The Longest Night

by K. M. Gibson

  It had been fifteen hours since they set off, but she barely felt the fatigue. She trudged on with vigour and strength. She sighed her tears away and kept marching. It wouldn’t be far now.

  She had begun a novel, an uncanny romance between a woman and a man that had never exchanged words. She had started it after she finished reading the story Brittany had given her, “Judgement Day,” for after battling through it, Catherine knew for sure what her story would and should be. Despite the fact that no one but her knew of this project, she felt that he would know, as if just walking by her revealed all her secrets to him.

  A few sleepless nights kept the illusion going that she balanced her work with her studies, but the truth was that she spent hours upon hours pouring herself into a self-reflecting project when she should have just forgotten the whole thing and returned to life. But she could not, no more than a bird could give up flying.

  She hid herself behind a newspaper as usual and watched him cross the platform, taking root in his usual spot. She eyed him from head to toe. It was to try and get a description of the character just right. But even if she wasn’t trying to describe him for her story, she loved to just look him over. Tall, thin but toned, and most of all, he seemed hard and unapproachable. Ironically, it was this feature that drew her to him. Oh, that’s good. She made a mental note to put that in the novel. The man who had everything to do with her when she had nothing to do with him.

  The southbound train pulled into the station. She hesitated. She had been pondering her next potential action for the past three weeks, and she finally decided to commit. As the people filed onto the train, she rushed forward with them, entering the same compartment.

  What was she doing? She felt ridiculous and ashamed as soon as she moved her feet but she did not stop. The compartment was so packed that there would be no possible way he could spot her and jump to ill conclusions, at least. He stood at the opposite end of the compartment, one hand gripping onto the handlebar above. He stared intently out the window at the black train tunnel, then studied the river as the train emerged from underground. If Catherine hadn’t been watching him for years, she would have thought he was angry. Could be he was angry all the time. Or, at least, truly unhappy.

  There was a rhythmic beep, and he looked to his pocket and shoved his hand inside to fish around for something. He pulled out a smartphone and glanced at the display. She watched intently as a slow, broad smile spread across his face. He seemed to chuckle silently to himself for a moment before pressing a button and holding the phone to his ear.

  That smile. She was sad to see it. She had wanted him to smile for her.

  “Hi,” he said softly. Although the train was noisy, from MP3 players to the clunk of the train against the tracks, she could hear him clearly, as if he was speaking to her through that phone.

  “No, I won’t,” he answered, another smile lighting him up. Catherine felt her heart ache. It became evident to her that he was talking to someone with whom he was intimate, but it didn’t seem to sear her as much when she watched him smile. “You too.” He placed the phone back in his pocket, permanently grinning.

  She studied him for several stops before he got off at University Station. Catherine inconspicuously watched him leave the platform and climb the stairs back out to the real world before the train pulled away again.

  The train had been delayed on the return trip due to construction. She was forced to take buses to get home. It took a good hour out of her day. The fact that he had likely been speaking to someone important, someone who would mean more to him than Catherine would ever mean to anyone, left her tender. But she told herself that it was worth it, following him on that train, simply to see him smile, to see him be happy.

  Such is my fate, I suppose: trying to steal moments by the seconds.

  She tapped her pen on the desk as she looked over her notes. She had hand-written at least twenty loose leaf pages full of plot, subplot, character development, setting, and everything else in between, top to bottom, front to back. What was worse was that she started doing it during her classes, and sometimes even at work, just where she was now, in a used music and movie pawn shop. Business was almost always next to dead, giving her abundant time to plan.

  The bell at the front door chimed as another customer came through, and without looking up, she capped her pen and swiped her notes off the counter, stuffing them into the top drawer. When she straightened to greet the customer, her heart seized and her mind ceased to function. A woman and a man had come into the store, looking over the shelves of DVDs, holding hands. All she needed to see was the back of his head to know who it was.

  A breath rolled out of her, one she didn’t realize she’d been holding, when she tried to greet them. She stayed silent instead, watching them stroll slowly along the wall, talking quietly. It was happy chatter. The woman giggled with a mature, soft voice at intervals.

  She felt like a small animal must feel when surrounded by large, loud people, but at the same time she felt like a child opening a gift she’d been hoping for all year at Christmas. But he was holding her hand. Wounds opened as she watched. A terrible revelation, one that she knew deep down but refused to consider. Of course there was someone in his life. Most men like him didn’t spend their lives in solitude, waiting on timid young women to finally confront them.

  Her hand lingered over the handle to the drawer where her notes lay, as if she was protecting them from being found out. The couple reached the corner, then rounded the other wall, looking over the N section. They shared opinions on a film the woman pointed to. Catherine’s heart pounded when she heard him. What would she do if they came to the counter? She was certain she would keep her head down, refusing to look into his eyes, hoping he would recognize her and say it, hoping he would pass on by without a word. They rounded to the next wall, coming across the Es, and she was finally able to see their faces.

