In The Absence Of Light

by Adrienne Wilder

  Someone I did not deserve.

  I’d been so close to being like those dance instructors who threw away a once in a lifetime chance. But instead of leaving me to the mercy of the light, Morgan had led me into the darkness, where it had no more power over me.

  How did you replay that kind of gift? How did you repent for being unable to see it?

  I didn’t know, but I wanted to try.

  “What’s your favorite color?” I said.

  “Blue? You?”

  “Yellow or green. It’s a toss-up.”

  “What kind of music do you listen to?” Morgan said.

  “I’m not particular. Depends on my mood really.”

  “Me either. But I like to listen to classical when I work on my sculptures.”

  “You sculpt?”

  “Sorta.”

  “How do you sorta sculpt?”

  He laughed. “It’s hard to explain. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

  “I’d like that… I tried to draw when I was in high school, but it didn’t work out.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, for starters, I couldn’t draw.” I grinned even though he couldn’t see it. But I had a feeling he would know anyhow.

  “I would definitely say that’d be a requirement.”

  “I might have gotten better if I’d kept at it, but playing football was easier, and I got to stare at a lot of nice ass.”

  “If art isn’t your thing, what is?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What kind of hobbies do you have?”

  I hadn’t really thought about it. “Right now it’s fixing the house. I’m pretty sure that’ll keep me occupied for a while.”

  “And after?”

  “I don’t know. I could get a dog.”

  Morgan laughed again. It was my new favorite sound. “A dog isn’t a hobby.”

  “Okay a boat.”

  “Neither is a boat, unless you plan on building it.”

  “Not unless I want it to sink.”

  “Then you're zero to two, Grant. Better think fast.”

  I tugged on my bottom lip. “Well, I could take up fishing.”

  “Hmmm, yeah. That could work.”

  “Do you fish?”

  “Sometimes. Not as much as I used to. I’m too busy with work and my sculptures.”

  “You’re definitely going to have to show them to me.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Did you learn to sculpt in college?”

  “Never went.” Was that disappointment in his voice?

  “Jenny said you got a full scholarship.”

  “I did.”

  “Then how come you didn’t go?”

  Morgan snorted.

  “What?” I said.

  “Nothing.”

  “I must have said something funny.”

  “The fact you even asked.”

  “Why you didn’t go to college?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, why didn’t you?”

  He shifted in his seat. “I don’t do well with change, so I stick close to home.”

  “Lots of people get homesick when they go away to college, Morgan. It’s perfectly normal.”

  He sighed. “Will you say that again?”

  “Say what?”

  “Normal. How it’s perfectly normal.”

  ********

  Pale pink and yellow bled into the night from the east. As light returned to the world, so did the trees, the grass, the roads.

  So did I. And so did Morgan.

  But I’d been changed by the dark. I promised myself I’d never forget there were things beyond the light, and if I wasn’t careful, they’d be lost.

  Forever.

  And now everything I’d missed about Morgan was revealed. His longish nose and rounded chin. The dusting of a fine gold five o’clock shadow.

  Morgan was average height with square shoulders. Yet still looked stronger than seemed possible. But I think that was because his strength had nothing to do with the tawny muscles running down his elegant arms and legs.

  I parked in front of his house, and he got out.

  “Do you want to go get some lunch after a while?” I said.

  “I might not be up.”

  “Well, how about supper?”

  “As long as it’s not Toolies.” Morgan graced me with a rare glimpse of his eyes.

  “Promise.” I made an X over my heart. “No Toolies.”

  “You realize the only other place to eat on Sunday is in Maysville.”

  “Is that where you want to go?” I’d take him. Even if the truck broke down and I had to carry him on my back.

  Morgan leaned against the doorframe. “It’s probably not a good idea on the weekend. It gets really busy and loud.”

  “Okay.”

  “I know that doesn’t leave much.” He shook his head. “Actually it leaves nothing except the convenience store hotdogs."

  I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel. “Do you have a grill?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then how about this. I bring the beer and the steaks and you supply the grill and charcoal.”

  “Will wood do?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay, what time?”

  “Five, five thirty.”

  “Sure. I’ll see you then.”

  I didn’t drive away until he was inside and out of sight. When I got home, I unloaded the truck, took a shower, and ate breakfast. But the strange hum in my body wouldn’t still.

  I went ahead and laid down even though I wasn’t tired, and after staring at the ceiling a while, I resorted to counting down the minutes as they ticked off the clock on the bedside table.

  Time slowed just to be spiteful.

  I was about to give up and go do something productive when my cell phone rang. I retrieved it from the bedside table where I’d left it, my wallet, and a handful of crumpled dollar bills.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me.” Jeff.

  “Why are you calling me?”

  “You told me to use a phone the next time I needed to talk with you, rather than buy a plane ticket.”

  “I told you that I’m not going to help you.” I sat up. “I won’t betray the confidence of my clients.”

  “Well, you may not have a choice.”

