Night in the Lonesome October

  ‘You don’t have to be nervous,’ she whispered. ‘We’re safe here.’

  I almost mentioned that she hadn’t locked the front door. If I’d said it, though, she might’ve gone downstairs to correct the situation. I wanted her to stay just where she was.

  ‘Try to sleep,’ she whispered.

  ‘That’d be a good trick.’

  ‘All you’ve got to do is relax. Think nice thoughts.’

  I closed my eyes. My thoughts were nice, all right. All about Casey on the bed with me.

  From the feel of her breath, her lips were only an inch or two away from mine. I longed to kiss her, to scoot closer and hold her body tightly against mine, to slip a hand up the back of her sweatshirt.

  Is that what she’s hoping for? I wondered.

  Back in the playground, she’d stopped me when I made a move to kiss her. Just friends, she’d said. And, We hardly even know each other. And, You’ve already got Eileen.

  Had she changed her mind?

  Not likely.

  Then what’re we doing in her bed?

  It’s just a place to stay while we wait for things to get safe outside.

  Really? The living room would’ve been fine for that. But we’re not in the living room, we’re in her bedroom.

  Suppose she does want me to make a move? If I don’t do it, she’ll think I’m either a chicken or I’m not interested in her.

  But she’s already told me not to. If I go ahead and try it anyway, she’ll think I’m a jerk. I imagined her saying, What part of the word ‘no’ don’t you understand?

  Casey would never say such a thing. No halfway considerate person would ever say such a crappy thing to someone. She might like me less, though.

  ‘Maybe I’ll try counting sheep,’ I whispered.

  She didn’t answer.

  My comment, pretty inane if I do say so myself, hadn’t required an answer. Still, her silence seemed a little odd.

  ‘Casey?’ I whispered.

  Her warm breath blew against my lips and chin. The breeze went away as she slowly filled her lungs. Then the air returned to my face.

  She’s asleep!

  She breathed with an easy, peaceful rhythm that sounded much the same as the breathing that came from the other bed.

  How could she let herself fall asleep? She and I were supposed to be in this together.

  I felt abandoned and disappointed.

  And worried.

  After all, I was a stranger in this house. Casey was my host, my guide, my protector. So long as she remained asleep, however, I was on my own.

  I can wake her up.

  The way she’d dropped off so fast, it was obvious that she needed sleep. I probably needed it, myself, but I was too keyed up.

  I’d better not fall asleep, I thought.

  I pictured myself waking up in daylight with Casey in my arms, her parents and sister standing over the bed, glaring down at me.

  Wouldn’t that be lovely?

  It won’t happen, I told myself. The moment I start to get drowsy, I’ll wake Casey up and tell her I have to leave. She can either see me to the door or stay here. In the meantime, I’ll just let her sleep.

  But what if I drift off?

  That sort of thing can sneak up on you. I might just close my eyes thinking I’ll rest them for a few moments ... and not wake up till six or seven.

  I thought about setting my wristwatch alarm. Unfortunately, the watch was on my left wrist, and my left arm was trapped underneath me. Just as well, probably. Though the alarm’s noise was a quiet beep, it might be loud enough to wake up the girl in the other bed.

  Casey squirmed in her sleep. Her back slid under my hand and she made a soft ‘Mmm’ sound as if she liked how my hand felt. When she quit squirming, I went on rubbing her back. I caressed her in slow, gentle circles, making the sweatshirt move over her smooth skin.

  I didn’t intentionally work the sweatshirt upward. After a while, however, it got rumpled. Feeling my way downward, I discovered that the sweatshirt no longer overlapped the top of her jeans. A distance of two or three inches separated them. In the space between them was Casey’s bare skin.

  I put my hand there. She continued to sleep. Her skin felt smooth and slightly cool.

  At the very back, the waistband of her jeans was pursed out slightly. Probably something to do with the way she was curled on her side.

