The Lost Night

by Megan Maguire

  “I knew it. I knew it was a trick.” I step back. “You want sex, but I bet the second I’m on top of you, you’ll knife me in the back.”

  “Literally?”

  “Yes, Autumn, literally.”

  She shakes her head. “Dylan, I’m giving you all the control. But there’re rules. No fondling or kissing if you want me to answer your questions.”

  “Giving me control? Right, it sure looks like it.” I blink multiple times, doubting if I’m awake. Could be I’m passed out cold and she’s a figment of my imagination. “You can’t strip and expect me to not touch you. This is bull.”

  “If you wanna screw, we’ll screw.” She waves a hand down her body as if she’s on display. “Is that what you want tonight?” Looking up through long eyelashes, she rises to all fours and crawls to the end of the bed. “I know you want answers, Dylan, not sex. Not yet. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

  I cover my growing erection with my hands. Down to a pair of sheer panties that match the jaw-dropping shirt she wore to the party, and a couple of heart-shaped pasties that cover her nipples, she’s not nude, but darn close. What a clever scheme. This girl’s killing me.

  She leans back and puts her hand on her hip, acting all smug and shit.

  “Autumn, this isn’t … dammit, I want you.” I pace. “You already know that, so why are you doing this to me?”

  “I’m giving you what you want, and what I want, too.” She grins. “Come talk. Or let’s screw. You choose.”

  “This is a test.” I run my hands down my cheeks while eating her up with my eyes. “God, you’re stunning.”

  “Thank you.” She turns and lies flat on her back.

  The hallway light makes her pale skin look even paler, like she’s sugared in snow. I see no scars, but the spray of freckles on her nose and cheeks continue along her shoulders. No tats either, except for the tiny black heart on her ring finger.

  “Dylan, come.” She rolls to her side and snuggles up with my pillow.

  I follow her long legs up to her sheer panties. She’s not shaved, only trimmed. I love the natural look, more womanly than girlish.

  “If you’re trying to make me feel helpless again, it’s working.”

  A white rosebud navel ring sparkles in the low light, and her light pink nipples are sneaking out the sides of the pasties. Physically, she’s feminine in every way.

  “Dylan.”

  But psychologically, she’s a spear through my heart.

  “Who the hell are you? You can’t manipulate me. This isn’t fair.”

  “I’m not.” She raises a leg and points a foot at me, uncovering the area between her legs. “I said you’re in complete control. I promise. Lie next to me, and we’ll talk.” She lowers her leg and pats the bed. “You have the power, not me.”

  “I’m not a puppy dog,” I say, dropping my fleece bottoms before lying next to her like a puppy dog.

  “I didn’t say you were. Just try to relax. You’re hyped up from craving more coke and from shooting Mack.” She brushes the back of her hand across my cheek.

  “I thought you said no touching.”

  “Starting now.”

  I reach up and turn on the reading lamp over my headboard, aiming the light down her body. I slide up alongside her and rest my head on the pillow, at full-mast beneath my boxers.

  “Hi,” she whispers.

  “Hi,” I whisper back.

  “No kissing yet.”

  “Yet? Yet is good.”

  “What’s the decision? Talk or screw? And don’t say both.”

  “Both,” I say.

  She bops my nose. “You’re bad. I said not to say that.”

  “Come on. You’re within lips’ reach wearing only pasties on your nipples and see-through panties. What do you expect me to say?”

  “I expect you to have a conversation with a woman, no matter what she’s wearing.”

  I groan. “Autumn, you’re just so … so …”

  “Awesome?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, awesome and unusual.”

  “You too. I like you.” She threads a hand through her hair.

  The freckles on her light skin are reminiscent of clusters of fall leaves, her bi-colored eyes exotic and beautiful. Out of all the women I’ve been with, I can’t remember any of them having such unique features.

  “Have you done this before?” I ask.

  “Killed people?”

  “Well, yeah. But no, shown up at a guy’s place in the middle of the night and stripped?”

  She looks at the ceiling and thinks.

  “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

  “Does it matter?” she asks.

