When David Died: A True Story

by John Locke

  Jess and I are on the far side of the lobby, sitting on a luggage bench by the empty bell captain’s desk. She’s fidgeting, and her eyes are so swollen you’d think she’s DeNiro’s stunt double in Raging Bull. She wants to tell me something, but she’s holding back. So I make small talk till she says, “I assume Michael told you about Daddy.”

  I want to ask “What about him?” but that seems callous.

  “It’s so embarrassing!” she says.

  “What is?”

  She looks at me incredulously. “Michael didn’t tell you?”

  “He’s said nothing. I don’t even know if your dad left a note.”

  “He didn’t.”

  I close my eyes and try to keep my relief from showing. But in my mind, I’m jumping up and down, doing a cheer. “What’s embarrassing?”

  She says nothing, just shakes her head.

  “Jessie?”

  She says, “I’ll tell you, but you can’t look at me while I say it.”

  “Okay,” I say, thinking What the fuck? I turn my head and fix my gaze on the lonely desk clerk reading a paperback on the opposite side of the lobby.

  “Nicki?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t look at me till after I’ve said everything, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She takes a deep breath, then says, “I’m the one who found the body.”

  “Omigod, Jess!” I say, and nearly turn to comfort her, but she says, “Daddy would be horrified to know that. He thought I was playing golf at the club, but it was so cold I backed out and called Uber to get a ride home.”

  I understand why she’d be shocked, horrified, or even physically sick to come home and find her dad swinging from a rope. But those weren’t the words she used. She said she was embarrassed, and I’d like to know why.

  And then, without my asking, she tells me.

  6.

  12:30 a.m.

  “HE WAS NAKED.”

  I know I promised not to look at Jessie’s face, but it’s not easy. Nor can I come up with a proper response. So I wait till she says, “Completely naked. And that’s not the worst part…” her words trail off and she starts huffing to keep from crying, but it doesn’t work and she suddenly hugs me and starts sobbing. I comfort her as best I can and now I’m looking into her eyes and she does the last possible thing I expect: she kisses me.

  On the lips.

  Sensually.

  And now I’m thinking, What the fuck is it with this family’s reaction to grief? What’s next? Is Alison gonna wake up and come at me with a strapon?

  Jessie recoils in horror and says, “Omigod! I don’t know why I did that!”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, seriously, I—I don’t know what happened just now. I’ve never—”

  I wave her off. “It’s okay. You’re under a lot of stress. It’s nothing. Forget it.”

  She nods, but says nothing, and I give her time to think about what to say next. Obviously, I want to hear about David’s suicide, but she says, “I’m glad that happened just now.”

  I look at her.

  “Don’t laugh,” she says, “but I’ve obsessed over you for months. I always looked forward to seeing you. Especially the times you came into my room to talk.”

  “I’ve always enjoyed those talks.”

  “It showed. You really listened to what I had to say. You’re the first—and only—person in the world who really understands me.”

  Not knowing what else to say, I come up with: “There’s nothing I’d rather do than be with you, Jess. You’re amazing. I was so pleased you always made time for me.”

  She blushes. “I really shouldn’t say this, but…I think about you all the time. I honestly think I’m gay. At least where you’re concerned.”

  “Um…”

  She laughs. “Omigod, your face! You’re so cute right now! And I’m like, ‘Omigod Jessie, shut up! She’ll think you’re a stalker! She’ll never speak to you again.’ But the floodgates are open, Nicki, and I can’t stop. I know I’m babbling, and don’t know where all this is coming from. I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. I’m sure it’s the vodka I sneaked. It’s the vodka, right? Please don’t hate me, Nicki. I’d just die if you do.”

  I put my hand on her cheek and say, “I could never hate you, Jess.”

  “Even after hearing me say I love you and how I constantly fantasize about us being together sexually?”

  I laugh. “Actually, you didn’t say those things till just now.”

  “I didn’t? Oh, God! I think I’ve gone stark raving mad. I mean, holy shit, you’re going to marry my brother! I’m like the worst person ever!”

  I remove my hand from her cheek and say, “Relax. You’ve been very open with me just now, and whether it was due to the vodka or because of everything that’s happened today I think you were incredibly brave to tell me how you feel.”

  I notice she’s looking at me with elevated interest and wide, hopeful eyes, so I add: “I know you want me to respond, but you’ve had these thoughts for a while, and I’m hearing them for the first time. I honestly had no idea you felt this way, and it’s a lot for me to process. But can I tell you something?”

  “You can tell me anything, Nicki.”

  I don’t know if her stunning revelation amounts to a game-changer, but I don’t want to take it off the table. Until six o’clock last night I had the perfect plan, then David killed himself, and now his daughter has the hots for me. I mean, who’d believe I’d wind up being loved and lusted for by both Thorne kids? It’s an ego boost for sure, but since Jessie’s looking at me with soulful eyes I need to decide how best to respond. Is it right to put her in the middle of this?

  Absolutely not. But would I?