  I turned my hand and eased my fingers in. An inch or so down, I felt the thin elastic band of her panties. Keeping my fingers outside the panties, I stroked the top of her buttocks through the slick fabric.

  Her breathing stayed the same, so I knew she still slept.

  I thought how easy it would be to slip my fingers under the elastic.

  Just a little bit.

  I knew I shouldn’t do it.

  What’ll it hurt? She’s asleep. She’ll never even know I did it.

  It’s wrong.

  But I was already pretty excited by that point. Unwilling to stop myself, I went ahead and snuck my hand down under the back of her panties. I slid my fingers slowly across her buttocks and stroked the smooth, warm valley between them.

  Casey still slept.

  Fearful of disturbing her if I explored too deeply, I kept my hand fairly high on her rump.

  When she moaned, I moved my hand higher - and out from inside her panties.

  Moments later, her breathing returned to the slow in and out of her sleep rhythm.

  ‘Casey?’ I whispered.

  She didn’t respond, so I slipped my hand beneath the bottom of her sweatshirt. She felt good and warm under there. My hand glided slowly, savoring her smoothness and curves. I caressed her from side to side, slowly making my way upward all the way to the backs of her shoulders.

  And now the front?

  I wanted badly to do it. I was hard and aching.

  My hand continued to caress her back. The way she was curled on her side, her left breast still pushed against me.

  It’s already touching my chest, I told myself. What’s the difference if it’s touching my hand?

  Plenty.

  Underneath her sweatshirt, my hand moved slowly downward until it almost came out. Then I eased it up her side, feeling the curves of her ribcage. Her arm, draped over my side, wasn’t in the way. I stopped my hand on the warm skin just below her armpit.

  She still breathed slowly, deeply.

  The ball of my thumb rested against a rising smoothness that was probably the side of her breast.

  Now all I needed to do was bring my hand toward me.

  Are you out of your mind? What if she wakes up?

  I’ll tell her I thought she was awake the whole time.

  You wanta blow everything just to cop a feel? Are you nuts? Go find Eileen, you can mess with her tits to your heart’s content.

  I didn’t care about Eileen’s.

  I ached to touch Casey’s. Especially the one I could feel against my chest and against the side of my hand.

  If she catches me, she’ll hate me.

  If she doesn’t catch me, I thought, I’ll hate myself. I saw nothing particularly wrong with caressing her back while she slept - or even her low back - but to feel up her breasts was crossing the line.

  If I don’t draw the line at that, what next? Unfasten her jeans and put my hand down the front of her panties? Slip a few fingers into her?

  I imagined myself doing just that.

  Aching with lust, I gritted my teeth and slid my hand downward, out from under her sweatshirt.

  I placed my hand safely in the middle of her back and sighed.

  Casey went on sleeping.

  I don’t know how much time went by - perhaps five minutes, maybe ten - before I realized that sounds of slow, steady breathing no longer came from the direction of the other bed.

  Casey’s head blocked my view. I raised my head enough to see over her with one eye.

  While I watched, the girl in the other bed turned onto her side and pushed herself up
on one elbow.

  Chapter Forty-one

  ‘Hey,’ the girl said, her voice a fairly loud whisper.

  Going squirmy inside, I didn’t say a thing. I didn’t move.

  ‘Is that you?’ she asked.

  Time to call in the troops. I grabbed Casey’s arm and shook it. ‘Mmm?’

  Lowering my head, I whispered, ‘She’s awake.’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Who is that?’ the girl asked. She sounded somewhat concerned, but not alarmed.

  Casey made another quiet, ‘Mmm.’ sound. Then her lips pushed softly against mine. They were open and warm and moist and too quickly gone.

  Moaning again, Casey rolled onto her back and turned her head toward the girl. ‘Hi, Marianne,’ she whispered.

  ‘Is someone with you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘A boy?’

  ‘Yeah. His name’s Ed. He’s my new friend.’

  ‘Hi, Marianne,’ I whispered.

