The Lost Night

by Megan Maguire

  “You’ve become a burden. A liability, Dylan.”

  Her cell was on my nightstand. We rushed out of my bedroom after we fucked so I could get her home and head to the party for Ed.

  “You have no value to me anymore.”

  I picture her digging through her purse while she was driving, swearing when she realized she’d left the cell at my place. “Shit. Shit, Dylan, you’ve got my phone.”

  Jake wasn’t supposed to be at the party. Heather couldn’t call from her car. It was a coincidence he was there. It was by accident she didn’t have her phone.

  “Maybe it’s age. You no longer look up to me like you did when you were a kid.”

  I gave her cell to the cops. They questioned me for hours, asked if I had talked to her, if I knew where she was later that night. I hadn’t. I didn’t. There was no message from her.

  “Remember when you showed me respect? When you said, yes sir, no sir?”

  Lona didn’t tell the cops Heather was upset over me, and she didn’t tell them the suicide was my fault. I would’ve been questioned more if she had.

  “You’re just not YOU anymore.”

  I turn to Ed.

  “You’re not the same kid, Dylan. You died that night, y’know? You died with them.” He gives me a smug look.

  I close my eyes, not ready to leave my thoughts of Heather for Ed.

  Lona … I know she’s embarrassed and ashamed she shattered the family and traumatized Heather by cheating on Joel, and now she just wants it all to go away. And like me, she’s working to piece the entire story together.

  “Let’s end this tonight before you bring me down.”

  Jake was a good kid who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I never thought Heather was also in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t want to believe Ed when he said she went out that night. I couldn’t think of why she would leave her house.

  Now, I know.

  “It’s over.”

  If Jake was at the party, she could’ve been there, too. It’s possible. It’s more than possible. Sean and I didn’t see her, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t there. She knew it was by the river. I told her what street it was on.

  “I’m glad you’re listening for once.”

  She went there, needing me, and then she saw what happened. She saw the fight, the guy pointing a gun at my head. Then she saw Jake step in.

  “I guess you’ve accepted the fact that your time has come.”

  Lona was pregnant.

  “One misstep too many.”

  Heather saw us kill.

  “We’re here.”

  She saw Jake bash in a guy’s head with a crowbar. She put it in her note—it was a blow to the head. That would’ve made even the strongest person break. And on top of that, she got drunk … alone.

  “Alone,” Ed repeats my last word, breaking my train of thought. “We’re all alone, just you and me, buddy.” His door creaks open and brisk air coffins my body. My nostrils tighten and freeze. I shudder when I realize we’re not at the station. The landscape is bleak. No houses. No people. No moon, or sounds, or smells. Not a street in sight, nothing but Ed coming to the passenger-side door. I lean away when he opens it, but it’s no use, I’m trapped. He unfastens the seat belt and pulls me out by my hair. An uncontrollable flood of terror falls over me. I’m shoved to the ground, landing chest first next to rocks jutting out of the snow.

  “Last words?” Ed pauses. Duct tape screeches and tears. He flips me over and seals my mouth. “Too late.”

  He slugs me in the gut, and I howl through the tape. I raise my head in the midst of excruciating pain. He hits me again, my muffled cries causing crowing laughter. I’m hauled away from the Tahoe by my ankles. My torso burrows into the snow over the rocky ground, past pieces of driftwood and down an embankment.

  Rocks under the snow. Driftwood cresting the landscape. No life. No noise.

  “I know what Heather’s note implies.”

  We’re at the lake.

  “She saw you kill Jake. Accident or not, she knew you hit him in the head.”

  I strain to shout that he’s wrong. It’s not true. It’s not.

  “Why can’t you let it go? People don’t need to know what you were doing that night. What if someone finds out I sent you to that party? Move on and forget about that supplier’s house and dumping dead pushers into the river. If the wrong people find out, or if anything gets back to the Andersons or your parents … if they find out about Jake … about what Heather saw … I swear, Dylan. Let’s end this before you destroy more lives.”

  Like Lona, he’s protecting himself. He wants the party, the drugs, and the bodies to stay hidden from everyone.

