About Last Night

by T Paulin

  Eli told Mike that Falcon wanted him across the hall, and then he led the boys over.

  Before he stepped into Falcon’s room, he knew what he was going to find. He hoped that the woman wouldn’t be Mike’s mother, but simply someone who looked like her.

  He hoped for that, but hoping never made anything true.

  When Mike saw the non-human entity that had once been his mother, naked and sweating on a filthy mattress next to Falcon, he dropped to his knees.

  Eli heard the sickening crack of those knees hitting the bare wood floor, and he would hear that sound over and over again for years. It would haunt him, along with what happened next.

  Mike threw the first punch. The other boys reacted in confusion. Hours spent within the Zone had already dulled their minds, and they began hitting each other, yelling over some months-old grudge.

  What passed for security in the building arrived and joined in the fray. Eli kept his head down, grabbed Falcon by the arm, and dragged him away. Falcon grabbed Mike, who grabbed one of the other boys, and so on. The five of them exited the building holding hands like little kids on a field trip.

  Falcon’s eyes were both swelling shut already. He couldn’t drive, and he couldn’t stop laughing. The sick bastard was having the time of his life.

  Eli took the keys and thought about leaving Falcon there, but he didn’t see how that would make anything better.

  Eli drove the car, and they left through the same hole in the fence where they’d come in. Eli was speeding, and nearly side-swiped a police cruiser. Eli didn’t have his driver’s license, or a good enough excuse for the officer who pulled them over.

  Five hours later, Eli was the last one left at the police station when Joseph Carter came to collect him.

  When he saw the look on his father’s face, Eli wished he had died that night in the Zone. It would have saved him the agony of seeing his father’s emotions.

  Anger.

  Disgust.

  Disappointment.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The kitchen conversation with Mr. Quentin had run its course. There was nothing left for Eli to do but take the old microwave down the hall.

  A shadow passed through the bright kitchen and flicked off in that direction. Eli, still clinging to the promise of science, attributed this shadow to the power of suggestion.

  He picked up the microwave easily this time, as if it weighed no more than a cardboard box of the same size.

  “This way,” Mr. Quentin said, shuffling ahead of him. He thoughtfully flicked on the hallway light along the way. They reached the linen closet and turned right, then went through a door Eli hadn’t noticed on the previous visit.

  The light in this room wouldn’t turn on, but there was enough light spilling in from the hall that Eli could find a desk. He nudged a few books to the side and set the microwave on the desk’s surface.

  Dust billowed into the air. This room was evidently long abandoned, and not part of the housekeeper’s routine.

  Eli’s fingertips stroked across the worn wood surface of the desk. There were deep gouges—carvings. He couldn’t see the marks, because they lay in the shadows, but his fingers swept back and forth.

  Eli found he could read the carved marks with his fingertips, and he was so intrigued, he didn’t question why.

  The deepest markings were a name.

  “Who’s Donald?” he asked Mr. Quentin.

  “My son.”

  A fierce coldness swept over Eli’s exposed skin, and then seeped through his clothes, chilling his blood. He looked around the dim room, with its rock band posters on the wall and a twin bed against the the corner. The bed was neatly made with dark linens, the corner of the blanket turned down invitingly, as if waiting for someone’s arrival.

  Eli’s adrenal glands issued the order to run, but he held still, the air around him too thick for moving through.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time,” Mr. Quentin said.

  Eli’s voice quivered. “For what?”

  The old man stood in the doorway, backlit, his face hidden in shadows. “I’ve been waiting for Donald to come home. But I don’t think he’s coming.”

  Green light filled the room. The microwave’s LED panel had come on.

  But that was impossible. Eli had only set the appliance on the desk. He hadn’t plugged it in.

  The panel flashed 12:00, and then it stopped.

  It came back on, scrolling a message: I NEED TO TALK TO YOU, DAD.

  Mr. Quentin seemed to sense a change in the room, and asked, “What is it?”

