The Lost Night

by Megan Maguire

  Nick slumps onto the steering wheel, his hand landing in Autumn’s lap. She pushes him and the glass pellets away, hurrying to pick up her Walther and cell.

  “You okay?” A DEA agent helps her out of the vehicle. It’s Miles; one of the guys who picked me up from the lake. “He bashed you pretty good. You have a red mark already.” He lifts her chin to examine her forehead. “Can you see all right?” He holds up three fingers.

  “Yeah, three. It hurts like hell, but I think I’m all right.” She peers inside the car. “There’re a couple of bags of coke in the glove box, possibly more upstairs.” She pulls a flash drive from her pocket. “Too bad you won’t be able to bring him in for questioning about the drug ring.”

  Miles bends over to view the scene inside the car. “Yeah, doesn’t look like that’s gonna happen. He wouldn’t have talked anyway.”

  She holds up the drive. “We have a deal, right? I still want immunity for Dorazio and his partner, in exchange for the drug-trafficking information.” She taps the flash drive. “This is the info on the drug lord, where his shipments go, the houses he uses, the pushers, everything. It’s all here.”

  “The deal stands,” Miles says.

  She hands over the drive. “I wanted Nick in prison, not dead.”

  “It came down to you or him.”

  “I know, but he should’ve rotted in a cell. I have so much on him.” She crosses her arms. “I have a recording of him asking me to kill Trevor. And when I said I wouldn’t do it, he did it himself.” Her words dart out, wanting Miles and the other agents to believe she’s distraught over this. “He said he had the body down here, but I didn’t believe him until I saw it when we pulled in. He killed his son, Miles.”

  Clever. She’s pinning Trevor’s murder on Nick.

  “Detectives are on their way to take care of the body,” he says.

  “And I have photos of him picking up women and exchanging coke for sex.”

  “Autumn, it’s okay.” He puts his hand on her shoulder. “It’s obvious he would’ve gone down.”

  She nods, her lips forming a hard line. “I had it all. I had him.”

  “I know. But our focus now is on the drug lord. And I agree about Dorazio. He’s a disgrace to the force for escorting some of the shipments and delivering coke to Nick, and that phony protection racket he’s got going on, but none of that compares to this.” He holds up the flash drive. “It doesn’t even come close. I know you’re upset you didn’t get to watch Nick crash and burn, but this is gold to us.”

  She nods again, glancing down at Ed’s cell, sending me a wink.

  The screen fades to black. I put my cell away and stare at the Andersons’ house through the side window of my truck. “I’m almost back to where we left off, back to the beginning with you,” I whisper, looking up at Heather’s bedroom window, downward to the lost maple tree, and to the note in my hand. “I can almost breathe again.”

  I drop my gun under the front seat and step outside. My jack-rabbiting heart leaps to my throat as an empty sinking feeling lands in the pit of my stomach.

  28

  I clench Heather’s note in my hand and stare at the stone angel where the old maple tree once stood. I don’t know when dawn became day. I don’t know how long I sat in my truck, agitated and disturbed, or how long I’ve been standing outside the Andersons’ home, transfixed by the voices of Joel and Lona in the thick of another nasty fight.

  Morning sleet changed to rain after a dense fog rolled in and blanketed the city, drenching my clothes and hair, putting me in a miserable state. I’m far from being calm. A bomb has exploded in my mind. My white-knuckled fists are ready to pound Lona Anderson’s face. It’s a fit of anger that blurs my vision and makes my blood boil.

  I look over the copy of Heather’s note for the hundredth time, saddened by the spots where her tears or wet hair had originally smudged the ink. As Ed said, she showered at some point. I think she was wasted and tried to wash away the pain of her mom’s pregnancy and her parents’ crumbling marriage, just like I could use a stiff drink to deaden the pain of her first words.

  Pregnant. I told you. It was a blow to the heart!

  Her parents got it wrong. She wrote it was a blow to the heart, not the head. I know her handwriting.

  “That’s an rt, not a d,” I whisper.