  “Can’t you just bury the past like you buried Jake?” He looks down at me. “I’m guessing Jake got in the way, and you either took him down thinking he was one of the dealers, or you struck him so he wouldn’t talk. Only you hit him too hard, didn’t you? It’s that bad temper of yours, always swinging at people.”

  My heels pound the ice for Ed’s attention. My nose is full of thin mucus from the cold, and I’m struggling to breathe.

  “Having a problem?” He grips my hoodie and pulls me up so I can try to unplug my nose. Forceful exhales and sniffs. He tousles my hair and walks a few feet ahead, takes out his baton and whacks the ice.

  He’s testing the thickness, on a search for a weak spot, a way inside the belly of the lake.

  I hold still, listening for a car, a dog, any sign of life within earshot, hoping someone saw us driving out here. Hoping someone comes before I’m dead.

  “Have you ever felt the water this time of the year? It’s about thirty degrees, like razor blades cutting into your flesh when you drop in.” He knocks the ice with his baton. “Your dad knows the pain. He fell through a frozen pond when we were kids. Did he ever tell you that? Seems to happen more often than not in this city. Kids love skating—we all wanna be hockey stars.” He continues clubbing the ice, stepping over a small mound. “I was able to pull your dad out. He made it to the side by slithering on his stomach, but the water was cold, Dylan. Hypothermia sets in fast. He almost died. Too bad you won’t be alive to ask him about it.”

  Come closer, Ed. Move closer so I can kick you in the gut.

  “Perfect.” The word detonates in the still night. “I hate to have to do this…”

  My heart drums violently. Blood vessels in my head constrict, causing a stabbing pain in my right temple. An adrenaline surge kicks in, except I can’t use it to run or fight back.

  “This time, you’re not getting another chance.”

  Dragged by my feet, I stare at his silhouette and the blackness of the sky. It’s not long before his beady glare and big teeth appear before my eyes, causing my hair to stand on end.

  “You wanna say something?” He smirks.

  I flounder about, thinking I might be able to get free of the cuffs, quickly finding out that my thoughts and actions are two very different things. I wish I had my knife, wish I had my cell, wish I had those things and my hands were free so that I could use them. I wish—

  He rips the tape away, taking some of my hair with it. “Ed, don’t.” I feast greedily on the air. “Don’t do this!”

  “Do what?”

  “Kill me!”

  “Why not?” he asks, deadpan. “Weeks ago, I said you needed to toughen up, but you’ve only gotten worse. You haven’t paid attention.”

  “To what?”

  “Anything I’ve said.”

  He pretends to smash my face with his baton, making me flinch. “See what I mean? Wimp. Look where we are and what you’ve gotten yourself into. Why did you kill Trevor? Why was that body left at my house? And why can’t you stay away from the Andersons?” He lobs an ice chunk over my head, and I hear a plunk.

  Dear God, open water. I turn and see what looks like an ice fishing hole, only bigger. “Don’t kill me!”

 
“Give me a reason not to.”

  “Because I’m Pete’s son. I’m your best friend’s son!”

  “So was Jake.”

  He positions my head over the hole. “Ed, please. Don’t.” It’s a foot down to black water and wide enough for my entire body to fit inside. “Don’t!”

  Miniature waves splash the sides, wetting my face. The lapping sounds intensify as he holds the handcuffs and sends my head into the hole.

  The top of my head hits the surface. “Ed!” The glacial water covers my eyes and nose. “Don’t do this!” My brain feels like slush, like the savagely cold lake is seeping inside. “Pull me up. Please! I’m sorry!”

  He keeps my mouth above the surface, but the rest of my head is in a deep freeze. Water floods inside my nose, causing me to cough and choke.

  “Don’t kill me.” My stomach cramps up and my dinner burns my throat. I swallow it back down, coughing, twisting, firing out turbulent kicks. The more I squirm and call out, the more I realize that Ed’s motionless. He has me confined over the side with my head half-submerged, but he’s still as stone. I’m stuck like this.