  A calm feeling washed over Eli. He was here for a reason, and now it was time for him to play his part.

  Eli said, “There’s a message for you. Should I read it?”

  There was a long pause, and then, “Please.”

  “I need to talk to you, Dad.”

  Mr. Quentin stood up taller in the doorway. “Donald?”

  Eli’s heart was pounding, and his ears were ringing, but those were just physical things. Above it all, he felt so calm. He was here, and also somewhere else. He continued to read the words, acting as a conduit for something he did not understand.

  “Dad, it was me who burned down the chicken shed.”

  At this, Mr. Quentin chuckled. “Donny, I knew that was you all along. I would have said as much, but you punished yourself more than I ever could have. I always did go easy on you and your sister. I went wrong more than I went right.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. We were the ones who screwed up. Mostly me.”

  “You did have a nose for trouble.”

  The panel was blank for a moment, then Eli continued reading the next string of letters, which was just one word: “Dad?”

  The reply came hesitantly. “Yes? You can tell me anything, Donny. I love you no matter what.”

  “Dad, I’m not going to come home.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Something happened. It happened a long time ago, and that’s why I never returned your calls or answered your letters.”

  “I understand,” Mr. Quentin said. Softly, as an aside to Eli, he said, “What people say is true. Not knowing is the worst part.”

  “You have to stop waiting for me,” Donny said, through Eli’s mouth.

  “A father can never give up.”

  “Dad?” He sounded so young.

  “Yes?” He sounded so sad.

  “I am truly sorry for all the times I let you down, all the times I disappointed you.”

  “I’m not sorry at all, son. You weren’t always perfect, but whenever you did wrong, you knew it. You felt it, and you learned. That was how you learned to be a man.” His head nodded down, and he clutched the edge of the doorway for balance. “I know sometimes I was quick to anger, but no matter what you felt or thought you saw, I was never disappointed in you. You were only learning. Every day, I loved you more.”

  “I have to go, Dad.”

  “You’re not coming back?”

  “Please go. Move in with Danica and her family. You won’t be a burden, I promise. They need you as much as you need them.”

  “I don’t want to be any fuss.”

  “Dad, if you don’t go, I’ll make you go.”

  The light overhead, the one that had been burned out, crackled noisily and flashed the room in light before sizzling back off.

  “I guess that settles it,” Mr. Quentin said with a sigh.

  They were in darkness again.

  Donny stopped speaking, and crossed the room to the doorway.

  Eli crossed the room, somewhere else, toward his own father.

  I’m sorry I disappointed you.

  The son reached the father, and was swept into his arms.

  I was never disappointed in you. You were only learning. Every day, I loved you more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eli slept well that night, on Mr. Quentin’s well-worn sofa in the front room of the farmhouse.

  By the time they’d finish
ed talking, it was well past Eli’s bedtime, and he’d already started to nod off just sitting on the sofa. Before he could put up too much fuss, he already had a fresh pillow laid out for his head, and a soft quilt pulled over him.

  Eli dreamed of a snowy white cat that glowed from within. He knew that wherever his father was, he was at peace.

  Eli finally understood the look he’d seen in his father’s eyes that night at the police station. It wasn’t disappointment or anger. It was just growing pains.

  In the morning, Eli awoke to the scent of fresh coffee brewing.

  He found Mr. Quentin in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Eli watched, fascinated, as the man cracked eggs and scrambled them by touch alone.

  “How do you know when they’re cooked?” he asked.

  Mr. Quentin smiled. “The texture, and the smell changes.” He served up the eggs with toast. “I haven’t made eggs in a long time, Eli. Most mornings, I don’t have any appetite. I usually force some cereal down around lunch time. Today is different. I’m hungry.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Eli took a sip of the coffee. He didn’t normally drink the stuff, but he didn’t want to be rude to his host. It tasted about how he expected. “Have you given any more thought to moving in with your daughter? I could give you a ride to the bus station, or the airport.”

