Night in the Lonesome October Read online

  ‘If you really have to go,’ I said, ‘let me at least walk you back.’

  She shook her head. ‘That’s okay. No thanks. I wanta be ... I never meant to ... to inflict myself on you.’

  ‘You haven’t.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.’ Backing through the doorway, sniffing, she gave me a little wave with one hand. Then she turned and hurried down the hall.

  I just stood there, gazing at the empty doorway.

  I wasn’t sure what had just happened. Eileen had certainly gone haywire. I’d never seen her that way before, and it left me feeling shocked and confused. And guilty.

  Obviously, I should have stopped her from leaving.

  She’d probably hoped I would stop her, but I hadn’t.

  I can still run after her.

  But she’d told me not to.

  Wants me to, anyway. She’s probably expecting it.

  ‘Not tonight,’ I muttered, and shut my door.

  Chapter Ten

  I ate more pizza and drank more wine, wondering if Eileen would come back. She might walk a couple of blocks, change her mind and turn around. Who knows?

  At any moment, the buzzer might ring.

  If it did, Eileen would come up and apologize for her strange behavior and we would probably end up in bed. Imagining that, I thought about the look and feel of her last night and I hoped she would come back.

  If I hadn’t let her go, or if I’d run after her, we could’ve both been naked by now ...

  But then I’d be stuck with her.

  At least for tonight.

  If she rings the buzzer, I thought, there go my plans.

  That might not be such a bad thing, either, because my plans frightened me.

  There was still some wine left, so I knocked the cork back into the neck of the bottle. I put the bottle and the remaining pizza into my refrigerator. By then, Eileen had been gone for about twenty minutes.

  I sat down and tried to read Coleridge for a while, but I felt groggy and my mind kept wandering. I was wasting my time, so I put the book away and went into my bedroom. The clock on my nightstand showed 7:10. I set the alarm for 11:00 p.m., then took off my clothes, shut off the light and climbed into bed.

  ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

  I found myself in darkness.

  My first thought was that someone was buzzing me to be let in. Holly? Is Holly here? Hope leaped up inside me, then fell. It can’t be Holly, I realized. She’s gone. It’s Eileen. Eileen came back, after all.

  I’ll let her in and we’ll make love.

  Just about then, I realized nobody was buzzing to be let in. The sound came from my alarm clock.

  Time to get up and start my adventure.

  I reached out and killed the noise. Then I climbed out of bed. I shivered as I hurried across my room and turned on a light. The air felt cool on my bare skin, but the shivers probably had little to do with temperature, more to do with tension and excitement.

  I dressed myself in undershorts, blue jeans, a dark-blue sweatshirt, socks and my brown leather high-top hiking boots.

  As I sat on an edge of the bed to tie my boots, I changed my mind about them. They were excellent for long walks, but what if I needed to be swift?

  So I took them off and put on a pair of Reebok running shoes instead.

  I started to take my wallet, then changed my mind. It was loaded with identification: my driver’s license, student ID, credit cards, and so on.

  What about money?

  Nothing’ll be open, anyway.

  Dandi Donuts?

  I took a ten out of my wallet, folded it and stuffed it into a front pocket of my jeans.

  What else?

  Nothing else from my wallet. But I pocketed my Swiss Army knife and my five-inch Maglite before leaving the bedroom. They both went into front pockets of my jeans. In the living room, I grabbed my keys.

  Anything else?

  A pen and paper in case I needed to take notes.

  I pulled a full sheet of lined paper out of my notebook, folded it like a hanky and slipped it into a seat pocket of my jeans. Then I slid a couple of ballpoints into a front pocket.

  What else?

  A mask?

  Why on earth would I need a mask?

  Shaking my head, I left.

  Downstairs, the Fishers’ door stood open. I planned to ignore the old couple, but realized at the last moment that it might seem rude. So I turned my head as I walked by, nodded and smiled in.