  My heart races, knowing he plans to turn my head into an icicle—a slow death. How long? How long will this take? How long do I have to suffer in this position?

  “Get me out of here. It hurts!”

  The hood of my sweatshirt sinks into the water. It becomes waterlogged and heavy, drawing downward. The collar bulks under my chin and around my neck. Mentally, I’m losing it. I’m losing my mind thinking about Jake, remembering the down jacket he was wearing that night. It must’ve been cumbersome in the water, like having a concrete block tied to his back. And his wool-lined boots and fleece gloves made his fight against the current impossible. He couldn’t make it back to the hole. It was pitch-black, and he knew he was in his grave. He knew he was dead.

  “I loved him.” The water steals my tears away. My lips tremble. “I loved Jake more than I love myself.”

  The last thing I want is to break down and have a heart-wrenching cry in front of Ed, but in all hopelessness, I can’t hold back any longer. Sobs come barreling out, and I find it hard to breathe. My chest hurts from not getting enough air into my lungs, the onset of panic crushing as it surges through my veins. I’m going to die of suffocation rather than hypothermia.

  “Please, Ed. I’m dizzy.” My voice is weak. “Help me.”

  “Good boy.” He pulls me up and removes the cuffs. “That was fun, but I gotta get back to work. I left my partner at Tim Horton’s.” He stands and taps my hip with his boot. “Thanks, Dylan. I’ve missed the good ol’ days of making men piss their pants out here. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.” He laughs. “Hope you’ve finally learned your lesson.” He kicks me again. “Little prick.”

  I’d kill him if it weren’t so taxing to move my body, if I could catch my breath, and my eyes weren’t fuzzy with tears.

  “This lake is more punishing than any weapon.” His weight crunches the ice. “It hurts more than a fist or a baton.” His voice fades as he walks away. “Or a knife, or a Taser, or a gun.”

  “I hate you.” My throat is on fire as I speak.

  “Play with the water, Dylan, and it’ll kill you. You know that better than anyone else.”

  The winter air stings my face when I lift my head and call out to him. “Ed!”

  “Yeah?”

  I dig my nails into the ice, drawing my brows together. “You’re dead. You hear me? You’re a dead man!”

  “Am I?” He looks down at his hands and flips them back and forth, then jiggles his beer gut. “I don’t feel dead. I’m not stiff or anything. Maybe you’re dead. Ever think about that? The cold water could’ve done a number on your tiny brain.”

  “Watch your back, asshole.”

  “Yep.” He chuckles, reaching the edge of the lake. He walks up the embankment to his SUV, his footsteps muted by the snow.

  I groan, putting my hands in the pockets of my flannel pants. My wet hair and hoodie turn hard and freeze to the ice. The only thing to keep me company while I lie alone in the dark—no coat, no boots, no cell, not even a cigarette—is my breath floating away. Maybe I will die out here tonight.

  I close my eyes, eager to fall asleep and end this fast.

  The sound of Ed’s boots returns. “Great.” I groan. “What the hell do you want now?” I track the crescendo of crunching ice. “Just go away and leave me alone.”

  “Get up,” someone says.

  “Sean?” I reach for the gloved hand above me. Two men in black coats grab hold of my arms and help me to my feet. Sandwiched between them, they walk me off the lake.

  “A little advice,” one says, “don’t hang out with cops who are under surveillance.”

  “Who? Ed? Who are you guys?”

  “We found him.” The guy on my left talks into his phone. “He’s fine. Frozen, but not dead … Yeah, we tracked Dorazio’s SUV to the lake.”

  “Who you talking to?” I ask.

  “Nah. Dorazio’s panicking. He’s doing the norm, trying to muzzle people. Even the little guys.”

  “What’s going on?” I try to walk on my own, but my arms are gripped even tighter.

  “We’ll bring him right over.” He ends the call and puts his cell away. “See. Told you so, Miles.” He glances at the guy on my right. “Autumn has the goods on everybody.”