  “Sure.”

  Eli munched on the toast, ignoring the fleck of green mold at the edge. He’d eaten mold before, and it hadn’t killed him.

  “I’ll leave you my phone number,” Eli said.

  “Sure.” Mr. Quentin consumed his breakfast in huge, ravenous bites. The food seemed to already be putting color in his cheeks.

  “Of course I don’t know how to poke all those braille dots,” Eli said lightheartedly. “I’d hate to think I was writing my phone number and it turns out to be a swear word or something.”

  Mr. Quentin laughed—a beautiful sound that filled the kitchen with life. When he stopped laughing, he wiped a tear from the edge of his eye.

  “Actually, if you don’t mind helping me put a suitcase together, I’ll leave with you today.”

  “Today? Sure. I guess so.” Eli felt the enormous weight of someone taking his suggestion seriously. He breathed deeply as it settled on his shoulders.

  He’d always wanted to help people, to make a difference in their lives. In high school, he’d had long talks with the career counselor about the path he might take in life.

  What Eli didn’t realize at the time was that being able to lie was a requirement for almost any career, and not just the ones with a bad reputation. He knew he couldn’t be a politician. That one was obvious. But it turned out many interesting careers that seemed honest enough also depended heavily on the ability to at least tell white lies, or exaggerate.

  Eli briefly toyed with the idea of becoming a psychologist, like his father, but his short stint as a peer counselor at the high school put a bullet in that dream.

  A cute girl named Heidi came to see him about some homework problems and time management issues. He’d been reading the DSM the night before, and diagnosed her with Borderline Personality Disorder on the spot. To her face.

  “That’s all I need,” she howled through her tears as she stormed out of the office.

  Eli regarded this as a therapeutic breakthrough. For a moment, he imagined an illustrious career ahead of him, as the tough-love psychologist who didn’t pull any punches. He’d be rich, maybe famous. He could license his life story for a TV series.

  Then Heidi’s parents contacted the school. Eli found out people didn’t want to be told what was wrong with them.

  “Psychiatry is a lie,” he angrily told the career counselor. “What is the value of the truth if nobody wants it?”

  The woman didn’t argue with him. “How do you feel about plumbing?”

  “What else is there?”

  She wrinkled her nose as she looked at the computer screen between them. “Surgeon?”

  The scar on Eli’s head began to itch.

  “No,” he said glumly.

  The woman shrugged. “Take some first-year classes, since your father’s got your tuition saved up. You’ll figure something out.” She put on a smile, looked him straight in the eye, and lied to him. “Plenty of people don’t know what they want to do when they begin college, but everything falls into place. You’ll see.”

  Eli left the career office that day with his head hung low. He could never be a career counselor, or a mortgage advisor, or a real estate agent. He could never tell people everything was going to be okay, because everything was not okay, and it never would be.

  “Orange juice?”

  Eli was startled out of his thoughts by Mr. Quentin offering him orange juice.

  He accepted the offer, and watched as the man poured him a glass, using one fingertip inside the glass to tell when it was full.

  Sunshine filled the kitchen.

  Happiness filled Eli’s heart.

  Maybe things weren’t okay, but life went on. The man across from him couldn’t see with his eyes, but he saw with his heart, and his fingertips.

  People lied to each other. Every day.

  But more often than not, they did it out of kindness, out of love.

  If everyone just agreed to pretend that everything was fine, maybe that created a new truth.

  Eli wanted to live in that new world.

  They finished breakfast and washed the dishes, even though Mr. Quentin wasn’t planning to come back. Eli wrote a note for the housekeeper, asking her to take away whatever food she wanted and throw out the rest.

  They located two suitcases, the buckles and zippers stiff from disuse. Eli packed the clothes while Mr. Quentin spoke to his daughter on the phone, making arrangements. The plane would leave that afternoon.