  These are the tough questions you have to wrestle with when you’re in the revenge business. David’s death was a complete surprise and a major setback from which I’ll have to regroup. Do I really want to get romantically involved with his daughter? I really like Jessie, and she’s completely innocent in all this. I’d truly hate to exploit her. That said, it can’t hurt to have her in my corner during this transition phase.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she says. “I’m dying to know.”

  I look into her eyes. “This is just a first impression, okay?”

  She nods.

  “And a confession.” Sternly, I say: “You can’t repeat this to anyone.”

  “I won’t. I swear.”

  “I’ll start with the confession: I’m not going to marry Michael.”

  She gasps. “You’re not? Why?”

  “We’re not compatible. And more importantly, I don’t love him.”

  She covers her mouth with her hand. “Omigod! Have you told him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “He’s gonna be devastated!”

  “I know. I was planning to tell him, then this happened. I still can’t believe your Dad—”

  She looks down, then back up at me. “You should put it off for at least a week or two.”

  “You think?”

  She nods, then says, “What’s the other part you were gonna tell me? About your first impression to what I said?”

  “I’m going to be completely honest with you, but if this comes out wrong, please give me another chance to say it better.”

  “I’ll give you all the chances you want.”

  “Good. So like I said, your words caught me by surprise, but…when you kissed me, it…really moved me.”

  “It did?”

  “More than you could imagine. It’s like you woke up something inside me I never knew was there, and…” I take a moment to savor the look in her eyes, because you hardly ever get to see this degree of hope and yearning on a person’s face. Finally I say, “I think if I could get past the technical issues…”

  “Like what?”

  “Our age difference.”

  “Six years? That’s not so much.”

  It really is. She�
��s fifteen, I’m twenty-three. She only thinks I’m twenty-one. But there’s more: “You’re a minor.”

  “Newsflash Nicki: age of consent is sixteen! I’m only weeks away.”

  “How many, to be exact?”

  “Six.”

  I smile. “Interesting you’ve already checked on Kentucky’s consent laws, but now that I think about it, I wonder if it applies to females. Do you know?”

  She shakes her head no, then flashes a sly smile and says, “I’m willing to take a chance it only applies to penetration.”

  I’ll bet she is! But she’s not the one who’ll be wearing prison stripes for five years. Then again, who knows what the hell the law is, since cops and prosecutors pick and choose which ones to enforce, and how and when to do so. For example, I know from my foster home experience if an underage girl and boy have sex they may or may not prosecute, but if they do, they’ll only prosecute the boy. So the law is whatever their whim is on any given day.

  Jessie slides one of her legs toward me till it makes contact with mine. Her cutoffs are revealing a lot of thigh, so I trace my fingers lightly over her skin while saying, “This is major, Jess. I’ve never been with a woman before.”

  “God I love you!” she coos. “See? That’s what I’m talking about, Nicki.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t even realize what you said. And that’s what makes you so amazing!”

  “Thanks. But I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You said you’ve never been with a woman.”

  “I haven’t.”

  She smiles. “What you didn’t say is you’ve never been with a girl before. After pointing out I’m technically a minor, you referred to me as a woman.”

  “Well, that’s how I see you.”

  She grins.

  Figuring this is as good a time as any to get back on subject, I dive right in: “You said you found your father naked, but that wasn’t the worst part. What was?”

  And she says:

  7.

  12:50 a.m.

  “HE WAS HOLDING his penis.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He had a hard on.”

  “Oh, Jess!”

  “It’s…I mean—the police called it auto-something.”

  “Had he been watching porn?”

  She does a double-take. “How did you know?”

  “Autoerotic asphyxiation.”

  “That’s it. But what does it mean? Was Daddy a pervert?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Mom says he was. Michael said it too.”

  “Because of this?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Had he ever done anything else?”

  “I don’t know. They won’t say.”

  “Were they shocked?”

  “Totally!”

  “Then it’s probably his first time. And your mom’s probably pissed at him for taking his life. But that doesn’t mean he was a pervert. I’m certain he wasn’t.”

  “Then why would he…I mean, Mom and Michael won’t even talk to me about it.”

  “Don’t be too harsh on them. They’re trying to protect you because—”

  “They still think of me as a child.”

  “Exactly. But I don’t see you that way. So if you really want to hear about it, I’m glad to give you my take. Then again, it’s your dad we’re talking about, so if you’re not comfortable, just tell me and I won’t say another word.”

  “It’s okay. I want to know what happened.”

  “It’s pretty simple, really. Your dad was jerking off, nothing more.”

  “Well, it was clearly a lot more.”

  “Right. Of course it was. What I meant was, autoerotic asphyxiation is jerking off while cutting off oxygen to the brain.”

  “By hanging himself?”

  “It’s more common than you think. A lot of famous people do it.”

  “Like who?”

  “Singers. Celebrities. Movie stars.”

  “Why?”

  “For the rush. They tie a noose, stand on a bucket or whatever, and jack off. As the noose tightens, it cuts off the oxygen to the brain, and it’s supposed to create some sort of high.”

  “Like a drug?”

  “That’s my understanding.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t? Have you never masturbated?”

  She blushes.

  “It’s okay. We all do. Even your mom.”

  “What?”

  “I guarantee it.”

