The Face of Midnight

by Dan Padavona

  The Blue Lake Cafe was still two or three miles away, and I was alone.

  I hopped a curb and felt something crunch and rattle on the bike. The pedals weren’t getting me anywhere.

  “Shit.”

  I bent down to fix the chain.

  It was almost too dark to see what I was doing. A streetlight from a block away threw a light shaft across the road. Otherwise, it was as black as midnight.

  I wasn’t alone out there. I can’t say how I knew this. It was just a feeling.

  The chain was almost on. Another half-inch tug and I’d be able to pull it on by turning the pedals. But I couldn’t yank it past that last bit of real estate. Something was jammed, or maybe the chain was kinked. I wished for a flashlight.

  The sensation I wasn’t alone grew.

  While I yanked on the chain, footsteps approached in the darkness.

  They came down the sidewalk, moving fast.

  The stranger’s feet dragged along, scraping the concrete. I looked around for a place to hide, but the footsteps were almost on top of me.

  A decrepit monster of a man came gliding out of the black. A very tall monster.

  A grotesque hump rose off his back. He walked hunched over, accelerating as he closed in on me.

  What frightened me most was his mad, toothless grin.

  His shadow swooped down on me. I was too scared to scream.

  I felt the sweaty breeze of his passing run across my face.

  Then he was gone, vanished into the darkness. For a while, I heard his shoes scraping and dragging.

  My body trembled as the sounds faded away.

  Wanting to get the hell out of there before he came back, I tugged harder on the chain. I winced when it pinched my finger.

  Finally, the chain caught. I turned the pedals and felt the pulley drag the chain back into place.

  The night felt colder when I resumed my ride. I threw glances back into the darkness, afraid the tall man would be right behind me.

  I was almost to the West Road intersection when I caught movement on the sidewalk about a half-mile ahead. A girl. Cropped, punky blonde hair bouncing along as she strode hurriedly through the night.

  It couldn’t be. Yet I knew it was.

  The stowaway.

  She made a hard turn down West Road, cutting across a lawn and disappearing behind a wall of shrubbery. I pedaled faster, racing to catch up. It occurred to me I hadn’t ridden a bike since I was a teenager. Once I’d learned to drive a car, I didn’t think about bikes anymore. I paid for the long layoff with a screaming tightness clenching my leg muscles. Riding harder, I ignored the cold freezing my earlobes.

  I slammed the brakes at the intersection and waited for a slow-moving sedan to roll past. The headlights caught the girl as she rushed down the sidewalk. Cursing, I drummed my fingers on the handlebars and waited for the car.

  The sedan approached painfully slow with its lights blinding me.

  The driver paused at the intersection of Elm and West as though lost, then turned around and headed back where he’d come from.

  It took a long time before the red imprints from the headlights left my eyes, and by then she was gone.

  She couldn’t have gotten far.

  I crossed the intersection and raced along West Road, the lights of the cafe shining over the hill crest. The empty sidewalk stretched into the distance and vanished with the night.

  Did the girl live inside one of the houses along West Road?

  I studied the windows as I passed, expecting to see her cross through a living room.

  Though I felt an oddly desperate need to find her, the cold worked deep into my bones. My fingers went numb on the handlebars, the bike becoming dangerously difficult to steer. I should have worn gloves.

  Holding on to the slim hope she’d stopped for coffee, I angled across the shoulder toward the cafe.

  A scattering of cars dotted the parking lot, just enough to convince me life still existed after so much darkness.

  A bell rang when I pulled the door open. The smell of pastries and coffee enveloped me at the entrance. Two rows of tables led to a clear glass counter which held assorted tarts, cakes, and croissants. Though I’d known the girl wouldn’t be here, seeing the mostly empty cafe still hit me like a punch to the gut.

  My stomach growled. I remembered how hungry I was. I made a quick stop in the restroom to wash off the bicycle grease. The warm water thawed my fingers.

  Blue Lake Cafe made their own gourmet ice cream, and I’d craved a double scoop of strawberry all evening.

