Nocturnal

by Ilia Bera

  “When I was your age, I found myself in the same position that you’ve all found yourselves in. I fell behind in school because I was more focussed on my hockey career. I ended up getting drafted to the AHL, so I dropped out of high school. A couple of years later, life happened and I had to quit playing.

  “I had to take night courses, just like this one, in order to apply for University. So consider me sympathetic of your situation. I’ve been in your shoes before.”

  “What happened?” Kane asked.

  “What was that?”

  “Why did you get kicked out of the AHL?”

  “I didn’t get kicked out.”

  “Whatever...”

  “I found out my wife was pregnant.”

  “Oh—shitty,” Kane said.

  Wade sighed and then refocused his attention back on the whole class. “This course lasts ten weeks—at the same time every week night. I don’t care if it’s Friday night, and all of your friends are going to some big party—I expect you to be here every night. I make very few exceptions, and I will not hesitate to fail you. One more note, before I start—You may or may not know this, but this is your last chance to finish high school English. If you fail this class, they do not let you sign up again. Every university in the country requires you to have finished high school English, so don’t screw this last chance up—or you’ll be dropping greeter applications off at the local Walmart. Is that clear?”

  The class was silent.

  “Yes, Mr. Fenner. As clear as day,” Wade said, impersonating the class. “Okay, enough talking. Let’s get started. I want everyone to copy down what I write on the board. We’re going to start by talking about nouns, verbs and subjects.”

  Wade turned to the board and began to write down a list of words.

  “Hey,” Kane whispered to Hanna across a series of empty desks.

  Hanna looked over at the long haired boy.

  “Can I borrow a piece of paper?” Kane asked.

  Without replying, Hanna tore a piece of paper out from her binder.

  “And a pen?” Kane asked. “Sorry–I didn’t have a minute to pick anything up.”

  Hanna dug into her bag and retrieved a spare pen. She handed it to Kane.

  “Thanks,” Kane said. “I owe you one.”

  Hanna forced a smile and then looked back towards the front of the class.

  Brittany turned and looked at Connor. As she did, Connor looked up at her.

  “Hey,” Brittany said with a smile.

  “Hi,” Connor said.

  “I’m Brittany.”

  “Connor—Nice to meet you.”

  Brittany looked at Connor curiously for a moment. “Did you go to Vanier in high school?”

  “No—I went to Bellmore.”

  “Oh. For some reason you look familiar,” Brittany said.

  “Really?” Connor asked.

  “Yeah,” Brittany said.

  As Brittany stared at Connor, Connor noticed Hanna out of the corner of his eye. His gaze was instantly drawn to the shy dark-haired girl. Mesmerized, Connor sunk into an almost hypnotic gaze.

  “Connor?” Brittany said.

  Connor snapped out of his daydream and looked back at Brittany. “Huh?” he said.

  “I said–I know you somehow, don’t I?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah–Do you live on Crescent Road?”

  “Oh—Yeah, I do.”

  “I live just down the street from you–That’s right! I’ve seen you playing hockey in your driveway.”

  “Oh—funny. Small world,” Connor said, his mind still churning over the image of Hanna.

  “Do you play?”

  “Do I play?”

  “Hockey.”

  “Hockey?” Connor said, not quite tuned back into reality. “Oh, yeah. I was first line centre for the Bellmore Lynx.”

  “Really? The first line?” Brittany asked. “I bet you’re really good.”

  “Yeah—I was pretty good.”

  “I’ve always wanted to learn how to skate,” Brittany said as she stared into Connor’s blue eyes. “No one’s ever taught me how.”

  “Oh, well you should definitely learn sometime. There are some great courses at The Centennial–The rink near our neighbourhood. It’s a lot of fun,” Connor replied naively.

  He looked back over at Hanna, and found himself lost once again in his own imagination.

  “Hey,” Andrew whispered at the duo.

  Brittany and Connor turned and looked at Andrew.

  “The campus bar is just around the corner from here. My brother-in-law is the bartender, and can probably get us a few drinks on the house. If you guys want, we should all go grab a drink after class” Andrew suggested.

  “Um,” Brittany said.

  Before she could answer—“I’m down,” Connor said.

  “Cool,” Andrew said.

  “I’ll come,” Brittany said.

  “Great—pass it on to everyone else.”

  And just like that, six players stepped onto the stage to reprise their role in life’s curious fiction. Unknown to all of them, their lives would quickly become an interrelated mosaic of love, friendship and tragedy. Their individual fates would rest in the actions—past, present and future—of one another.

  FOUR

  The Winter’s Den

  The two and a half hour class felt like a lifetime as Wade Fenner droned on about nouns and subjects. For most in the class, the lesson was pointless revision. Connor, on the other hand, was totally lost trying to keep up with Wade’s fast-paced lecturing.

  For Hanna, the only difficult thing about the class was trying to pay attention over the whispering students and the occasional dagger stare from Brittany.

  When the clock struck ten-thirty and Wade announced the end of the class, there was an audible sigh of relief from the group. The students quickly jumped to their feet and stuffed their school bags with their binders, pens and textbooks.