  I gaze at the house, picturing Heather in the kitchen as she wrote the note. She was likely pacing, sobbing, nursing a bottle, every so often marching up to the piece of paper to jot down another short phrase. And that’s all it is—fragmented thoughts scattered on every side, upside down and sideways as if she kept turning the paper in circles as she wrote. I’ve guessed at their order, reading it clockwise, coming up with my own sequence of sentences.

  Pregnant. I told you.

  It was a blow to the heart!

  Cold. So cold.

  Twig did it.

  She’s not having it.

  What happened to you?

  That maple. It needs to go.

  I can’t stand to look at it.

  No more autumn leaves.

  No Twig.

  No more sticks!

  Gonna hang.

  It’s over!

  My heart is in my throat. Her words seem to be written by a stranger. I’m alarmed by her apparent disdain for me. I shouldn’t be, she was dealing with her twisted, cheating mom. She found out her idyllic family was an illusion and in ruins, and in the same night she was appalled by what I had done, leaving her alone when she was in tears.

  What happened to you?

  Did she see us that night? It might’ve been her car pulling into the alley when we were leaving. The headlights Jake saw when we were sitting in my truck next to the river also could’ve been from her car. I don’t know. It’s all speculation. But my gut tells me the attack at the party wasn’t part of this, as I initially believed.

  No more leaves. No Twig. No more sticks!

  They’re insignificant nature words to people outside our group. To me, they complete the story.

  The maple’s been destroyed, replaced with a stone angel holding a dove. It makes sense now. I thought Lona cut it down because of Heather. But Heather’s still here. She’s the angel. Jake was the one who was removed.

  “You don’t live here anymore. Get out of my house!” Joel shouts.

  They’re arguing in the front room. Lona drove in some time ago, but I don’t think Joel was awake when she arrived.

  “I have a right to pick up my things!” she screams.

  I crumple the note in my hand. Heather mentioning Jake’s stick isn’t about him tapping the ice, but how he bought it. She wrote that I knew about the pregnancy, and there’s only one reason why she would think that I did.

  I look up at a looming gray cloud releasing a curtain of rain. “Jake?” I question if he can hear me, listening for a response. But only squawking crows in nearby trees answer.

  Caw-caw.

  “Is this all because of you? Did you screw Lona Anderson?”

  Caw-caw.

  My brother was a notorious lady-killer. I couldn’t keep track of the number of women he was with, far too many to count.

  “Did you do this to Heather and her family?”

  Caw-caw. The shadows in the trees mock. Caw-caw.

  The front door bursts open and Joel rushes out in his gray satin pajamas, holding Lona’s coat and purse. He flings them into the front yard and yells at her to get out.

  “What are you doing here?” He waves his hands over his head when he sees me. “Get away from that statue. Everyone, get the hell out of my house and my life!”

  I take the open door as an invite, nearly knocking him over as I hammer past and inside, not giving anyone a chance to shut me out.

  Lona points at the door with a look of pure hatred, her gold rings flashing in the bright overhead light. “Leave!”

  “Both of you need to go,” Joel insists.

&nb
sp; I hold up the note, waving it in her face. “Is this what you didn’t want me to read?”

  “Where’d you get that?” She tries to rip it out of my hand, but I hold it out of her reach.

  “Who got you pregnant?” I ask.

  “That’s none of your goddamn business.” She stomps her foot.

  I turn to Joel. “Did you ever ask her who she fucked? Did she tell you?”

  “Like I care, it was probably another real estate agent in her office.”

  “Get out!” She catches hold of my arm and tugs me toward the door. I wrench away and walk backward, farther into the room.

  “Did you screw my brother, Lona? Was it when he came here to pick up the leaves? Did you give him a load of cash for sex?”

  “We gave Jake fifty dollars,” Joel says. “What are you talking about?”

  “No way.” I shake my head. “His stick was an easy two hundred. Lona paid him a hell of a lot more than that. He got a large tip for some reason.”

  Lona points her finger at me. “Don’t you dare come in here and accuse me of such a thing. Get out of my house.”

  “My house,” Joel says.