  Maybe I’d find the girl on my way home when I had a full stomach and wasn’t so cold.

  A teen girl with a blonde ponytail thrown over one shoulder worked behind the counter, petulantly watching the clock tick toward closing time. She took my order and sulked to the freezer, where she struggled to wrestle the scoops free from the frozen container.

  I took my ice cream to a table near the back. A college-age couple sat two tables away from me, holding hands and sipping on lattes.

  I’d finished my first scoop when the bell rang behind me and a cool rush of wind brushed the back of my neck.

  “I thought that was you,” a female’s voice said.

  I flinched, wishing I’d chosen a different eatery for an evening snack.

  Excitedly smacking away on a wad of gum, Donna Berwick slid into the seat across from me. She smelled of cheap perfume, as though she’d wallowed in a pigpen of taffy.

  “Hey, Donna.”

  “Why don’t you call me?”

  Heavyset and a full head taller than me, Donna pulled auburn curls over her shoulder and leered across the table. We’d met at a bar a few months ago, and somehow I’d ended going home with her after several beers. At least, I’d sobered up enough to escape before we ended up in bed together. Ever since, Donna had been my shadow—a hulking, Amazonian-like shadow. She seemed to show up wherever I went. Like tonight. God, I needed to get away from Barton Falls.

  “Been busy.”

  “You aren’t hurt, are you?” An overabundance of concern etched her brow.

  “Why would I be hurt?”

  “Riley told me you wrecked your car.”

  My anger flared. Obviously, she’d sought out Riley to weasel information about me. Why would Riley tell Donna about my accident? I hoped he hadn’t mentioned my stowaway.

  Donna touched my arm. Her fingers groped through my sweatshirt.

  “Not at all,” I said, pulling my arm away and working on my second scoop. The sooner I finished, the sooner I could get out of there.

  “Glad to hear it. I’d hate for anything to happen to that pretty body of yours.”

  I thought about my bike chained to the light pole outside. If Donna saw, she’d never let me ride home in the dark. She’d insist on putting the bike in her trunk and giving me a ride home. I’d be trapped. Once she had me in the car, inevitably, Donna would need to stop at her apartment to pick up a few things.

  Make yourself at home while I change into something more comfortable.

  How would I search for my stowaway with Donna at the wheel, studying me, watching my every move?

  The way she beamed while I ate my ice cream made me think of Hansel’s witch.

  “Aren’t you going to order something?” I asked.

  “I really shouldn’t. I’m trying to watch my figure.”

  That makes one of us.

  “Get a tea. Zero calories, and it’s supposed to be good for you.”

  She thought for a moment and nodded.

  “You have the best ideas. I could just hug you.”

  Thankfully, she didn’t. Instead, she grabbed my hands and gave them a squeeze that nearly crushed my knuckles into sand. I pulled them back and concentrated on finishing my ice cream.

  “I can’t imagine how much it set you back to buy a new car,” she said.

  She winked shrewdly. There it was. She already knew about the bike. Damn Riley. How much torture had he endured before
telling her about my situation? Not enough.

  “Your tea, Donna?”

  “Right. Don’t miss me.” She scooted back in her chair, the legs groaning in anguish. “Be right back, hon.”

  As she placed her order I eyed the exit. I could be out the door and have my bike unchained before she realized I was gone.

  I couldn’t.

  As creepy as Donna’s obsessiveness was, I’d feel like a complete heel for abandoning her.

  I stayed. My mistake.

  After gulping down her tea, she refused to let me go home in the dark. She’d known all along I’d ridden my bike to the cafe.

  “You’ll get yourself killed. People drive like idiots around Barton Falls. Do you even have a light?”

  “Reflectors.”

  “Reflectors?” She tutted. “What am I going to do with you?”

  While I loaded my bike into the trunk of her Subaru, I stared into the night. Where was the stowaway girl? I’d never learn her name or find out why she’d hidden in my car until I caught up to her. And I couldn’t search for her until I got away from Donna.

  Donna slammed the trunk shut, the sound of a cell door locking.

