Nightfall

by Nicole Fox

  The maid has washed enough of my bloody clothes that I know she could get the stains out, but I take it off and stuff it into my trash can. I have more than enough shirts that I don’t need to worry about saving this one. Plus, I’m not sure I’d ever want to wear it again.

  I pull a new shirt from the closet behind my desk and slip into it just as my phone rings. I recognize the number as Amanda’s and answer.

  “Any change?” I ask without saying so much as ‘hello.’

  “Nothing,” she says.

  I nod and take a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry,” Amanda says quickly. “I was told you wanted nightly reports on Tati. Is that still true?”

  “Yes. I want to know the second there is any change. No matter what time.”

  Amanda agrees, and we hang up.

  I stare in the mirror hanging behind the closet door and button my shirt with slow fingers. It’s late, and I should go to bed, but I can’t imagine sleeping. So, instead, I sit down at my desk and go through the list of collections I have to make the next day.

  Usually, Sevastian and I collected together.

  But tomorrow I will go alone.

  2

  Courtney

  I stare at the page and widen my eyes, trying to keep my vision from going blurry. At this point, I can’t tell if it’s because I’m wired with caffeine or because I haven’t slept more than a few hours at a time for the last three days.

  My highlighter has become a permanent fixture in my hand, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to put it down come test time.

  Which is in one hour.

  “Shit,” I whisper, hunching down over my textbook. My professor told us over and over again throughout the semester that the best thing any of us could do would be to study the material periodically throughout the semester rather than cramming right before tests, but what did she know?

  Well, probably a lot, considering she teaches behavioral neuroscience.

  That’s what I want to do. Not teach, but work in the behavioral neuroscience field. I want to be a clinical psychologist and help people.

  But that won’t happen if I fail this test.

  I close my eyes, focusing my mind for a moment, and then begin reading again. Half of the page is highlighted. Hell, half of the book is highlighted. There isn’t enough time for me to memorize all of this before the test. I’m going to fail. I’m going to have to drop out of school, and then what?

  In the midst of my downward spiral, my phone rings.

  I groan and dismiss the call without looking to see who it is. Everyone in my life knows I have this test today. I told my dad I would be coming home tonight and not to bother me until then since I’ll be staying with him for the entire winter break. And Sadie is going to pick me up after the test to take me home, so she knows not to call. Whoever it was—probably a telemarketer—is not worth the energy it would take to read the number.

  I sigh and focus on the page again.

  When my phone buzzes a second time, I actually let out a scream, which my roommate—a Chinese exchange student who has been in a perpetual state of jet lag since she arrived four months ago—does not appreciate. She glares at me and then rolls over, pulling the blankets over her head. I have no idea if she has any finals, but based on her sleep schedule, I’d have to guess that she has missed them all.

  I don’t recognize the number, so I dismiss it with a quick flick of my wrist and go back to studying.

  I’m in the middle of highlighting an important sentence I missed the first ten times I read through the chapter when my phone buzzes once more.

  “Goddammit,” I mutter, grabbing my phone off the charger and answering it. “What?”

  “Courtney?”

  I frown and pull back to look at the number on the screen.

  My heart drops.

  Then, I bring it back to my ear. “Mom?”

  “Hey, baby girl,” she croons in the sickly sweet voice she uses when it has been way too long since we’ve spoken. “How are you?”

  “Did you get a new phone?”

  “Oh yeah,” she says. “A couple months ago. Did I not give you the number?”

  “No, but I guess I have it now.”

  She laughs. “That’s right. You sure do. Now you have no excuse not to call me.”

  “What was your excuse?” I say before I can think better of it.

  I don’t have time to fight with my mom right now, and when she sighs on the other end of the phone, I try to backpedal.

  “I was just joking.”

  “I know I promised I’d see you over fall break, but time got away from me,” she said. “I was traveling and lost my phone and had to get a new one.”