  It was the woman he had bumped into at the station so long ago, and she was undoubtedly and unfortunately beautiful: short auburn hair; smooth, sharp features, almost like his; tall, slender, elegant; and a smile to make any man fall in love with her. But when Catherine looked at him, his usual hardness was painted over with a brightness in his eyes. She grew heavy without truly comprehending why.

  They came to the end of the wall, and he asked the woman something. She shook her head, humming a “No,” and they turned toward the front door, walking right past Catherine’s counter again.

  “Have a nice day,” she said weakly, but they didn’t acknowledge her as they walked out the door. That, or they didn’t hear her. She doubted if she even spoke it aloud.

  The longer time went by, the further down she went to that place she didn’t want to be. It was cold there. Dark, suffocating.

  He had been holding her hand.

  She closed her eyes and fought against whatever it was that threatened to make her cry. You’re reading way too far into this. This shouldn’t make you so upset. You didn’t even do anything…you never did a thing.

  But her eyes were moistened anyway, no matter what she told herself.

  She made to pull open the drawer but stopped short. What am I doing? Was any of her work worth it? Did she lead herself on a silly, teenage-like fascination this entire time? Why hadn’t she stopped before?

  She let the handle go and picked up the duties sheet instead.

  She went to bed that night believing she was going to abandon everything: the book and her complex attraction to a stranger included. The entire day she spent thinking on that moment, watching him and the woman walk along the walls over and over again. They hadn’t even looked in her direction. She was nothing to him and never would be. Why hadn’t she come to terms with this before?

  The next day saw her back to work. Her manager, Paul, always opened on Sundays, so when she got there, she wasn’t surprised to find him waiting for her. What she was surprised to see was him looking her down with heated eyes.

  “Catherine, we nee
d to talk,” he said, ingenuous.

  She seized up. “All right.”

  He pulled open the drawer as she approached and extracted all twenty pages of her notes, letting them spill over the counter. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked at them with wide eyes. She had forgot to take them with her after she had seen the man come in the day prior. Now the stern set of Paul’s face made all the more sense.

  “Is this what you’ve been doing at work?”

  “Paul…” She read a few of the lines as she looked over the front page, realizing she could speak them aloud, she had memorized each point so readily. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Not all the time.”

  “You used to be one of my most diligent workers, and now you’re the worst.” He let it hang in the air. She took to staring at a spot on the floor. “You don’t get half the stuff done that you could on a day-to-day basis, and now I find out you’re doing extra-curricular activities while you’re here. I know this is only a part-time job to you, but this is a living for me. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve had a lot of thefts from here over the years, and a lot of them have happened when one of my shitty part-time workers have been on shift.”

  She looked at him briefly, then averted her eyes again when she saw the anger behind them. She took in a large breath, still looking at the counter, and simply said: “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

  He sighed her name heavily. “I really like you. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met. And you’ve been my favourite employee; I obviously don’t get a whole slew of grade-A people come my way, and you came off as a gift from God when you first applied. I don’t want to fire you over this, but I can’t afford the mistakes anymore. Your till was short forty dollars last night.”

  Not in front of him. Never in front of anyone. She stayed silent, working her jaw.

  “I know you’ve got a lot of stress on you at home and school, but I also know you don’t need this job.” He pushed the notes towards her. “It looks like a good story. I hope you make something out of it.”

  She collected the papers, holding them between her hands as if they were made of glass and she was afraid of breaking them. I’ve broken just about everything else, she thought to herself.

  “I’m sorry about this. Really, I am. Think of it as a chance for both of us to improve, make some changes. You’ve been holding yourself back here, and I’ve been keeping you too long.”

  “That sounds like the ‘It’s Not You, It’s Me’ line.”

  “Far from it. Believe me.”

  She had to turn and leave the store quickly.

  “I’ll keep in touch,” he called after her. She didn’t pause.

  Her mother wasn’t home to admit defeat to just yet, so Catherine sat in her room at the desk, looking at her laptop with notes in hand. She felt like she had just suffered two of the most humiliating defeats in her lifetime, and she’d finally hit rock bottom. But when she opened her computer at last and the blank word document appeared, headed with the title of her story, she set the notes beside her and began to write, like she’d intended to do so all along.

  She always found a way to pick herself up again, no matter how hard she fell.

  She slipped, falling on her hands and knees. She had come across a steep hill, and she felt herself slowly sinking back towards the bottom faster than she could ascend. His weight was far greater than hers, and her strength wasn’t nearly as reliable as it once was. The rope dug into her hips as she tried to race up the slope, and her knee hurt so bad. She howled in anger as she climbed a few feet and slid back down again and again. She lay in the snow bank for a moment, panting heavily and cursing.

  She raised her sights up the hill again. If she could climb far enough to grab hold of the small rock that stuck out of the snow, she would be able to hang on and regain her footing so that she could sidestep to the tree and from there pull him to the top while walking on all fours. She gritted her teeth, looking at her route with anticipation, then darted up the side again.