  “All set?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  She kissed me on the cheek and left a wet spot that froze in the wind.

  “My pleasure.”

  Her fingers ran from my chest down to my thigh. She giggled and heaved herself into the front seat. The entire car shook.

  Donna drove me around the south end of Barton Falls and turned onto Old State Road. Corporate commerce blossomed here, choking out what little remained of local businesses: Home Depot, Wal-Mart, Target, a smattering of awful chain restaurants. Though Old State Road was better lighted than Elm Street, narrow shoulders riddled with broken glass and assorted debris made biking dangerous.

  Donna kept smiling at me, a devil’s grin tinged red and green by the dashboard lights. Her hand inched across the seat. I leaned against the door, just beyond her reach.

  She leered.

  “You always play hard to get. I just haven’t figured out what turns you on,” she said, certain she’d unlock my hidden kinks and desires.

  Whatever those desires were, they didn’t include Donna and her lumbering, linebacker figure. It disturbed me that she was strong enough to snap my neck with one easy twist of hand. I tried hard not to look at her.

  Halfway to Cayuga Street, I glanced out the window and jumped.

  My stowaway.

  She glided down the sidewalk, lithe legs making long strides as she drifted in and out of lamplight. I touched the door handle. If Donna’s car had slowed I would have jumped from the vehicle. To hell with the bike. She could keep it.

  I could say my growing obsession with the mystery girl was fully rooted in my need to know what her story was and what she’d been doing inside my car.

  That would be a lie.

  Everything about her fascinated me. Her purposeful, carefree strides spoke of freedom, rebellion. Somehow I knew this girl didn’t play by our rules, wasn’t boxed in like the rest of us. And she sure as hell wasn’t from around here.

  I can’t say exactly how I knew this. Maybe it was the way she glided through cold that would make a polar bear whimper, wearing only a faded jean jacket. Tiny puffs of cloud billowed off her lips and evaporated. Those long legs kept pulling her with purpose down the sidewalk toward something infinitely more interesting than anything Barton Falls had to offer.

  Donna glanced at me. I yanked my eyes from the girl.

  It killed me to focus on the road and let the girl drift off the periphery of my vision.

  I couldn’t let Donna know.

  Screw it, I thought. Let her know. Maybe Donna will finally give up on me if she thinks I’m interested in someone else.

  “Something wrong?”

  Donna’s voice was loud inside the car.

  “Nothing, nothing. I was just thinking about…”

  I trailed off.

  “Replaying your accident?” Her eyes filled with sympathy. “I bet you’re suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. It’s common, nothing to be ashamed of. Why don’t we stop at my place? It would do you good to talk about the accident. I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

  Here we go. I had to hand it to Donna: she was a model of consistency.

  The sidewalk lay deserted when I looked back. I’d lost the girl again. Thanks a million, Donna.

  “I’d hardly call hitting a muffler on the side of the road a major accident.”

  We were almost to Park Place when I saw the girl’s shadowed form slip across a front yard and turn off Old State Road onto Park Place.

  My heart pounded. Park Place was a cul-de-sac of upscale homes, the last place I’d expect to find a girl who sneaked into unlocked cars. Spruce, pine, and bramble wove a treacherous web behind the cul-de-sac, and beyond the trees stretched miles of open land.

  “You look peaked,” Donna said, pulling me out of my trance.

  “I don’t feel so good,” I lied.

  “I’m not surprised. It’s freezing outside, and you rode your bike clear across town. It’s a wonder you don’t have pneumonia.” She touched my hand, her thumb stroking snake-like patterns across my skin. “I’ll make you a nice, hot cup of soup.”

  I considering feigning a sudden rush of nausea, but I didn’t want to overplay my act. She’d never let me out of her sight if she thought I was seriously ill.

  “I’m carsick. I get motion sickness, especially at night.”

  She glanced skeptically at me, looked at the road, then back at me again.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought only kids got carsick.”

  “No. Adults get motion sickness, too.”

  “Do you need medicine to drive?”

