sigh, I gesture to the beer. She nods. I hand it to her. Our hands brush, and it’s like a lightning strike. I jump back and move to a stool at my breakfast bar, keeping fifteen feet between us.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to see you and—”

  “You don’t get to make arbitrary decisions with my life anymore, Autumn. Showing up out of the blue isn’t cool.”

  She ignores my interruption. “—and say that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left. It was a dumb mistake, made by a dumb kid who didn’t know herself very well. You deserved better. Deserve better. I am so sorry, Zack. I know you are furious with me, and you should be. But I couldn’t let things end on such a horrible note. I had to tell you how much I miss you. How sad I’ve been without you.”

  I am floored by this speech. Floored and angry. “Seven years? And now you decide to show up and throw this at me?”

  “My dad died. Did you know?”

  “No.”

  “It was a couple of years after I left. He didn’t want a funeral or anything, was cremated. I came back for the ashes, drove around. I’d been miserable since I left, and I wanted to come back. I went by your place with the guys that night. You were with someone, a girl with black hair. On the front porch. You were smiling, holding her hand. You seemed happy. I didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

  “She meant nothing.”

  “How was I supposed to know that?” She’s being snappish, and I almost laugh. Almost.

  “What would you have done if I was alone that night?”

  “I would have thrown myself on the floor at your feet and begged you to take me back.”

  The pain of this admission is almost too much to bear. “So you disappeared again, didn’t even bother to try and reach out?”

  “Yeah. I went back to Austin—that’s where I am now, outside of Austin—and tried to get on with my life. Dated a couple of guys, nothing serious. I couldn’t get you out of my head, that moment in time with you holding another girl’s hand. Who was she?”

  “Honestly? I have no idea. No one’s ever mattered to me but you.”

  She sighs then, and it’s a happy sound. A sigh of relief, I think. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve missed you so much. I felt so stupid, and I didn’t know how to come back, how to ask for forgiveness. And then, time passed. The days went faster and faster. I got a job I liked, met some friends, real friends. I told myself you were my past, that Austin held my future. I was wrong. I was so wrong. Without you, I have no future.”

  She begins to cry, soft and gentle. I go to her without thought, pull her into my arms. She feels so thin, so insubstantial. It’s weird, but I figure it’s been seven years and I’ve had a lot to drink, and besides, this is a whopper of a dream—I’ve changed my mind, it is a dream—so I tuck her head under my chin and hold on tighter.

  It doesn’t take long for her to stop crying. She raises her head and looks up at me with those intense blue eyes. I do the only thing I know to do. I touch my lips to hers, gently at first, but when her arms go around my waist and she sinks into the kiss, I let go. Seven years of pain and fury and love and fear and loneliness go into that kiss. It is epic. We have never kissed this way before, as if we know stopping will untether us forever.

  She’s small, Autumn, and I easily scoop her into my arms and carry her to my bed, all without breaking the kiss. Her shirt buttons down the front and they come free with a single pinch. The soft cotton slips back over her pure white shoulders. She isn’t wearing a bra, and my hands find the warmth of her breasts.

  She has the buttons on my jeans undone now, and I am inching hers down. I don’t want to rush; it’s been so long, but she’s yanking down the fabric, running her hands along my thighs and grabbing ahold of me. She breaks the kiss with a gasp and drops to her knees. Soft, so soft. I gather her hair in my hand and do everything in my power not to give up, not yet.

  She laughs when she feels me tense, and that sends me over the edge. I pull her up, stumble backward to the bed with her in my arms, my lips locked on her again. She wraps her legs around me and slides onto me.

  Time stops.

  There is something about the way we fit together when we’re making love that I’ve never experienced with another woman. I’ve also never dreamed about it. This feeling, this sensation that I’m buried in the depths of the universe, hasn’t happened since the night she left me.

  My hands are in her hair, a
nd she’s going faster and faster until we’re both out of control. It lasts a long time. I am not ready to give up, to give in. I want this to go on forever.

  The sky is lightening when Autumn untangles herself from me and goes to the bag she left on the coffee table. We haven’t slept a wink. I am sore and she is sore, and we’ve laughed and loved together for hours. She’s back, she’s back with me, and I am complete once more.

  I watch her small body cross the room.