  “Of course it does. For all you know, I could attack you. It’s dangerous.”

  “If you attack me, my gun is three feet away, and you only have a baby blade that’s sitting waaay over there.” She points at my desk.

  “It’s not a baby bl—”

  “So what do you want to do?” she interrupts.

  “I’m not about to ruin this.”

  “Ruin what? What’s this?” she asks.

  “A possibility.”

  “Then talk.”

  “You’re devious.”

  “So are you.”

  I suck in my cheeks to fight back a smile.

  “Dylan, make a choice. I have somewhere to be in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fifteen? I can’t finish in under fifteen.”

  She laughs.

  “What’s so funny? And where do you have to be?”

  “Are you asking questions? Is this starting now?” She rubs her foot along my calf.

  “I can’t decide.” I look down at her foot. “You said no touching.”

  “You have fourteen minutes.”

  “Okay. Who are you?”

  “Autumn. Next question.”

  “You didn’t answer that one.”

  She bottles up a breath and looks at the ceiling. “It’s Black. Autumn Black.” She exhales. “Don’t laugh; I know it’s an odd sounding name. I’ve been picked on my entire life because of it.”

  “It’s cool. Wicked sounding. But cool. That’s not what I’m asking though. Who are you that you know Ed and that chief from the other district? A cop? A student? A cokehead? What?”

  “I’m a lost soul who was chosen to transform the city, same as you.”

  “You mean like a snitch? Like Sean and me? Are you a rat like us?”

  She nods, sliding her index finger between her cleavage, comforting herself with the repeated motion. “I like to call us, informants.”

  “Nah.” I wipe my face against my pillow. “You can’t be.”

  “Why? Because I have these?” She jiggles her breasts.

  “No, um”—I stop to watch them bounce—“because, I … I don’t know why.” I touch her shoulder and look into her eyes, in disbelief that I’ve met a woman involved in the same squalid life as me. “Because you’re better than a snitch.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “You in Rick’s district? Is that why he hauled you out of Ed’s Tahoe?” I speak as calmly as I can, curbing my excitement.

  “Yeah, for Rick.”

  “How long?”

  “Over a year. Every district has someone.”

  “I figured this was more widespread than Ed and his cronies.”

  “It goes all the way up the ladder. The districts are at war to be the one with the lowest crime rate. It’s a contest to them.” Her mouth sets in a hard line.

  “I know. We’re the cheap under the table labor, dumping bodies in other districts to hurt their chances of coming out on top.”

  “Rivalry at its best.” She sweeps my hand off her shoulder. “Let’s not waste any more time on this. You’re down to eleven minutes.”

  The front door opens. Autumn looks over my shoulder. Sean’s lead-footed steps move through the
downstairs, from living room to kitchen. The fridge opens, bottles clang, and he lumbers back to the living room.

  “Roommate?” she asks.

  “Yeah. He’s supposed to be at the pool hall.”

  He heads upstairs into his bedroom, a drawer opens. “Hey Dylan, the pool hall was closed. Can you believe it? There was a fire in the building next door.” The drawer closes. “What are you doing? Whacking off to Autumn again?”

  A frown seizes my face. “Good one, Sean. Could you shut up now?”

  Autumn covers her chest when he appears in the doorway. I sit up to block the rest of her body.

  “Christ.” He tugs his earlobe and turns away. “Wooowww.” The word rises and falls from his mouth like a roller coaster. “Hey, man, you should’ve told me she was coming over.” He puts his head against the doorframe, trying hard not to peek. “You two wanna come down and have a drink with Riley and me? Or … I guess you’re busy.”

  “Sean, get out.” I throw a pillow at him. “And shut the door when you leave.”

  The hallway light fades as the door closes.

  “I can’t believe he said that.” I bury my face in my hands.

  Autumn laughs and pulls them away. She moves closer until our noses touch, her warm breath on my lips, skin scented with strawberries.

  “I get a question now,” she says.

  “Go for it.”