  Eli couldn’t hear the exact words she was saying, but she sounded overjoyed.

  After the packing was done, Eli led Mr. Quentin to the van, loaded up his suitcases, and drove him all the way to the airport.

  When they reached the terminal, Mr. Quentin insisted he could make the rest of the journey himself, but Eli wouldn’t hear of it.

  They checked the suitcases and did some shopping. With Eli’s assistance, Mr. Quentin purchased some stuffed animals to bring his grandchildren.

  When it was finally time for the two to part ways, Eli wanted to say he had dust in his eyes, but he couldn’t, so he only said goodbye.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Instead of returning to his apartment, Eli drove from the airport to the Ghost Hackers storefront. He rehearsed what he would say.

  Hello, Khan and Valentine. I have some information to add to Mr. Quentin’s file as an addendum.

  An addendum.

  Was that the right word? He didn’t know.

  To his disappointment, the door was locked and the interior was completely dark. There were no hours posted on the door, but it made sense they’d be closed on a Sunday.

  Eli turned to walk back to the van, but stopped when a black cat ran across his path and darted off down the street. He did a double-take. The cat turned into a puff of smoke and dissipated.

  Eli stared down the street, and thoughts of the diner came to mind. He was hungry for dinner, and he was almost certain he’d find Khan and Valentine there.

  He walked down the street, into the diner, and went straight to the booth where they were seated.

  They glanced up briefly, then turned their attention back to the papers on the table. Neither seemed surprised to see him there.

  Khan slid over on the red vinyl booth and patted the seat next to him.

  Eli took a seat. His grin was so wide, his face hurt. He was too excited to correctly say the line he had rehearsed.

  “Addendum,” he blurted out.

  Valentine smiled up at him, her pale green eyes crinkling at the edges with mirth. “Is that so?”

  Eli realized he was staring at Valentine, so he forced himself to turn and look at her brother. Khan was not n
early as interesting to look at, but his spiky bleached-white hair was intriguing. There was no tell-tale margin of brassy orange between the white and the dark roots. The hairs seemed to go from dark brown at the scalp, to gray, and then to white, as though the pigment faded to nothing when exposed to light.

  “How is Mr. Quentin?” Khan asked.

  “Gone,” Eli said.

  Khan winced and said gently, “He was kinda old.” He patted Eli on the shoulder. “There, there. Sometimes they slip away, but it’s to a better place, as long as it’s not a steel box.”

  “No, I mean he’s gone to the airport, to live with his daughter.” Eli licked his lips, drawing out the suspense. “He had a son. That’s what he didn’t tell us the first time around. And that’s why he wouldn’t leave the house. He was waiting for his son to come home.”

  Khan and Valentine exchanged a look.

  Valentine asked gently, “Did his son come home?”

  “Yes.” Eli nodded, beaming. “Well, he just popped in for a minute. I guess the microwave was possessed after all. Anyway, it was all very dramatic, and I was terrified, and then I wasn’t. The son just wanted to have a few last words. That was all.”

  Valentine’s eyebrows raised higher and higher, and her gaze darted between Eli and Khan.

  She leaned forward and whispered, “Eli, did the spirit take possession of your body?”

  A chill ran up Eli’s back. He shrugged it off. “I think so, but only for a minute. Mr. Quentin and I hugged. We had a moment. It was nice.”

  Khan snorted. “Nice.” He put both of his hands on Eli’s nearest shoulder and shoved him out of the booth. “There’s nothing nice about possession. We need to get you into the decontamination shower.”

  Eli staggered to his feet. “The what?”

  Khan said gravely, “We need to get you decontaminated like the devil eats cookies!”

  “The devil… what?”

  Khan shook his head. “The devil eats cookies fast, Eli. Fast.”

  Valentine jumped to her feet and started herding him toward the exit while Khan gathered their files and threw some folded bills on the table.

  As the three walked hurriedly back to the Ghost Hackers storefront, Eli began to feel unwell.