  No sign of Mrs Fisher, but ‘the mister’ looked up from his easy chair - positioned for a view of the hallway - and called, ‘Hey there, Eddie.’

  I had to stop. ‘Hi, Mr Fisher.’

  ‘How’s things?’

  ‘Not bad. How’re things with you and Mrs Fisher?’

  ‘Oh, can’t complain. Saw your friend Eileen earlier. Had yourselves a nice pizza, did you?’

  ‘It was pretty good. Well, I’ve got to get going. See you later, Mr Fisher.’

  ‘Have yourself a good time, son.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, and took off.

  It felt very good to be outside in the fresh October night. The breeze was slightly chilly. It carried a scent of chimney smoke and sent leaves drifting down sideways when they fell out of the trees along the road.

  I made mental notes of my observations ... partly because I fancied myself a writer and partly to keep my mind off my real reason for being out in the night.

  When you’re up to something iffy, it’s better not to think about it or you might chicken out.

  There’s nothing iffy about this, I told myself. I’m taking a walk, that’s all.

  Over to Franklin Street.

  It’s a free country, I thought. The sidewalks are public property. I have every right to go over to Franklin Street. Nothing at all wrong with doing that.

  I’m just a university student taking a late-night walk, minding my own business, maybe on my way to Dandi Donuts.

  I’m not breaking any laws.

  Nobody (except Eileen) knows I’m heartbroken. And nobody in the whole world (except me), knows how I hope in the chambers of my ruined heart to find a certain girl.

  Last night, she’d simply come walking along. Her route had converged with mine as if by some miracle of timing and placement.

  I was pretty sure it wouldn’t happen again.

  But I intended to be waiting, tonight, at the same time and place.

  As I walked along, I kept a sharp lookout for trouble. In particular, I didn’t want to be surprised by dogs or by the bike-riding hag.

  She’s probably a harmless old lady, I told myself. Maybe even nice if you get to know her.

  Yeah, right.

  She could be Mother Theresa, for all I cared: I didn’t want her to see me, much less come wheeling up silently from the rear, startle the crap out of me with her ringer and speed by ... close enough to touch me.

  What if she does touch me?

  It gave me the creeps just thinking about her and keeping watch for her.

  As Falstaff says, ‘The better part of valour is discretion; in the which the better part I have saved my life.’ Avoiding the bike hag wasn’t likely to save my life, but it would do wonders for my peace of mind. Therefore, several blocks before the area where she’d put in her appearance last night, I cut over to Franklin Street.

  I liked it much better there. Not only had I bailed out of the hag’s territory, but I’d entered the mystery girl’s.

  Though I still kept a sharp watch, it was no longer just for signs of trouble; my watch now included the possibility of spying the girl.

  I walked slowly, turning my head, often looking over my shoulder.

  At length, I came to the sidestreet where I’d first seen her. I stopped at the corner and looked.

  She wasn’t coming.

  No one was coming, either afoot or by car ... or by bicycle.

  From where I stood, I seemed to be the only person out and about.

  Though the hour was late, I
was early. I hadn’t kept careful track of time last night, but the girl had probably come walking toward this corner between about 12:15 and 12:30 a.m. My educated guess.

  My wristwatch now showed 12:05.

  At the earliest, she might not show up for another ten minutes.

  Ten minutes. To most of us, ten minutes seems like a very brief period of time. Not long enough to do much of anything. However, ten minutes is ample time for a shower. A steak can usually be barbecued in ten minutes or less. And a healthy person can easily walk more than half a mile in ten minutes. At freeway speeds, ten minutes can take you more than ten miles.

  But try waiting alone on a street corner in the middle of the night, and you’ll discover that ten minues can seem like a long, long time.

  I only lasted five. During that period, six cars went by. A hairy man in shorts and running shoes, but no shirt, jogged up the middle of Franklin Street but paid no attention to me. I heard telephones in nearby houses ring on two separate occasions. I heard a woman shout, ‘Don’t you dare!’ Doors slammed shut three or four times. Two cats ran across the road. So did one opossum.