  Wade mumbled to himself as he packed up his own things, not even receiving a simple thank you–or any form of acknowledgement for his lesson. He was used to it, but that didn’t stop him from being jaded about it.

  Hanna wasn’t interested in going out to the bar. The mere thought of a bar, full of people socializing and drinking, seemed stressful.

  She packed her things slowly, waiting for the other students to leave so she could sneak away–hoping they wouldn’t notice her absence.

  “You coming?” Connor asked as students began to leave the class.

  “Uh,” Hanna tried to think of an excuse.

  “C’mon–Just come for one drink. It’ll be fun.”

  Connor stood in the doorway, holding the door as he waited for Hanna to join the group.

  Reluctantly, she tagged along with her classmates. She followed everyone from behind with her gloved hands stuffed deep into her warm coat pockets, and her face pointed down towards the snowy sidewalk.

  It had become impossibly colder since the class had started just a few hours ago. It had reached that temperature where you were lucky if your car started, and you were mental to try and walk more than a few blocks.

  The little snowy town was called Snowbrooke, and it earned its name well. You’ve probably never heard of it, and you probably never will hear of it, as it isn’t the most exciting town.

  Snowbrooke is situated in the far north—don’t bother trying to find it on any map, because it probably isn’t there.

  In the winter, Snowbrooke gets less than three hours of sun-light. It snows for nine months of the year. The other three months are ferociously hot and humid.

  During the winter, for those few hours when the sun is up, Snowbrooke gets warm snaps that melt away large portions of the deep snow, preventing the town from becoming completely buried. Unfortunately for the town, the melted snow quickly turns into ice the moment the sun dips below the tall mountainous horizon—so everything from walking, to driving requires extreme caution, and is potentially ve
ry dangerous.

  Snowbrooke’s local university is aptly called Snowbrooke University. There are only four other schools in the whole town–none of which accommodating more than a couple hundred students–Two elementary schools, and two high schools.

  At the time, all of the high school upgrading took place in a small rented room at Snowbrooke University. The whole campus wasn’t very large, consisting of only four buildings—two residence buildings, an administration/library building and the larger building containing all of the lecture halls, labs and teaching facilities.

  Attached to the larger of the two residence buildings was a little campus bar, called The Winter’s Den.

  It wasn’t the most popular bar in town, but it was convenient for the lazy university crowd. It was a small little place, but I wouldn’t call it cozy. It was always gloomy, as all of the lights were always overly dimmed—assuming they weren’t burnt out.

  They always kept the music turned down low, and there weren’t any pool tables, dart boards or dance floors—so it wasn’t the ideal place to go if you were looking for anything more than a drink and a conversation.

  The small bar didn’t even have tables big enough for groups of more than four people.

  It’s also worth mentioning that the bathrooms permanently smelled of stale urine, and the food was about as appetizing as a cardboard box.

  That December, thanks to the early winter class break and the abnormally cold weather, the bar was practically empty. There were only a couple groups of older students sitting in the back corners, chatting quietly amongst themselves.

  Andrew led the way, holding the door open for everyone. Then, he walked us all to the bar, where his brother-in-law was working.

  Excited to see Andrew, the bartender brother-in-law reached over and shook his hand.

  “Andrew—back again are we?” the bartender asked.

  “Well, I was in the area, so I thought I’d swing by,” Andrew replied.

  “I see you brought some friends—feel free to sit wherever you’d like. The kitchen isn’t open tonight—the cook didn’t show up for work. But if you guys are hungry, I can throw some fries into the deep-fryer.”

  The bartender scanned our group, smiling handsomely. His eyes stopped on Brittany as she removed her fitted coat, revealing her suggestive outfit and carefully pushed up cleavage. Brittany turned around and made eye contact with Andrew’s brother-in-law.

  “Hey there,” he said with an inviting nod.

  “Hey,” Brittany said, smiling.

  “What’s your name, beautiful?”

  “Brittany.”

  “I’m Eric—Nice to meet you.”

  Brittany smiled. “Likewise.” She walked carefully over to the bar in her tall heeled boots.

  “It sure is cold out there,” the bartender said, generating some small talk.

  “Oh, it’s not that bad.”

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Sure,” Brittany said, leaning flirtatiously over the bar and scanning the different options. She pushed her chest intentionally forward.

  “I’ll make you something special,” the bartender insisted.

  The bartender started to whip up a speciality drink. He mixed some vodka with some coffee liqueur, and then continued to add some more mystery ingredients. He smiled at Brittany as he slid the special drink down the bar to her.

  “What is it?” Brittany asked.

  “I call it the Black Beauty,” Eric said, winking.

  Brittany smiled, flattered. She tasted the drink. “I love it,” she said. “What do I owe you?”

  “A pretty girl like you? It’s on the house.”

  Eric kept his dress shirt buttoned halfway down his carefully shaved chest. He stood tall and confident, fully aware that he was a very handsome man. He kept the sleeves of his shirt carefully rolled up to his elbows, showing off his muscular forearms, and his likely meaningless tattoos.

  “Eric Daniels” was prominently written in dark letters on his gold-coloured name badge.