  ‘Hi, Ed.’

  Casey sat up and swung her feet to the floor. ‘Ed’s a student at the university.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Marianne.

  ‘Marianne’s in the eighth grade,’ Casey explained.

  ‘Cool,’ I said.

  Marianne laughed softly.

  ‘Ed’s real nice,’ Casey explained to her, ‘but he already has a girlfriend so I guess I’m out of luck.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ I whispered.

  She looked around at me, then stood up and moved silently across the floor to Marianne’s bed. There, she said, ‘How’re you doing, honey?’

  ‘Oh, not so bad.’

  Casey bent low over the bed. She put her arms around the girl, who then reached up and embraced her. They clung to each other and didn’t let go. After a while, someone began very quietly to sob.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Casey whispered.

  ‘No it’s not.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I thought ... you weren’t coming back.’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Thought you ... didn’t care about me ... anymore.’

  ‘I’ll always care about you.’

  ‘But you ... didn’t come.’

  ‘It hasn’t been that long, has it?’

  ‘Yes it has.’

  ‘A week?’

  ‘Longer,’ Marianne said, and sniffed. ‘Almost two. Twelve nights.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’ve missed you so bad.’

  ‘I’ve missed you, too.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you come?’

  ‘I have lots to do.’

  ‘Was it ’cause of him.’

  ‘No, no. I only met Ed tonight. But I have lots of places I need to go. I come here as often as I can.’

  ‘I wish you’d come more.’

  ‘I know. So do I. But I’m here now.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They released each other. Marianne scooted over. Casey lifted the covers and crawled into the bed.

  After a few minutes, she eased herself out of Marianne’s bed and came toward me. By the sounds of the breathing I heard, Marianne must’ve fallen asleep.

  Bending over me, Casey whispered, ‘We can go now.’

  I made my way slowly across the mattress. Then Casey took my hand and pulled. I stood up. Keeping hold of my hand, she led me out of the room and down the dark hallway to the top of the stairs, then down the stairway.

  At the bottom, we put on our shoes. Though I expected Casey to lead me straight to the front door, we turned away from it. In a corridor that was nearly pitch black, she whispered, ‘Do you want to use the bathroom?’

  ‘Here in the house?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I had to go fairly badly, but I said, ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll be right out.’ She let go of my hand. I heard a few soft footfalls. Then, just to my right, a door bumped quietly shut.

  A moment later, a strip of yellow light appeared across the bottom of the door.

  Maybe this is her house, I thought.

  From the sound of her urine drilling the water, she must’ve had to go very badly. It went on for a long time. After it stopped, I heard a faucet come on. She was washing her hands, but she hadn’t flushed yet.

  Under the circumstances, maybe you don’t flush.

  She opened the door a crack. The bathroom light was still on. Her face close to the crack, she whispered, ‘You sure you don’t want to go?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  She nodded, then stepped away from the door. After the toilet flushed, she came back and turned off the light. I heard the door open. She found my arm, then my hand. Her hand felt cold from the faucet.

  Instead of turning us around and heading for the front door, she led us toward the back of the house. The carpet ended. In the vague light from the windows, I saw cupboards, counters, a stove and a refrigerator.

  ‘Thirsty?’ Casey asked.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘Shouldn’t we get out of here?’

  ‘Why?’

  “This isn’t really your house, is it?’

  While she continued to hold my hand, her free hand patted me on the chest. ‘So that’s the problem.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘It isn’t your house, is it?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘I didn’t think so.’

  ‘But we’ve got permission.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Marianne’s. We’re like her guests.’

  ‘What about her parents?’

  ‘They’re asleep.’

  ‘God, I hope so.’

  She laughed softly.

  ‘Do they know you sneak into their house in the middle of the night?’ I asked.

  ‘God, I hope not.’ She patted my chest again, then released my hand and walked over to the refrigerator. She opened it. Light flooded out. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, ‘What’ll you have?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘A Coke? A beer?’