  I make a noncommittal noise to let her know I get it. Even though I completely don’t—and I don’t really care to, either.

  “Things just got crazy,” she says. “But I wanted to call and make plans for winter break. I thought I could come to town for a few days. Maybe see your dorm room and you could show me the campus and—”

  “Actually,” I say, interrupting her. “I’m in the middle of studying for a final.”

  “This will only take a second,” she says, her sweet voice disappearing. “Just a ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

  “The dorms are closed over winter break. I won’t be in town.”

  “Oh,” she says, disappointed. “Where are you staying? You could come stay with me. I’m in a one-bedroom studio and Markus stays over a lot these days, but we have a futon, and I’m sure we could rig up a partition so—”

  “I’m staying with Dad,” I say. “We arranged it weeks ago.”

  Weeks ago. When my mom was traveling and too busy to talk to me. Like always.

  She tries to sound offended, but even if I did come visit her for the break, she’d find a reason why I needed to leave early or why I should maybe get a hotel room instead. Her boyfriend doesn’t like kids and refuses to acknowledge that I’m a grown woman and not a child who’s going to get Pringles crumbs on his leather La-Z-Boy.

  “Well, if your father gets time with you, then I should, too.”

  “I’m not a brownie you’re splitting in half,” I snap. “I’m a person. I choose where I spend my time. Dad doesn’t get time with me. He’s earned it by being there. Like a parent is supposed to be.”

  I really don’t have time for this argument right now, but I can’t help myself when it comes to my mom. She gets under my skin.

  She huffs. “That’s not fair, and you know it. When your father and I split up, I couldn’t take you with me, and you resent me for it.”

  “I resent you for acting like you can waltz back into my life at any time you want,” I say. “Like I said before, I’m busy studying. I have to go.”

  “Call me later. This isn’t over.”

  It is over. I won’t be calling her later. I have no intention of seeing her over the break.

  “Bye,” I say shortly, disconnecting the call.

  My heart is racing the way it does every time I get in a fight with my mom. There’s something instinctually wrong with having this kind of a relationship with your own parent, and my body knows it. I’m always jittery for a while after we argue. I shake my arms to dispel the weird feeling and pull my book towards me.

  I’ve only read three words when another phone starts to ring. I don’t recognize the song and then realize it’s Dandan’s alarm, chirping from the other side of the room.

  She groans and shoves the phone under her pillow, stifling the noise but not stopping it.

  “Dan.” I lean around my desk. “Dan!”

  Nothing. No movement or rustle. Just the slightly muted sounds of bells chiming.

  Forty-five minutes until my test.

  There’s no point in trying to study anymore. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to walk to the exam room anyway.

  I sigh and pack up my books. I won’t be able to use them during the test, but maybe their knowledge will leach into me like osmosis if I carry the
m.

  That feels like my only hope at the moment.

  The sun is high in the sky when I walk out of my test, and I swear there are more birds singing than normal. If this was a musical, I’d skip down the sidewalk, twirl a stranger into a dance, and click my heels.

  I passed.

  I don’t know that for sure, but I can feel it. I crushed that test.

  I don’t know if it was my relentless cramming or the osmosis technique, but it worked. I didn’t have to skip any questions and come back to them. I didn’t have to make any guesses. I made it through the multiple choice, true/false, and essay questions like a boss, and now I’m free.

  Winter break awaits.

  I’m walking past the rec center, heading back towards my dorm, when I stop and look through the large wall of windows into the dance studio.

  I’ve passed it every day, multiple times per day, all semester, but I’ve never gone in. There were always classes in there, ranging from beginners to longtime dancers, that I didn’t want to interrupt. Or I had studying to do. But now, the room is empty and the semester is over.

  I’m free.

  Before I can second-guess myself, I cut across the grass and test the studio door. Despite no one being inside, it’s unlocked.

  As soon as I walk in, the automatic lights flicker on, and I’m home.