  “You told Heather about it.” I step closer, her face growing pale. “You told Heather that you slept with my brother. Why?”

  “What?” Joel storms up to me and grabs the note. “Where do you see that?”

  “You did this, Dylan, not me,” Lona fumes. “I didn’t know she’d get so upset. She found you that night and told you about it. And you took care of it, didn’t you? You got rid of Jake, and whatever you did to him traumatized her.”

  I kick Heather’s grandfather’s gun cabinet and shatter one of the tempered doors, sending a hailstorm of tiny pieces of glass onto the floor. “I wouldn’t kill Jake! Especially not because of you, or because Heather was upset over you two screwing.” I kick the glass pellets, imagining my hands around her neck. “You’re insane!”

  “See. See his temper. I told you, Joel. He’s violent. He killed his brother, and Heather saw him do it.”

  “You had sex with an eighteen-year-old kid?” Joel’s downright mortified.

  She puts her hand on her hip. “I have needs. And I didn’t know Dylan would kill him over it.”

  “You’re guessing, and you’re wrong.” I punch the air. “I never knew about any of this. You know that’s the truth or you wouldn’t have kept the note from me!”

  “You screwed an eighteen-year-old kid?” Joel repeats. “And you told our daughter?” His voice is low, cold, and dead. He circles her, keeping his eyes on the ground. “What kind of monster are you? You had sex with a kid, and then you told the one person who would be hurt by it the most!”

  “I know. I KNOW!” She pushes him away. “Every day I want to die!”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “No, you don’t. You were happy Jake was gone.” Joel walks back up to her. “It was only fair he should die since we lost Heather. Isn’t that what you said last year? It was only fair he was dead.”

  “No!” Lona stomps. “Heather talked to Dylan that night. I know it. He did this!” She points at me. “She saw him drown Jake. She took her life because of him.”

  “Because of you!” I shout.

  She waves a finger at me. “She blamed herself for telling you about Jake and me. She broke down after the way you handled it.”

  “It was an accident!” For the first time I mean what I say. “It was a horrible accident. I wouldn’t kill Jake for this. I’m not crazy like you!”

  “Whore,” Joel says, small droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. “You ruined our daughter.”

  She takes a shotgun from the cabinet. Joel grabs the barrel and pushes it toward the ceiling before she has a chance to shoot.

  “All of these have rounds in them. I made sure to load them after Dylan broke in,” she says.

  “Put it down!” Joel shouts.

  They elbow each other as they fight over the gun. I hold out the note, enraged that they don’t notice Heather’s words in front of them. I hold it higher, but Heather fades from sight. All they care about is killing each other.

  “Both of you need to get out!” Joel struggles for control over the gun, striking Lona’s jaw. She tumbles to the floor, but the gun remains in her hand. He panics and grabs another shotgun from the cabinet.

  Without hesitation, Lona sits up and aims the gun at my head.

  “Don’t,” I whisper, holding the weight of the note between us.

  Tears stream down her cheeks. The gun shakes in her hands. “Why did you have to come here?”

  “Please. Don’t.”

  A blast rattles the house.

  Lona pitches back and the gun drops at her side. Her head smacks the hardwood floor, sending a tremor to my feet. I fall to my knees, staring at the silence in her eyes. Her mouth opens, yet not the slightest breath leaves her lips.

  Joel moves in slow motion. He walks past me to the front door and comes back. He goes to the kitchen and returns. My heart stops when he presses the shotgun to my head.

  “Jake drowned,” I whisper, steadily raising my hands.

  “Did he?”

  He uses the muzzle to trace the scar over my eyebrow, sliding it down my cheek and under my chin to lift my head. I have no choice but to look him directly in the eye.

  “I loved her,” I tell him.

  He slowly squeezes the trigger.

  “I loved them both, Joel!”

  My memories collapse inside one another. I teeter back and forward before dropping to the floor, blinking at the growing pool of blood before my eyes.

  “Fight it, Dylan. Fight it!”

  “Jake,” I whisper, reaching out for him.