  Then a gal came striding up the sidewalk, heading my way with two German shepherds trotting semi-loose around her. I couldn’t tell for sure whether they were wearing leashes, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way.

  Abandoning my post, I turned right at the comer and headed eastward on the sidestreet.

  It was Maple Avenue.

  Last night, the mystery girl had come from this direction. With any luck, I might not only avoid the hounds but encounter her.

  I followed Maple Avenue for about ten minutes. Though I saw no sign of the girl, the road led me into a shabbier section of town. Single-story houses with shingled sides, chain-link fences around their yards, barking dogs often in their yards along with collections of debris. People in this section of town didn’t seem to throw anything away. Instead, when it ceased to be useful, they displayed it in their yards. Most of the yards were littered with such items as old chairs, old sofa cushions, old television sets, toilets, tires, and often entire automobiles.

  God only knew what sort of person I might encounter in such a neighborhood.

  Fortunately, none seemed to be outdoors at the moment.

  At the railroad tracks, Maple Avenue descended into a dark underpass so I turned around and headed back toward Franklin Street, walking more quickly than before.

  It was 12:40 by the time I reached the intersection of Franklin and Maple.

  Had I missed her?

  Maybe she’s just a little late, I thought.

  Or maybe last night was a fluke; the one and only time she had ever, or would ever, walk that particular route at that time of night.

  Then again, maybe she does it regularly, but only once a week.

  I looked one way. I looked the other. I looked all around.

  Where are you? Where are you?

  You’re somewhere, I told myself. And I’ll find you.

  If Ahab could find the White Whale, whose far-flung boundaries were those of the seven seas, I certainly should be able to locate one girl in the small town of Willmington.

  Chapter Eleven

  I approached her house from the opposite side of the street and looked at it casually as I strolled by.

  The front porch and all the windows were dark, the same as last night.

  Was the girl still on her way home?

  Had she already returned from tonight’s journey?

  Maybe she’d stayed in and had gone to bed early.

  Was she there in a dark upstairs room, fast asleep in her bed?

  Not daring to stop and keep a vigil on the house, I continued to the comer. I crossed to her side of the street, went to the next comer, made a right and hiked southward along the back side of the block. At the comer, I made another right and returned to Franklin Street. This time, I walked up Franklin on her side.

  As I neared her house, a light came on toward the rear of its ground floor.

  My heart lurched. Then it pounded fast and sickeningly hard as I walked up the driveway of the house next door, glanced around to see if I were being observed, and slipped through a space in the bushes.

  The glow from the window pulled me like a promise of treasure.

  Never in my life had I crept up to a window in an attempt to spy on anyone. This is not to say I’d never been tempted to give it a try. In the past, however, I’d always fought off the temptation; my urge to sneak a peek was feeble compared to my terror of being caught at it.

  Tonight was different. Not only had my world been blasted apart by the loss of Holly, but I was so vastly intrigued by the mystery girl that I had to look into the window.

  As I neared it, I felt weak with fear. I trembled all over. Underneath my sweatshirt, perspiration poured down my torso. My underwear stuck to my sweaty rear end. My genitals felt as if they were trying to shrivel up and vanish.

  Fear of being caught was certainly part of it. But so was fear of myself, that I should be doing this. And mixed with the fear was a horrible, nerve-wracking anticipation of what I might see when I looked through the window.

  Someone had turned on the light, and it was still on.

  Someone was in the room.

  The girl?

  Breathless and trembling, I looked around to make sure nobody was watching me. Then I moved closer to the window. Because the house had a crawl-space, the windowsill was slightly higher than my eye level.

  Standing close to its left-hand corner, I hooked my fingertips over the sill and raised myself on tiptoes.

  What if she’s looking straight at me?

  She wasn’t.