  Catherine cried out as the weight of the tarp cut into her hips, chaffing her skin and making blood ooze down her thighs. Her breaths came out ragged and desperate as she clawed her way towards the rock, fighting the slide that threatened to drag her back down. It was only a few feet away now. So close…she slipped back a foot, yelling hoarsely as she fought her way back up again. One lunge brought her closer to the rock, and she slung her arms around it. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as weight pulled back on her, sending a surge through her waist. She tried to bring her legs up beneath her in order to keep the rope from slipping away from her hips, and she held on tighter. The tree trunk. She set her sights, gathered her strength, and started for it.

  Her boots didn’t catch any grip on the snow, and she slipped back a bit again, her yell echoing against the trees surrounding them. Growling and crying at the same time, she fought her way back towards the tree, kicking as hard as she could.

  She gasped aloud in relief as she finally wrapped her arms around the tree trunk. The pain in her hips was still intense, but her will was starting to mute everything else other than the need to get up that hill and get the man to the cabin.

  She looked over her shoulder at him. His head was tilted to the side. Good. She’d rather he didn’t see her fighting like this.

  After she’d caught her breath and gathered her stamina, she positioned her feet just so and slowly started to climb on all fours, carefully placing her hands and feet as she raced, making sure not to fall. Because if she fell, he would too.

  “No,” she said involuntarily. She pulled herself higher, fighting everything that worked against her. The top was so close now, and every step she took felt closer to home.

  Home. She hadn’t been there in years.

  She could hear her heart in her ears as blood rushed by, and she felt the familiar tingle of excitement and certainty fill her as she got closer to the top. Her body hurt so much, and the air in her lungs burned her chest and throat, mixing pain, desperation, elation.

  With her final step to the top, Catherine collapsed like an avalanche. She laughed and cried, trying to push herself up, but kept crumbling out of weakness. Instead she rolled onto her back. Each breath was deep to the point of stinging, each came and went too fast for her to catch up. She could feel each pulse in her ears, her chest, her hips, her knee. When she opened her eyes, it was like floating on a cloud, spread across the snow as she was, looking up at the night sky.

  It was the same sky she saw all the time; a black blanket peppered with diamonds like lost souls left searching. Her flashlight was resting in her coat pocket, beam on, but its light was far less powerful than a fire, and Catherine had never seen the stars in complete black. Night, the place without fire, the coldest, most dangerous place to be, but also the most captivating.

  Suddenly she had a change of heart, and wished he was awake. Never in her life had she felt so whole, so confident, accomplished. It was as if she never really was living before, merely floating along a time line, and now she had been woken by necessity. By the need to help someone other than herself. By the fact that she had found him at the end of the world and she was brought closer to him by it. It felt so good to be there.

  Catherine slowly got to her feet. Not only was her knee completely stiff, but her hips were inflamed, and she was certain she would have scars, reminders of this day for the rest of her life. She was glad for it. She considered this as she stood there, trying to collect herself. When she had caught her breath, she replaced the rope onto the grooves that formed in her hips, and began to pull again.

  She pulled him to his feet. They dragged like logs on the pavement, shoes scraping along, as if in protest. Her arm and shoulder hurt from dragging him. Distant roars kept her rushing on quicker. Perpetual grip of fear caught her under its foot, holding her down. Throat ached to scream.

  “We need to hide for a while, that’s all,” she told him. “We can go to our favourite theme ride. Remem
ber? It drove you nuts.”

  Didn’t say a thing. Scared her more than the screams from far away.

  They had come here on their honeymoon. They never went as children, so she had insisted they go. The first ride they chose was this, and he had been turned off of the whole vacation after it. But it was a happy time, she knew. They had walked amongst families with their children, who ate Mickey Mouse-shaped lollipops and hugged their Donald Duck stuffies, while they held hands, wondering on a family of their own. The trees had leaves so green, and the sky was so blue with clouds of yellow, ivory and silver. The breeze was warm; laughter danced on it. Even though he had hated the theme ride, she saw the small smiles on his face, saw the peace that lived there.

  Now the park was littered with junk and memorabilia. Old, rotten food, park maps, ripped stuffed toys, torn and scattered. A sad memory. Of the people that became God’s hounds, the ones that hunted her and her husband now. She squeezed her eyes shut as she dragged him along.

  “You holding up?” she asked again, knowing the answer.

  “Chest hurts,” he wheezed. Tripped over his feet trying to stand, stumbled with her. They got back up again. Continued on.

  When they did get into the theme ride, they walked along the paths to the side until they found some boats. They rocked gently from side to side, seemingly calm, undisturbed by the world surrounding it.

  “Just like in the car. Just stay low, they won’t see us.” She lowered him down, being careful not to drop him from her weakened arms. He slumped on the floor of the boat, resting against the bench. His head tipped back, too weak to hold it up.

  This is where we die, she thought. They will destroy everything, then us. Make us watch.

  She sat next to him, wrapping her arms around him and rubbing his shoulders. Before this had happened, they lived normal lives. Now she knew they would deserve the fate that awaited them. All of them did. She knew it would happen to him soon, but she hadn’t accepted it. She never would.