  “Get back here,” I say, but she shakes her head.

  “I can’t. I have to go back.”

  “To Texas? Not without me.”

  She drags on her jeans and her top, steps into her shoes. She returns to the bed, sits on the edge. I feel the familiar horror of the situation, know the happiness we’ve shared tonight is about to come to an end.

  “Don’t leave. God, Autumn, don’t leave me again.”

  She leans over and kisses me, fragrant and lovely. When she draws back, she’s no longer smiling. “There’s something I have to do. This is not over, you and I. I promise.” She reaches into her leather bag and draws out a watch. It is a nice watch, a dark blue face with heavy silver links. There is a logo on the top, but I don’t recognize the brand.

  “I want you to wear this until I get back. Promise me you won’t take it off. It’s important, Zack. You can’t take it off.”

  “Hey, you haven’t given me a gift in a long time. I won’t ever take it off.” I take the watch and snap it onto my wrist. It is a perfect fit.

  She looks relieved, as if she were worried the watch wouldn’t fit or I wouldn’t like it. And it’s a little weird, that she’s making me promise not to take it off, but I love this woman, and it seems like a simple request. If it makes her happy, I’ll comply. But I don’t want her to go.

  “Give me a minute to pack a bag, and I’ll go with you.”

  She hugs me, hard and long, then steps back. “I have to do this alone. I love you, Zack. Always have, always will.”

  She heads toward the door. I’m out of the bed now, striding after her. “Wait!”

  She has her hand on the doorknob. She turns and blows me a kiss.

  “I’ll see you soon. Promise.” And the door shuts behind her.

  The sun is coming up in earnest now. There are flashes on the sterile buildings opposite me; the intense glare of glass and metal makes me squint. I run my fingers over my lips, glance at the watch. I feel good. Better than I have in years.

  I check the time on the watch against my phone. It’s almost 7:00 a.m. I have three missed calls, all from the past hour. I guess I turned the ringer off when we went to bed, or maybe when I got home. Whatever. Jim and Stephen both have called to check on me.

  I go into the kitchen, make a cup of coffee. Take it with me to the bedroom. The sheets are rumpled. The room smells of Autumn. The weight of the watch is heavy on my wrist. It wasn’t a dream. She was actually here. She loves me.

  I wish she hadn’t run out of here like she needed to do the walk of shame. But the things we talked about in the night come back to me. I trust her. She said she’ll be back, and I’m sure she will.

  All is right in the world. Or it will be, as soon as I have her in my arms again.

  My phone rings. Jim, yet again. This time I answer.

  “Dude, I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m . . .”

  “Shut up and listen to me. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I got a call. Autumn Cleary is missing.”

  “Yeah, about that. She was here most of the night. She followed me home from the bar. Felt bad. Wanted to talk. And other things.”

  There was silence.

  “What? Don’t even tell me I shouldn’t have done it. She followed me home, man. We’re getting back together.”

  “Zack, she lives in Texas. She went missing from a bar last night. In Austin.”

  “I know, she told me. That she lives in Austin, I mean.”

  “She wasn’t in Nashville. She was in Austin last night.”

  “Then she drives like a bat out of hell, to get here so fast.”

  “Dude, you aren’t hearing me. She went missing at midnight. Walked to the bathroom, didn’t come back. Her friends are going wild.”

  I suddenly have a headache, and the pain pulses like a gong. “But that’s impossible. We saw her at midnight. She was at Mercy Lounge with that big motherfucker.”

  Silence again. “We didn’t see her, man. And you were really drunk.”

  “This is ridiculous. There’s been a mistake. I saw her clear as day. And she’s been here for hours. She gave me a watch, for God’s sake. An apology watch.” I tap the metal. Yes, the watch is very real. “Someone’s made a mistake.” I am repeating myself, as if saying it multiple times will make it true. I don’t have any other words. Can’t think any other thoughts. There must be a mistake.

  “I think I should come over,” Jim said in the tone he usually reserves for the mentally ill clients he represents.

  The watch catches the light from the sunrise, sending graceful beams dancing across the apartment. “This is too weird for me, man. There’s some sort of mistake.”