  “How many times have you thought of me? Once? Twice?” Her leg gets a bump from my arousal. “Tell me,” she persists in a gentle voice. “Have you masturbated a lot this week? All because of me?”

  “You’re so nasty. I can’t stand it,” I whisper.

  Her foot slides higher up the back of my leg. “Sexy, not nasty. And you love it.” She slips her slender hand inside the opening of my boxers, gently owning me with her delicate fingers.

  “Jesus.” My face burrows into the pillow. I can’t stop rocking into her, every nerve in my body has been awakened, my skin ablaze. Babbling this and that, I’m unable to comprehend my own words. Something about desperately wanting to kiss, to touch, to dip inside her, but her hand on my chest keeps fending me off.

  “I want you.” My words come out as a moan. I’m wild about her and dumbfounded by how powerless I’ve become.

  Her hand slides away. “Answer my question. How many times did you think of me?”

  I lick my lips. “Every day, Autumn. Every. Day.”

  “Okay, then.” She curls her feet around mine, lowers her hand from my chest, and closes her eyes.

  I think I have permission to kiss her. “Okay?” I ask.

  In a hushed voice, she answers, “Yes.”

  Our lips graze from side to side, a light touch. I hold her chin and nip her bottom lip. She rewards me with little nips back. Then, I move in.

  The anticipation was eating me alive, but this first swirl of our tongues was well worth the wait. Pressing into her, I surrender to my growing affection, ignoring reality, and troubling memories.

  Her kisses are vanilla-flavored, tranquil and hypnotic. I grip her hip and draw her body into mine, only to have her push me away seconds later.

  “Shame on me. I broke my own rule,” she says, laying it on thick by fanning her face.

  “Yeah, you sound soooo disappointed.” I laugh.

  “Five minutes left.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes, ask me something else.”

  “I can’t even think of my name, let alone a question. We just, we can’t, let’s go back to kissing.”

  She hushes me with a finger over my lips. “I want to remember it just like that. It was perfect. Now ask another question.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose then cover my face with my forearm, the light hurting my aching head, the kiss spinning my vision.

  “Dylan, please don’t hide. I love your sexy gray eyes.”

  I lower my hand and look at her. “Why do you always say please?”

  “Because of my dad. Please and thank you have been expected of me since I can remember.” She sits up and rests her head on her elbow, gliding a fingertip down my side. “I rarely talk to him anymore.”

  I can tell by the movement of her eyes that she’s checking out my room: my high school jersey my parents had framed, Jake’s hockey stick leaning against the wall, his skates beside it, my laptop and random mementos on my desk.

  “Sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes I still talk that way when I’m nervous. Please. Please. Pleeease.” She looks at me and traces the scar over my eyebrow. “What happened here? A football injury, or was it from playing hockey?”

  “Neither. It’s from a fight a long time ago.”

  “Hmm. Too bad we only have a minute left. I’d love to hear more about it.”

  My thumb swipes one of the nipple pasties, hoping it drops off.

  “Bad boy.” She slaps my hand away, scolding me further with a wag of her finger. “You have time for one last question.”

  “I have a million more.”

  “Ask one.”

  “Stay another ten minutes.”

  “Ask.”

  “All right. How’d you get involved in this? Does Rick have something on you? Or is it just about money?”

  “How about I end by saying it’s mostly because of my dad.”

  “Who’s that?”

  She shifts away from me. “Farren Black.”

  I sit up. “Farren Black?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, shit.” I hop out of bed. “Shit!”

  “That’s the reaction I usually get.”

  “The police commissioner?” I freak out.

  “Yes.”

  “The police commissioner of Northland?”

  “Yes.”

  I cross the room in long strides, from bed to desk, desk to door, door to bed, gripping my hair. “No, no, no. You’re Farren Black’s daughter? You can’t be.”

  “I am, and you’re going to meet him.”

  “What?” I stop dead in my tracks. “No.”

  “Yes. Next Friday night.”

  “Meet him? Sean was right.” I open my door. “Sean!” I shout. “We’re being set up!”

  She gets out of bed and dresses in a flash.

  “Wait, hold on. Next Friday? Where?” I ask.