  20

  Some things can’t be explained. Like how Autumn, standing in the doorway of her loft in an open robe, exposing silk panties, a navel ring, and letting her fab breasts hang out, can have a calming effect on my nerves. Or how my thoughts of revenge after an abysmal night with Ed can shift to pleasure and excitement when I catch Autumn’s heavenly eyes peeking up at me from over the rim of her wine glass.

  My heart is beating her name. She wanted me here. She told the men at the lake to bring me right over. Somehow, she’s deeper in the underground circle of moles than Sean and me. But I’m not concerned with any of that right now. I’m too caught up in every hot inch of her.

  I place both hands on her doorframe, leaning forward, chattering eagerly, admitting how much I’ve missed her lips on mine, revealing I’ve thought often about our play in the tub. Then. Shyly. I confess that I’m obsessed with her—my head and all eight inches in my pants are obsessed with her.

  She responds by saying, “Six.” And then she laughs.

  I’m pulled inside by my flannel pant strings and ordered to undress. I drop my wet clothes on her doormat, keeping only my boxer shorts on. She goes to the kitchen and pours me a glass of red wine while taking sips of her own.

  “Autumn, I don’t want to talk about the lake or the cops, or about my past and what the hell is happening right now. I don’t care why those men brought me here, how you knew, and what happens next.” She hands me the glass and motions to follow her to the bedroom. “Really, I don’t care about any of it. I just want to be with you tonight.”

  I need to feel the warmth of a woman, the warmth of her and only her. But there’s a lump in my throat as I think these things. And now I feel anxious because she stopped talking. Secrecy surrounds her, but that’s part of the attraction. I love the mystery of not knowing what she does, where she works, and what she wants out of life. Her fears and insecurities, her habits, quirks, fantasies, or what makes her happy.

  I love that I get to learn more about her over time, and more importantly, that she wanted me here. Because of her, I’m not freezing to death out on the lake. She saved me from myself, from my own internal demise. And for that, I’m thankful.

  This past year, I had lost all certainty that I was even alive. I told Sean my blood had stopped moving through my veins. But something has changed. This gnawing hunger and growing attraction in the pit of my stomach hasn’t occurred in such a long time. Not with anyone. There’s been no laughter. No anticipation. No fascination. Not one spark in my heart for anyone else.

  Until her.

&
nbsp; Until Autumn.

  We head into the bathroom and she turns on the shower, then she tells me to take off my boxers.

  “I owe you one,” I whisper, shivering from the experience at the lake.

  She sets her wine glass and “A” ring on the shelf behind the tub before hanging her robe on the back of the door. After her panties drop to the floor, she steps in, lathering red glycerin soap in her hands.

  “Get in,” she says. “Bring your wine, I’ll make everything better.”

  I take a sip of wine and move closer, circling her crystal stud navel ring, hungry to feel her warm body underneath mine.

  “You’re gawking,” she says.

  “Yep.”

  “You got that look on your face.”

  “What look?”

  “That sultry look. Eyes half-closed like you’re about to devour me.”

  “Yep.”

  I lean in and roll my tongue around a nipple. The delicate lick brings long-drawn hums to her lips. I drink up my wine and place the empty glass on the shelf behind her, step in, and stand under the hot water, soothed when the heat thaws out my head.

  She washes my shoulders and chest, working her way down my abdomen, hesitating when she comes to my stiff arousal. She touches it gently with a soapy hand, skimming down then up and around the tip.

  “Did I win the lottery?” I close my eyes, relishing in being treated like a king. “No one’s ever bathed me before.”

  “Well, if you’ve managed to win me over, you deserve a little spoiling.”

  “Oh?” I open one eye. “How many men have ‘won you over?’ Like, ten? Twenty?”

  “Hmm, no. Maybe one. Maybe just you … maybe.” She smiles. “I wouldn’t be doing this or helping you out if I didn’t think I was possibly falling in love with you.”

  “Wait, what?” I open both eyes wide. “Really?”

  “Maybe.” She spins me around to soap my back, her fingertips tracing Heather’s memorial tattoo several times. She draws in a breath and slinks across to Jake’s. “These are so pretty,” she says, her voice sympathetic. “And thoughtful.”