  Peering through the glass at the bottom comer of the window, I saw a woman standing in the lighted kitchen, leaning back against a counter. In her left hand was a bottle of tequila. She held the bottle by its neck, took a sip, lowered it by her side, and just stared forward.

  Not looking anywhere close to my window.

  She didn’t appear to be upset or nervous or troubled. Not like she’d come into the kitchen to sneak a few sips. More as if she’d simply found herself in the mood for a taste of tequila and wandered in. She seemed tranquil, almost languid.

  Could this be the girl’s mother?

  Not likely. My mystery girl was probably at least eighteen years old, and this woman looked no older than thirty.

  Her sister?

  Whatever her relation to my girl, she was certainly pretty. Even with mussed hair and no makeup on, she looked a lot more attractive than most women. Also, she had a good figure and her white nightgown didn’t hide much of it.

  The nightie was very short, reaching only about halfway down her thighs. Its top was cut so low that I could see quite a lot of bare skin between her breasts, down to a couple of inches below her sternum.

  Also, the gown was diaphanous ... made of such fine, delicate material that I could see through it. Her nipples were large and dark and erect. She seemed to have a ladybug tattoo on her left hip. And to paraphrase Mickey Spillane, I saw that she was a natural blonde.

  My genitals started to unshrivel. Rapidly.

  She raised the tequila bottle and took another sip. When she lowered it, the strap of her nightgown fell off her left shoulder and down her upper arm. Without the strap for support, the gown slipped off her left breast.

  I thought, Holy shit!

  She didn’t seem bothered at all that one of her breasts was naked. And why should she be? She was alone in her kitchen in the middle of the night and had no idea anyone might be watching her through a window.

  No idea I was there, spying on her, getting harder by the moment.

  As she raised the bottle to her mouth for another drink, her arm lifted the thin strap of her nightgown only slightly. While she held the bottle up, her arm obstructed my view of her breast. Then I could see it again.

  I knew I should look away. Look away? I should run away.

  I was violating this woman’s priva
cy, ogling her body, and breaking the law.

  I must’ve been nuts to come to her window at all!

  But I’d done it in search of my girl, not to leer at this sultry stranger.

  I’ve gotta get out of here!

  My eyes stayed locked on her.

  I can’t leave, I realized. Not as long as she keeps standing there, looking the way she does.

  Then her head began to turn in my direction.

  I sank out of sight and took my fingers off the sill.

  What if she saw me?

  I’d ducked pretty fast. Also, it’s hard to see out of windows at night, especially if you’re in a bright room and there isn’t much light outside. Mostly, you only see your own reflection backed by darkness.

  My face had been right up at her window, though, and probably illuminated by the light from the kitchen.

  She might’ve seen me.

  Staying low, I crept alongside the wall toward the front of the house. A safe distance from the kitchen window, I slipped into a gap in the bushes. Crouching there, I took a quick look around. I saw nobody, so I stepped out onto the neighbor’s driveway.

  At the foot of the driveway, I turned to the right... toward the house. It seemed like a wild, risky move. A person in my position should’ve gone the other way. I was feeling reckless, though. And lucky. And curious. So I stepped past the row of bushes.

  Toward the rear of the house, light still glowed from the kitchen window.

  Otherwise, the house remained dark.

  Had she seen me?

  I suddenly doubted it.

  For a moment, I considered sneaking back to the window for another look.

  Don’t press your luck.

  Already, I’d left the house behind.

  As I neared the corner, a car turned onto Franklin a couple of blocks to the north.

  A cop car?

  My stomach went squirmy.

  She might’ve called the cops. Or maybe one of the neighbors did.

  No time to think.

  I dodged up the nearest driveway, ran to the front of the car parked there, sank to my knees and hunkered down. Soon, the grumble of an engine intruded on the night’s other sounds. It came from the north, growing louder, louder.

  Though I cowered in hiding, excitement was mixed with my fear. I had an urge to scream, but also a strange inclination to giggle.