  Eric Daniels was the kind of guy who would hit on anything with two legs. He was the classic womanizer—rarely finishing a shift without a different lady under his arm.

  He was the son of an Olympic athlete father and a super-model mother. From day one, women swooned over his good looks, and men never bothered to compete. As a baby, his mother couldn’t take him for a walk in his stroller without being stopped by a dozen women who would say things like, “Your baby is beautiful!” or “That is most incredible baby I’ve ever seen!”

  When Eric was a teenager, his stunning good looks opened many unique doors. Living in a big city, he was approached by talent scouts who wanted to sign him as a male-model. No girl in his school could resist staring at him when he passed in the halls. By seventeen, he looked like George Clooney, with the perfect stubble beard, dark eye-lashes and symmetrically chiselled features.

  He dropped out of school to pursue a career as a model. His agency had a division in Japan, where he would regularly fly back and forth for photo shoots. He ended up being the face of the very famous Japanese cosmetic company, Kabushiki Shiseidō.

  One day, on a flight home from Tokyo, he met Penelope Walker, Andrew’s older sister. Like Andrew’s whole family, Penelope was a traveller. Six years Andrew’s senior, the moment Penelope graduated high school, she took off to visit all of her exotic dream destinations—happily paid for by Andrew’s wealthy father.

  Penelope was a decently attractive woman. She was tall and thin and her hair was long and beautifully wavy. She never put much effort into her appearance. She was one of those girls who just rolled out of bed looking her best.

  Back then, Eric could have had any woman he wanted without even having to ask. Penelope was different. Penelope walked passed him in the airport, and didn’t even bat an eyelash.

  Eric was perplexed. He tracked Penelope down and tried to talk to her. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get Penelope to care for his good looks.

  She was a free spirit—a totally independent woman.

  Eric found himself obsessed. They say that you want what you can’t easily have—and Penelope was not making it easy.

  Eric, who wasn’t used to rejection, tried relentlessly to swoon Andrew’s older sister. After the plane ride, he tracked Penelope down and continued to try and convince her to marry him. He remained persistent for an entire year—never letting up.

  Finally, Penelope agreed. She figured, “If he is this determined to have me, then he must really love me.” They got married soon after.

  Things only went downhill from there.

  Once the chase was over, Eric quickly lost interest. He quickly got bored of “the married life”, and so did Penelope. Penelope took off to travel alone and Eric took off for more photo shoots in Japan and elsewhere. But as a married man, he wasn’t getting the female attention he was so used to. With a ring around his finger, women began to look the other way. Fearing that his glory days were behind him, he quickly filed for divorce—before Penelope was even home from her travels.

  Fortunately, it was a happy breakup. Neither Penelope nor Eric really wanted to be married in the first place.

  But Eric soon realized that his sudden fall from grace had nothing to do with the ring around his finger. Even with the ring gone, women passed him by without a simple smile. Eric wasn’t the pretty-boy teenager anymore—he was an adult. Sure, he was a very handsome adult, but women have other expectations from fully-grown men—they want maturity, ambition and chivalry. Eric wasn’t any of those things.

  Soon after the divorce, Eric’s agency dropped him as a model, and he found himself moving back to his hometown of Snowbrooke. He’d always thought that he would be a career model, like his famous mother. Seeing as that was no longer the case, he didn’t know what to do. He had no education and no ambition. The only time that he felt any satisfaction was when women were admiring him.

  So he took a bartending job at the local university bar–The
Winter’s Den.

  Despite being divorced to Andrew’s sister, Eric remained close friends with Andrew. As a matter of fact, he was Andrew’s only friend. Andrew even still referred to him as “my brother in law”.

  Hanna stood by the door to the small bar, watching as Eric flirted with her classmate. Then, she looked over at the rest of her class, who had just sat down at one of the small tables across the little bar. She began to walk over to take the final seat, but Brittany, with her mixed drink in hand, beat her to it.

  She stood awkwardly in the middle of the desolate bar.

  “Hey,” Eric said.

  Hanna turned and looked at the man. “Hi.”

  “Are you just here by yourself?” he asked.

  Hanna looked back over at the group. “I’m with them,” she said sheepishly.

  Eric looked over. “Sorry—that’s the biggest table we have.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “No thank you.”

  “I can make you something special.”

  “That’s okay, thank you.”

  “Tea—Coffee?”

  Hanna smiled. “Really—I’m okay.”

  “Water?”

  Hanna looked at the persistent bartender for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll have a water.”

  “One water, coming right up.”

  Hanna looked up at the little television, playing above the bar. It was playing highlights from some recent hockey game. She looked back at her classmates, and then decided to sit down alone at the bar. She stared up at the looping hockey highlights, not actually watching.

  Instead, she was receding into her own thoughts.

  FIVE

  HANNA WILKINSON

  She wanted to leave. As she was used to, she didn’t fit in with anyone. She didn’t have anything to contribute to their conversation, and she felt as though she’d only been invited out of polite necessity. The only reason she came was because she didn’t want everyone to think that she was a weirdo—a freak.