  The smell of wood greets me, and I drop my backpack in the corner and kick off my shoes on the rug.

  I haven’t been in a dance studio since the summer. I haven’t danced since summer, either. Not even in my dorm room. There isn’t enough space, and Dandan would definitely give me judgy eyes if I woke her up. So, tiptoeing across the floor and spinning feels like dipping my feet in a cool lake on a hot day. It feels refreshing, like my body is awake for the first time in months.

  I’ve always enjoyed school and exercising my mind, but after months of studying and bending hunchbacked over my schoolbooks, it feels incredible to exercise my body.

  There’s a small CD player in the corner, and I hit play, hoping something is already loaded up, and immediately pop music begins to play through the speakers in the corners of the room.

  I slide to the center of the room and easily transition from ballet to a more contemporary style. As I lose myself in the music, the two begin to blend until I’m alternating from fluid movements to a grand jeté and back again.

  I’m completely lost in the movement when the music turns off.

  Stuttering to a stop, I turn to see a middle-aged woman standing near the stereo. “You’re great, but I have a class in here in five minutes.”

  I blanch, blushing a deep red. “Sorry,” I mumble.

  I jog the rest of the way to the dorms barefoot, my sneakers in my backpack, and dance into my room. In a startling turn of events, Dandan isn’t there, so I turn up the music on my laptop and dance to and fro as I clean the room and pack for winter break.

  When I’m done cleaning, I watch a few bootleg episodes of a reality TV show someone has uploaded to the internet and then make my way down to the dining hall for lunch. Everyone is gone by this point in finals week, so the offering is just some stale sandwiches and a cereal bar. I opt for two bowls of marshmallow cereal, assuming my dad will have made a big dinner to welcome me home.

  By the time I get back to my room, I only have a few minutes until Sadie will be there to pick me up. She lives in a suburb just outside the city that’s only fifteen minutes from my dad’s house, so she’s going to give me a ride since I don’t have a car. My dad tried to convince me he could afford to get me a car, but I told him that between the cost of textbooks and my meal plan, I wouldn’t have any money for gas and zero time for a job. So, he dropped it. Thankfully, Sadie has been an accommodating chauffeur.

  She arrives just as I finish packing, and I turn off the lights, lock my door, and race down the back stairwell to meet her.

  I expected her to be alone, but there’s a large man with dark red hair sitting in the front seat. He climbs out as soon as he sees me, offering the front seat to me, and climbs in the back.

  “Thanks,” I say, pinching my brows together in a question as I slide into the seat.

  “This is Devon,” Sadie says in answer. She smiles in the rearview mirror at him. “His car is at the shop, so I offered him a ride as well.”

  “Sadie girl is our very own taxi service,” Devon says, reaching up and laying a hand on Sadie’s shoulder. Her cheeks blush.

  Sadie girl? I want to tease her about the nickname and the behemoth in her backseat, but based on the way she keeps glancing in the rearview mirror, Sadie is in love with this guy.

  “I haven’t seen you in months, it feels like,” I say.

  She nods, the messy blonde bun on top of her head bouncing around. “I know. Work has been crazy, and I’m sure school has been busy for you, too, Miss Neuroscientist.”

  “Whoa,” Devon says, leaning forward between the front seats. His cologne is strong enough that it tickles the back of my throat, and I have to clear my throat. “I didn’t expect Sadie to be friends with a brainiac.”

  I frown. “Sadie is smart too.”

  Sadie smiles at me but doesn’t say anything. She went into cosmetology school right after high school, and while I know she loves what she does, her parents make her feel bad about not going to college. Devon doesn’t need to pile on.

  “Of course she is,” he says, pinching Sadie’s side and making her jerk the steering wheel, nearly sending us into the gutter. “All of her other friends are just hairdressers like she is. I didn’t know she was friends with any scientists.”

  Just hairdressers. I don’t even begin to unpack that statement.