  “Zack, it’s all over the Internet. She’s some sort of bigwig in Austin now, does merchandising for a record company that has all kinds of musicians through there. The label has put up a reward for news of her.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t know, man. You tell me. You claim you saw her, you spent time talking, but at the same time, in another state, twelve hours away, she was hanging out with some girlfriends at a bar, and went missing. She couldn’t get here that fast, there’s no way. And she can’t be in two places at once. Something’s not right.”

  “No kidding. Fine, whatever. Come over. I’ll prove she was here.” I hang up.

  Either I’m losing my mind, or . . . no. That’s not possible. Not at all.

  I ran a hand across my mouth. The taste of her lingers on my lips.

  I flip open my laptop, scroll to Google News. My heart stops. Literally skips and stops beating. I suck in a breath and refresh the page, my heart hammering as fast as a Thoroughbred’s hooves thundering down a racetrack.

  The picture of Autumn is current, based on what I saw last night. The haircut, the impossibly big blue eyes, the thin frame, the tender smile.

  Above it, in huge, 24-point font, the headline screams:

  I shake my head. This is impossible. She was here. There is no question in my mind that Autumn spent the night in my apartment, in my bed, in my arms.

  I am a police officer. I am a logical, realistic human being. The love of my life spent the night in my apartment, but she also is missing from her hometown.

  What if it wasn’t really her? What if Jim’s right?

  An eerie sense of loss fills me as I do the math.

  There’s only one way a woman could be in two places at once.

  And Autumn couldn’t be a ghost.

  Could she?

  The news of Autumn’s disappearance goes national two days later, when the Austin police find a traffic cam that shows her walking out of the bar, down the street, and disappearing into the night. Moments later, a tan Camry can be seen peeling away from the dark spot in the video. The police surmised she either got into the car willingly or was forced into it by an assailant. There are BOLOs out on the car, but without a license plate, it is going to be hard narrowing it down. All the sex offenders are being checked on, par for the course when a young woman goes missing. So far, there is nothing. Autumn has vanished into thin air.

  I’ve been trying to work, but my heart isn’t in it. I can’t get my mind off the blond goddess who’d visited me Christmas night. The things she’d said. The way she’d moved. The feeling of her lips pressed against mine, her legs wrapped around my waist.

  She hasn’t been back, but I am still wearing the watch she gave me and begged me not to take off.

  There are many strange things about our time together, yes, but I am in pretty hefty
denial until Stephen and Jim sit me down and force me to watch the time-stamped video.

  Seeing the incontrovertible evidence makes me break down and admit they are right. I have to trust the forensics. Everything, from witness statements to fingerprints to DNA swabs to this video, is telling me that Autumn was in Austin on Christmas night.

  So how the hell was she with me? Have I finally lost my mind, been driven crazy by grief? Did I have some sort of acid trip flashback? I swear to God the woman was with me, in my apartment, in my living room, in my bed. I am wearing the watch she gave me.

  Nothing makes sense. I’m a rational guy. Yes, I was drunk, totally-wasted drunk. But I have a tangible item on my wrist. Proof that she’s been to my place.

  There is only one other explanation, and I don’t think I rolled someone on my way home from Mercy Lounge on Christmas night. I am slowly coming to grips with the idea that maybe, just maybe, something I can’t explain is happening.

  The guys treat me like I’m some sort of mental patient for the next couple of days. The search for Autumn is heating up. Autumn’s friends are all over television, doing very serious, heartfelt interviews. And still, there is nothing.

  Time keeps passing.

  A week into the search, on New Year’s Eve, the 24/7 news cycle finds another juicy murder story to latch onto, and Autumn Cleary disappears from television sets nationwide as well.

  Though I am really not in the mood, I agree to go out on New Year’s Eve with Stephen and Jim. We start the night in awkward silence, have a couple of drinks at my place, then walk down to Lower Broad and watch the guitar drop. It is cold and dreary, the skies overcast, the early dark oppressive. I can smell snow. Usually New Year’s in LoBro is a blast, but I’m not feeling it. There is a sense of dread hanging over the evening. Nothing seems right. I can’t have fun. Not when I don’t know what’s happened to Autumn. I am back at my apartment by 12:30 a.m., sober as a judge, the TV on but muted, staring out the window at the chilly night. Thinking. Again.