  “Is that a threat, Agent Shaldon?” In my line of work, threats got people killed.

  Because where I came from, threats were nothing more than the echo of future actions.

  “No threat, Grant. At least not the kind you’re thinking of.”

  “What other kind is there?”

  “A heads-up.” There was a rattle of movement and a moment of background noise that sounded an awful lot like… an elephant? “Where are you?”

  “The zoo.”

  “Why are you calling me from the zoo?”

  “Because I wanted to make sure what I have to tell you couldn’t be heard by any of our surveillance teams or any other interested party.”

  “Are you saying I need to worry about the FBI spying on me?”

  “Only if you’ve done something illegal. Which you have clearly stated many times, you haven’t. And as you’ve so eloquently pointed out, you have the paperwork to prove it.”

  “Who’s the other interested party?”

  “Carson Lorado.”

  “Why the hell would Carson care about what I do? I’m nothing to him.”

  “He’s a paranoid son-of-a-bitch who kills like people take vitamins, as preventative medicine.”

  “Touché.” Jeff was right. Carson was exactly the kind of man who turned business into bloodshed. His way of thinking had spread through my neighborhood like a plague, turning prospective clients and partners into dangerous investments. Apparently even the criminal world had gotten so lazy it was easier to shoot people than deal with them. “How do you know he’s got an interest in me?”

  A child squealed somewhere beyond the rise
and fall of happy music. It faded until the silence was almost absolute.

  I was about to ask Jeff if he was still there when he said, “Someone hacked my computer.”

  “And you think Carson did it?”

  “Whoever it was only went for one thing.”

  “What?”

  “My travel plans.”

  “To here?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Have you considered one of your playmates might be trying to dig up dirt on you? After all, I was fucking you.”

  His exhale hit the speaker hard. “My playmates knew I went down there. They wanted me to wear a wire, remember?”

  “And you took it off.”

  Another exhale.

  “You motherfucker.”

  “I had to.”

  “You care to tell me why?”

  “If I hadn’t worn it, Hines would have sent someone else. And someone else might have gone after you in a way to make you fuck up. You know as well as I do how this game can be played. Hines wants you in here bad, Grant. He knows you have information, and he wants it.”

  “And you still think the break-in was Carson?”

  “One of Carson’s associates was hit by a bus almost a week ago.”

  “Sounds like Karma.”

  “More like someone upstairs is looking out for you.”

  “How so?”

  “Don Wallis, Carson’s first choice hit man. He had a slip of paper in his wallet. The numbers didn’t make sense when I first saw them, but I felt like I’d seen them before. Then it hit me. They were the date, time, and flight number on my itinerary. He even had the coordinates to your house plugged into his GPS. He’d stopped for gas right off I-65 South. A bus hit him when he pulled out.”

  “He was headed here.” It wasn’t a question but an obvious fact.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do your friends know?”

  “They do.”

  “I don’t suppose they sent a welcoming committee.” Jeff’s silence was all I needed. “Told you nice suits and Italian leather didn’t mix well in this town.”

  “Lots of business people go through Durstrand.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t walk around like they have listening devices crammed up their ass.” I think he almost laughed, but I couldn’t be sure. And I wasn’t going to ask to find out.

  “They’re not there to help you.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “But they don’t want to miss out on the chance you might spill valuable information.”

  “You mean they want to listen in while I get various body parts cut off, burned, or electrocuted.”

  “With Don Wallis dead, Carson will send his second, Ulrich.”

  “Great. I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to be dressed out like a deer. Wait, I thought he was in prison.”

  “He must have gotten out early.”

  “How the hell does a killer get out early?”

  “Well, technically he didn’t go to jail for killing anyone, he went to jail on illegal weapons charges; second, it’s not all that uncommon for a DA to make a deal for a chance to catch bigger fish.”

  Bigger fish like Carson Lorado. Even I knew Ulrich wasn’t that stupid. “Was it worth it?”

  “They lost track of him a few days after he got out.”

  “What a surprise.” I rolled my eyes. “I hope the DA at least got something useful before Ulrich disappeared.”

  “False leads, old addresses, empty bank accounts.” Jeff moved again. Voices rose and fell. Quiet returned. “Look, I need a reason for the SAC to see you as something more than collateral damage.”

  “Is Hines still the Special Agent in charge?”

  “For now.”

  “Lovely.” Just what I needed, the man with a personal beef to pick with me.

  “He wants information more than he wants to get back at you.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “I’m not saying he’ll forgive you. I mean it’s kind of hard to forgive a man that almost cost you your job.”

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Thank God Jeff could not see me smile.

  “You sank almost a million dollars’ worth of computer equipment into the lake.”

  “Not my fault the barge sank.”

  “With some help.”

  “I was fifty miles away arranging transportation for an antique car collection. I had witnesses. Eight, if I remember correctly. One of whom was a judge.”

  “Ex-judge turned criminal.”

  “Retired judge because the authorities couldn’t make the case stick.”