  “At the mayor’s mansion. It’s the yearly Post-Valentine’s Day Affair. There’ll be lots of drunken women dancing to nineties music, and cruddy older men trying to get me into bed. I hate going to these events alone, so you’re coming with me.”

  “But—”

  “You need me to come up?” Sean hollers.

  “No!” Autumn and I say as one.

  She steps closer and whispers, “Just so you know, my dad would be humiliated if anyone found out we’re no longer close. And because of that, I need to make an appearance and pretend we’re still a happy family.”

  “Meaning what? Why aren’t you close to your dad?”

  “And then there’s the mayor. He expects me to show, so I have to go.”

  “The mayor?” I pace faster. “God, this is bad. I should’ve slept with you, but instead I chose to be a decent guy. No more. Nope. Never again.”

  “Having sex wouldn’t have changed a thing.” She throws her head forward and back to make her hair poofy. “You’d still be my date this Friday.” She grips my chin for a parting kiss. “Love is in the air, Dylan. Dress nice. Dress better than nice. A proper jacket and tie with matching pants will do. Dab on some of that delightful cologne that you wear.”

  “Wait, where are you going?” I follow her to the top of the stairs.

  “I have to meet Rick about being at that house party. He’s fuming that I was spotted helping another district.” Her hair sways as she walks down the stairs.

  “Why did you help us?” Sean asks from the bottom step.

  “Because I wanted to.” She slips on her coat and boots while looking up at me. “I’ll be here at si
x Friday night. I want to get laid before nine. We can do it again in the morning when we wake up in one another’s arms.”

  Sean and Riley burst into sharp laughter, and Sean raises his beer at me.

  “Don’t touch yourself until that night,” Autumn adds. “It’ll be better when we do it.” She walks out the door, and I’m left standing at the top of the stairs with my jaw on the floor and an erection the size of Manhattan. I stomp back to my room and put on my fleece pants, trying to hide my wood.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Sean calls up. “Did she leave you high and dry?”

  “She’s the police commissioner’s daughter, Sean. The police commissioner’s daughter!”

  I slam my door and collapse on the bed, sitting right back up when Jake’s hockey stick slides down the wall and hits the floor. I rub my cheeks, desperate to wipe the night away.

  Jake’s stick fell because I slammed the door, I know that, but I can’t help but think he did it, that he’s not entirely gone, that he walks with me each day.

  “Did you do that?” I whisper, my eyes glued to his stick. “You here?”

  “Dylan, you all right in there?” Sean knocks.

  “Go away. I’m in a pissy mood.”

  “When aren’t you?” He sends a fist into the door and heads back downstairs.

  Holding a breath, I stare at the stick, the last object Jake touched before falling through the ice. My dreams died with him that night, my life is now spent in torment without any purpose.

  “Sorry. I’m so sorry.” I’ve repeated the same words to him for a year. “Please, forgive me.”

  Or maybe I’ve been repeating those words to myself.

  I fall back on the bed with my arms outstretched, drawing in another long breath. I’ll spend the rest of the night tossing in bed from the scent of Autumn on my pillow while wondering if Jake’s here and if he can see or hear me. No amount of beer or coke will ever be enough to escape.

  And even if a girl like Autumn can stitch my heart back together, the past will resurface to pull it apart again.

  13

  Black is the absence of color. But black is considered a color when specifying physical objects. White and black. Black and white. Autumn Black.

  My rearview mirror reflects a white guy driving a black Silverado with a black guy in the passenger seat, both of us dressed in black. Fresh snow on the hood of my truck dusts the windshield as I drive. A white cig clamped between my lips spawns gray smoke. My gray eyes are dry, black hair wet from showering after working out at the gym. I pass white-coated cars and blurry white houses with black shutters. Thick smoke, the darkest of gray, billows from chimneys. Trees sway, their branches as dark and winding as Medusa’s black hair. A guy jacks up a white car. A woman in a black coat crosses the street. All while the dark-eyed juncos perched on snowy branches wait for seed to reappear in the black feeders.