  “It only happens when I’m a passenger. Something about the car motion throwing off my equilibrium.”

  She laughed a little. Her hand moved down to my thigh.

  “My God, that’s so cute.”

  “Listen,” I said. “It’s only two miles or so back to King’s Road Apartments, and I’m warm now. Just pull over. I’ll ride the rest of the way home.”

  “Steve,” she said, chewing her lip. “I don’t feel right leaving you on the street. And you don’t even have a bike light.”

  “I’ll get one tomorrow. I promise.”

  “Well…”

  “Listen, Donna. If I ride with you another block, I’m gonna throw up in your Subaru. I know you don’t want that. You know how long it takes the scent of vomit to dissipate?”

  She took us on a short jog down Main, then headed east on Cayuga.

  “Donna.”

  “Okay, okay. I just wanted to find a well-lit spot to drop you off. Don’t lose your lunch.”

  After pulling to the curb, she popped the back trunk open. I could feel her studying and assessing as I hauled my bike from the car. Had I convinced her? Probably not. I didn’t care as long as I was out of the car.

  “Will you call me to let me know you made it home safely?”

  “Donna…I…”

  “Fine. You don’t have to call. You’ve got better things to do, right?”

  I’m not sure what gave her the impression we’d ever been a couple or that I owed her a call, but the hurt in her eyes convinced me now wasn’t the best time to point this out.

  “Don’t be that way. I appreciate the ride. It was stupid of me to ride in the cold. Hey, I can feel my fingers again.”

  I wiggled my fingers, and she grinned.

  “Okay. Anytime, Steve. But call me sometime. Please?”

  “You do know that Riley is single, right?”

  “Oh, please. He’s a child.”

  She extended her thumb and pinkie, placing her hand beside her cheek to signal call me.

  Donna turned the car around and headed back to Main Street. I waited another minute after the taillights disappeared around the curve.
When I was convinced she wasn’t coming back, I reversed direction and rode toward Old State Road.

  The road seemed a lot darker than it had been earlier. Most of the Halloween display lights were powered off. The black outlines of decorations looked more frightening as they watched me from the darkness.

  Ten minutes later I turned down Park Place. I coasted through the cul-de-sac, riding past sprawling, modern homes with big backyards. Expensive vehicles sat parked in the driveways—BMW’s, Hummers, Range Rovers, a yellow Corvette. Now and then, I glimpsed someone through a window. I never saw my stowaway.

  I concealed my bike behind an old oak tree at the back of the neighborhood. Walking down the deserted sidewalk, I studied any house with its lights on. A mother carried her daughter up a flight of stairs in a big, gray Colonial, the girl’s head drooped over the woman’s shoulder and her arms flopping with each step up the staircase. In the upstairs of a rustic mansion, a muscular man peeled off his shirt. Getting ready for bed? I didn’t think so. A woman in a sleek nightie lay watching him on the bed, sipping red wine. Her eyes caught mine, and I looked away, hurrying up the sidewalk.

  Halfway back to Old State Road, a shadow appeared out of a driveway. I leaped behind the hedgerow of a dark ranch and watched the figure approach.

  Footsteps meshed with the clink of a chain. Carefully parting branches, I saw a large man in a black pea coat walk a mongrel dog down the sidewalk.

  I should have just walked past as though I belonged in his upscale neighborhood. The worst he could have done was tell me to leave. Now I looked like a prowler. If the man caught me crouched in the bushes, he’d call the police.

  I held my breath. I could see the reflected light in the dog’s eyes.

  The leash went tight as the dog pulled toward the hedgerow.

  “Easy, Buster,” the man said.

  The dog sniffed and pawed at the bushes. He was almost face-to-face with me.

  I slunk back into the shadows. Buster growled.

  Given the size of his snout, he could have snapped my arm off at the elbow if his owner let go of the leash.

  “Buster!”

  The man struggled to yank him away. Buster’s claws scraped concrete as his owner pulled him past.

  As they merged into the shadows, the dog kept looking over its shoulder at the hedgerow.

  Then they were gone.