  “Minor details.”

  “Weren’t those the exact words that maintenance man said when questioned about the hull damage? You’d think Agent Hines would be grateful I chose to upgrade the life boats and life jackets since he couldn’t swim.”

  Jeff did laugh that time. “Just between you and me, it was brilliant.”

  “Sorry, can’t take credit for something I didn’t do.”

  The seriousness returned to Jeff’s voice. “You need to watch your back. And if Carson really is sending Ulrich, you need all the help you can get.”

  Again, he was right. And I hated it. “What would it take to move me from the glue truck?”

  “Simple, Hines wants your shipping routes, client list, times, dates, items you moved, and where.”

  “My preverbal black book, aye?”

  “Yeah.” There was a ruffle of fabric as if Jeff might have shrugged.

  “What does he plan on doing with it?”

  “I’m assuming he’ll use it to pin down bigger fish.”

  “Like Lorado?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Revealing my trade secrets won’t help him arrest anyone.”

  Jeff made a frustrated sound. “Damn it, Grant, I’m trying to help you.”

  “Really? Since when?”

  “Since the day I fell in love with you.”

  That stopped me cold. I sat there on the edge of my bed, goosebumps crawling over my skin, heat pushing up sweat droplets over my upper lip. “You better hope no one is listening in on this phone call.”

  “I’ll call you from the unemployment line if they are.”

  “More likely prison.”

  “What happened between us wasn’t illegal, it just happened.”

  If only I’d seen it coming, so I could have put up a wall. But Jeff was right, what we had was nothing more than an evolution of companionship. An inevitable end.

  “I’m sorry, but my black book isn’t up for sale.”

  “Has it occurred to you maybe Hines isn’t the only one interested?”

  It hadn’t until he said something, but sending Ulrich to torture the information out of me would be overkill. Even for Lorado. Besides, Lorado had his own techniques. If Lorado was gunning for me, he had a completely different agenda. Not that it made the situation any less dangerous.

  “Are you still there?” Jeff said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Will you cooperate so I can help you?”

  “No.”

  “Damn it, Grant,” Jeff growled into the phone. A sound he never made except when he pulled my hair while he fucked my mouth. “Do you hate me so much you’re willing to get yourself killed?”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Jeff.”

  “So you don’t hate me enough to lock me in a shipping container and push me into the ocean?”

  “No. I hate you enough not to waste a good shipping container. But I don’t play that way, as you well know. It’s why I got out.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “You have no idea.” No idea how close I’d come to tracking his ass down and making the rumor of Mr. Jeffery Meyer’s demise front page news.

  ********

  The phone call with Jeff was enough to suck the life right out of me. But before I fell asleep, I unpacked my 9mm from the bag in my closet and put it under my pillow.

  I wasn’t t
oo concerned with Ulrich sneaking up on me. That wasn’t his style. He liked to watch your expression when you saw him coming.

  According to rumor, it was his version of wank fodder.

  I didn’t know of anyone who’d ever survived a meeting with him. But Jeff confirmed traces of semen found at one of Ulrich’s supposed shops. They just never found evidence to prove he’d actually killed anyone there.

  But he did. I heard the screams on the tape he played for the man’s son who owed his boss money. The son asked me if I thought it was legit. My answer made him throw up.

  I was up by three, had the steaks picked up from the local butcher by four, the beer by four thirty, and pulled into Morgan’s drive way by five on the nose.

  I think he would have been impressed. I know I was.

  A trail of white smoke curled up from the other side of Morgan’s house. Sweet hickory mixed with the spicy scent of crisp fall air. I grabbed the cooler and headed around the back. Paving stones with bits of colored glass made a path beside the picket fence lined with an array of glass bottles, all sizes and shapes, and a rainbow of colors.

  As I rounded the house, delicate stems of copper weighted with circles of colored glass spun on invisible strings hanging from tree limbs. Each turn caught the streaks of sunset and scattered droplets of blue, green, and orange over the grass.

  Morgan stood in front of a stone hearth. Coals glowed red under the iron grate.

  “That’s one hell of a grill. You must really like to cook out.”

  He wiped his hands on his jeans “It’s only a grill when I have company.”

  “How often is that?”

  “Not often enough.”

  A bucket of broken bottles sat on the stone edge containing the fire. More were lined up on a small section of wall.

  “Do you use the glass to make the wind chimes?”

  Morgan took the cooler and put it on the picnic table. “They’re kinetic sculptures.” He fluttered his hand next to his temple and snapped his fingers. “Do you mind if I get a beer?”

  “Go ahead.” He pulled out two and offered me one.

  I took it. “Are those the sculptures you wanted to show me?”

  “No. They’re inside in the sunroom.” He indicated the large screened-in porch. It had to be almost as big as the house. Definitely not standard for a bungalow.

  “Did you build that?”

  “Yeah. I had to rebuild a lot of the outside wall when I bought the house. So I decided to do it then.”