  Sharp pains twist through my narrowing veins as my mind retraces its steps to the river, finding the coffined body of a man inside a solid block of ice. I look up and see the moon shrinking to a white dot in my central vision. This is how it began before everything turned dark; before a swallow of gelid water closed my throat, and the strong pull of the river’s current consumed me faster than my terror.

  The fight is over. Death is imminent.

  I remember now.

  I know I’ve made it back to the beginning to cross the end.

  Return

  Everything hurts. My skin prickles from head to toe and my lungs burn for air. I’m in a mental battle to keep my heart beating. I want the pain to go away. I try hard to shake my head, roll over, or reposition my legs, but I can’t move.

  A faint voice tells me to wake up.

  I scream inside my head. My eyes dart under closed eyelids. I’m overwhelmed with feelings that I’m alone and the world around me is dead. Or I’m dead. I smell the blood of a kill and have a metallic taste in my mouth as if I’m the victim. I’ve fallen prey.

  Everything hurts, and there’s nothing I can do to stop the pain. Sadness haunts me. I envision my body stuck under the ice, my lips blue, limbs no longer twitching. I’m so cold, taking shallow breaths and swallowing thickly.

  “Wake up!”

  My ears pop and crackle. I can hear again.

  “Damn you, Dylan. I’m not giving up on you. Breathe!”

  The pit of my stomach churns painfully from the distress. End-of-life dreams and future visions recoil back into a far-off corner of my mind. The deceased aren’t here to greet me. No Heather or Jake, just fragmented hallucinations of an abysmal life without them.

  Did I get blackout drunk at the party?

  “Come on!” Sean shakes me. “Get up!”

  Cold water in my belly and lungs and the taste of the river on my tongue cause me to retch. Sean positions me on my side and sticks his fingers in the back of my throat. I heave viciously until my face burns as if vomit is coming out of my eyes and nose.

  “That’s it, puke all over me. I don’t care, as long as you’re okay.” He pats my back. “Breathe. Breathe for me.” He gives me his hat then wraps his coat around my bod
y. “Breathe.” He massages my arms and legs to increase my circulation. I ingest quick breaths through chattering teeth, recovering little by little from the near-death experience. “Chrissakes, your head is practically busted open. You’re a mess, Dylan.”

  I remember the party. My lips won’t move to ask what happened after we left, but I remember the party. We got attacked behind the house. I had my knife out. The yard was dark, but I saw Jake standing by the garage. He was under the light in the alley. Why was he there? He shouldn’t have been anywhere near that house.

  “Oh, man oh man. I swear, Dylan. I swear I thought you were dead.” Sean grips my chin and yanks my mouth open. “Talk to me. Would ya?” He slaps my cheek. “Fish got your tongue, or are you brain dead from the cold?”

  I see a figure sitting on the riverbank behind Sean. He’s faceless. His head low between his knees.

  What day is it?

  What year?

  “Are you with me?” Sean asks. “The two bodies are dumped. Let’s book outta here.”

  “Y-yeah.” I clear my throat, my voice a faint whisper. “What about … wait.” I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. “Where are we?”

  “At the river. After the house party for Ed. Boy, he clocked you good.”

  “Who did? No, that was last year—”

  “Eddie did. He nearly killed you. Then he fell on top of you after he got shot.”

  “What?” I start to sit up, but my vision spins and I have to lean back to calm my stomach before I hurl again. “Who shot Ed?”

  “Don’t you remember? Eddie fell hard and squashed you like a bug. His weight coupled with yours broke the ice. It was crazy how fast it happened. Two seconds.”

  “I’m dead.”

  “Not quite. The current sucked you guys under and away from the hole. You know how lucky you are that the river’s not frozen from bank to bank? We found you farther down in open water.”

  We?

  A sharp sting above my left eyebrow causes me to close one eye. The pain burrows inside my head, dulling Sean’s words.

  “We got hold of you in a whirlpool before you went under the big ice sheet that’s past the free-flowing water. We haven’t seen Ed. He bit the dust. The river didn’t spit him out like it did you.”