  “I want to be a clinical psychologist,” I say to change the subject, turning around to study him as if I’m peering into his very thoughts.

  Devon smiles back at me, eyes vacant. Somehow, I don’t think he has many scientist friends, either.

  Sadie must be able to sense my dislike towards Devon because she turns on the radio and manages the conversation for most of the drive. Devon seems incapable of not making at least one sexual innuendo or flirtatious comment for every normal sentence he utters, and Sadie doesn’t mind at all.

  The drive is only thirty minutes, but I still thought it would be a great time to chat with Sadie and catch up. I wanted to hear how work was going and her family. Instead, I’m trying not to vomit while Devon suggests we all hang out together in a “threesome.” I wonder whether it didn’t just come out wrong, but when I turn around, he’s wagging his eyebrows, and I knew he meant it exactly the way it sounded.

  “You two would totally get along,” Sadie insists, nudging me in the arm.

  “Would we?” I ask disinterestedly.

  “Totally,” she says.

  “I can tell already,” Devon says. “Maybe some time over winter break we can all get together.”

  “I’m actually going to be pretty busy hanging out with my dad.” I shrug. “We don’t get to see each other very often.”

  Sadie glances over. “You can spare an afternoon, can’t you?”

  “Maybe,” I say noncommittally. “I’ll have to check.”

  “You can’t be busy every single day,” Sadie pushes.

  I sigh. “Like I said, I’ll have to check.”

  “Courtney,” she complains. “You don’t really want to spend every single day with your dad. It’s winter break. Have some fun.”

  “Just because you don’t like your parents doesn’t mean I don’t like mine,” I snap.

  Sadie jerks back like I’ve slapped her, and then stares straight ahead at the road. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired from finals.”

  She nods but doesn’t say anything. And for the first time, Devon sits back in his seat and stops breathing in my ear.

  There’s only another five minutes left in the drive, but the car feels like it’s running short on air, and I’m desperate to get out. We’re drivi
ng down Main Street, and I see my dad’s repair shop up ahead. The window in the back is illuminated, meaning he’s in his office.

  “Pull over,” I say, pointing to the shop. “My dad is here. He must not have gone home yet.”

  Sadie pulls into the gravel drive along the side of the shop and parks. “I’ll see you around?”

  I grab my duffel bag from between my feet and crawl out of the car. I turn around and smile back at her. “Definitely.”

  “Great,” Devon says, as if I was talking to him.

  I refrain from rolling my eyes and wave at Sadie. “Thanks for the ride.”

  I watch them pull away and then walk around to the back and pull out my key. My dad gave it to me years ago, but I’ve only used it a handful of times. Even now I could just knock, but I want to surprise him.

  As soon as I open the door, however, I freeze.

  There are voices coming from the front of the shop.

  Usually, I would just assume it was a customer and walk on in, but something about the mood in the shop feels different. The voices are loud and angry.

  I close the door silently and tiptoe down the hallway, sticking close to the cinderblock wall.

  “Have I not been generous with you?” a deep voice says. “Have I not held up my end of our bargain?”

  “You have,” my dad says quickly. “You absolutely have.”

  He doesn’t sound like himself. His voice is high-pitched and frantic. I can feel the fear in it.

  “And yet,” the deeper voice says, “you don’t have my money.”

  “Not today,” my dad corrects. “I will have it—”

  “Not. Today.” I hear slow footsteps, and I can imagine the person pacing around the room, hands folded behind his back. “And when was the money due?”

  “Today,” my father says. “I know it was due today, but—”

  “So, where is it?”

  My dad tries to answer but before he can even get a word out, there’s a loud bang.

  I throw my hands over my ears and wince. For a moment, I think it might have been a gunshot, but I creep forward and am able to see a fist pressing against the metal top of my father’s shop counter. Whoever the person is, he has big hands and is strong enough to dent a stainless-steel countertop.