  “Eew!”

  “Relax. Everyone does it.”

  “You too?”

  “Especially me.”

  She laughs.

  “But your dad apparently took it to another level. I don’t know all the technical details, but if you’re interested I’ve got an expert right here in my pocket.” I pull out my phone, access the search engine, scan the first article that pops up, read it, then translate: “It has to do with the carotid arteries in your neck. When they get compressed, the sudden loss of oxygen to the brain causes something called hypoxia. When combined with an orgasm, it produces a high that’s equivalent to cocaine, and just as addictive.”

  “Wow. You think Daddy was into that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What else does it say?”

  “Just that the people who do it are called gaspers, because they’re gasping for breath.”

  “It’s practically suicide.”

  “I think that’s part of the allure. They’re gambling they’ll be able to loosen the rope before passing out, and they usually do. But when it goes wrong, it’s deadly.”

  I look up to see an icy look pass over her face. She says, “If Mom had been giving it up for Daddy he’d still be alive. Don’t you agree, Michael?”

  From behind me, Michael snarls, “Don’t you ever say that again!”

  “Were you spying on us?” I say, unable to contain the anger in my voice.

  “Don’t be stupid. I just got here. But I have to admit I was surprised to wake up and see you left the room the one night in my life I needed you most.”

  “Get used to it,” I whisper, looking straight into Jessie’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry, did you just say something?” he says, without trying to hide his bitterness.

  Jess comes to my defense: “She only left the room because I asked her to. I couldn’t sleep. But it’s sure nice to know you had no problem sleeping.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He grabs my arm and spins me around so I have to look at him. “What did you tell her about me?”

  “Leave her alone!” Jess says, jumping to her feet. “What’s your problem, Michael? She didn’t say anything about you.”

  He gives her a long look, then growls, “Party’s over. Let’s go, Nicki.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  His eyes are like two smoldering coals. He’s livid. Angrier than I’ve ever seen him, which is a perfect reason not to accompany him back to his fuck den. Not that I needed a perfect reason. I pull away from Michael’s grip and look at Jessie. “Got any space in your room for me?”

  “Of course,” she says. “Michael, stop being a jerk. You were asleep and Nicki was just trying to comfort me.”

  “Fuck you both,” he says, and stomps off.

  Jessie says, “Has he ever treated you like this before?”

  I shrug. “Like I said, we’re not compatible.”

  “What happened tonight between you guys?”

  I bite my lip. “I probably shouldn’t tell you.”

  “You can tell me anything.”

  “He raped me.”

  “What?”

  “He was upset about your dad, and took it out on me. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

  “Don’t make excuses for him,” she snaps. Then softens her voice. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m sore, but…yeah. Sadly, I’ve had worse experiences, though it’s been a while.”

&
nbsp; “You definitely need to bail on the relationship.”

  “I know.”

  “Not in a week or two. Right now!”

  “I don’t want to be cruel.”

  “Are you kidding me?” she says.

  “I especially don’t want your mom to think I’m abandoning him when he needs me.”

  “You’ve got no choice, Nicki. I’ve never seen that side of him. The look in his eyes was terrifying. You can’t trust him.”

  “I agree.”

  “Good. Then it’s settled,” she says. “Thank God!”

  She sits beside me, gives my mouth a quick kiss, then leans back to see how I’ll respond.

  I say, “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Anything.”

  “How zonked is your mom?”

  Her face brightens. “Let’s put it this way: we could use her body for a dance floor!”

  “Would it wake her up if I took a shower in your room?”

  She takes my hand in hers, flashes that same sly smile I saw earlier and says, “It wouldn’t even wake her up if I took a shower with you.”

  I let that comment hang in the air long enough for her to consider the appropriateness of having felony sex in the same hotel room where her mom is sleeping, on the same night her dad committed suicide. Then I say, “Maybe we should test that theory.”

  “I’d love to!” she says.

  8.

  6:15 a.m.

  AS THE FIRST woman in the room to open her eyes, I get home field advantage. That means I can lie here and take stock of the situation, get my bearings, hide all evidence of wrong-doing, and generally prevent any potential problems I’d have to solve later. First things first: how do I feel, physically?

  Not great. I’m sore as hell. Michael really did a number on me. I take a moment to wonder again why I didn’t fight him off. It’s almost as if I wanted him to hurt me, and…perhaps I did. I’m sure some part of me felt I deserved to be punished for my despicable behavior. For my cold-hearted planning and scheming. For stringing Michael along all these months. For being at least partially responsible for his father’s death.

  As for Jess, I can’t help but notice her hand is cupping my boob, and to my surprise, I like it. I’m on my back, she’s on her side, her lips parted, and her mouth just inches from my nostrils. This is worth noting because it doesn’t seem possible her breath could be so sweet and pleasant when every morning mine is rancid enough to repel a rabid wolverine. I assume this is a happy byproduct of her age. Speaking of morning breath, while mine is typically horrendous, this morning it’s even worse than usual. I slide my tongue across my teeth and swallow, thinking Why are my lips so swollen? What in God’s name is that taste in my mouth? Did I eat someth—