  ‘No! Are you nuts? We’ve gotta get out of here.’

  ‘How about a maraschino cherry?’

  ‘No!’

  She removed a jar of the bright red cherries from a shelf in the refrigerator door, unscrewed the lid and held out the jar toward me. ‘Come on, help yourself.’

  ‘It’s stealing.’

  ‘Nah.’

  I shook my head and refused to take a cherry, so she turned away and set the lid down on a shelf inside the refrigerator. Going into the jar with her thumb and forefinger, she pinched a long stem and lifted a cherry out of its clear red juice. She let a few drips fall into the jar, then tilted back her head, opened her mouth and lowered in the cherry. She brought her teeth closer together. A small tug jerked the cherry up against them and the stem came off. She chewed and I heard the wet squishy sounds and could almost taste the cherry’s sweetness.

  I liked maraschino cherries very much, but not enough to take one that didn’t belong to me.

  ‘I know you want one,’ Casey whispered.

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Come on.’ She inserted her thumb and forefinger again and fished for a stem. ‘It’s okay with Marianne. She says I should make myself at home.’

  ‘But her parents.’

  ‘The hell with them. They’re creeps. They’re horrible to her.’ She caught a stem and lifted out a cherry. Holding it above the jar, she whispered, ‘Open up.’

  I opened up and tilted back my head. Casey raised the cherry above my mouth. Then she teased me with it, bumping it against my lips a few times before lowering it into my mouth. I brought my teeth closer together and she plucked the stem off. The loose cherry rolled around inside my mouth. I got it between my molars and squeezed it a little. It felt springy. Juice seeped out of it. Then I chomped and the cherry exploded, flooding my mouth with sweet juices.

  ‘You’ve eaten of the forbidden fr
uit,’ Casey whispered. ‘Now your ass is doomed.’

  I almost burst out laughing. I fought it back, though. ‘Thanks a lot,’ I said.

  Laughing softly, Casey screwed on the lid and returned the jar to its place on the shelf of the refrigerator door.

  ‘Now can we go?’ I asked.

  ‘Whenever you’re ready, Eddie.’ She shut the door, and darkness clutched the kitchen.

  Chapter Forty-two

  The kitchen had a door to the back yard, so we used it. After the darkness inside the house, the night seemed very bright. We stood on the elevated deck just outside the door and looked all around.

  No sign of the man who had chased us.

  No sign of anyone else, either.

  We descended a few stairs to the yard, then went around the side of the house. At the front comer, we stopped in the shadows and stood motionless for a long time.

  Nobody was in sight.

  ‘I guess the coast is clear,’ I said.

  ‘Looks that way.’

  Still keeping careful watch, we made our way to the sidewalk. ‘I’ll stick with you for a while,’ Casey said. ‘Then maybe we’d better call it a night.’

  ‘You have lots of other places to go?’

  She took hold of my hand. We started walking toward the end of the block. ‘I have certain things to do,’ she said. ‘Places I go.’

  ‘Like Marianne’s house?’

  She shrugged. ‘Marianne’s my friend. I visit her when I can.’

  ‘Not often enough.’

  ‘Her house came in handy, didn’t it?’

  Nodding, I asked, ‘Does she leave the front door unlocked for you?’

  ‘Doesn’t have to. Her parents never lock it.’

  ‘They have no idea you sneak in?’

  ‘Haven’t got a clue. If they ever found out, they would start locking the door. Not that it’d keep me out.’

  ‘You also go through locked doors?’

  She beamed a smile. ‘They’re my specialty.’

  ‘You’re a very bad girl.’

  Her smile went slightly crooked. ‘Think so?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Good. I don’t think so, either.’

  ‘How come locked doors are your “specialty”?’

  ‘I’m good at opening them.’

  ‘And going into places where you don’t belong?’

  ‘People don’t necessarily lock their doors to keep me out. They’re more worried about burglars and killers and other assorted denizens of evil.’