Night in the Lonesome October

  This is so nice, I thought. Now if I just don’t get caught back here.

  My luck, some withered old zombie’ll climb out of the pool and come slouching over to me.

  What is it with this town? I wondered. Everywhere I go, creeps and weirdos.

  Not everywhere, I told myself. Don’t forget Casey. Neither a creep nor a weirdo. And Marianne seemed nice. Bet the tequila woman’s nice, too.

  How about one of them climbing out of the pool?

  Which one?

  As I imagined the side of the pool, someone boosted herself out of the water and climbed onto the edge. The tequila woman, slender and beautiful in the moonlight. Her hair wasn’t wet, but her nightgown was. The pale gown clung to her body and ended high on her thighs. She came toward me with slow, graceful strides. Along the way, though, she changed into Casey.

  Good, I thought. I don’t even know the tequila woman really.

  Casey was dressed in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. I tried to imagine her in the wet, clinging nightgown that showed everything, but couldn’t make it happen. Still, she sure looked good.

  She crouched beside me and reached over and stroked my brow. You had yourself a nasty knock on the bean, Chucky.

  Kirkus fell on me.

  I’ll kiss it and make it well.

  Unfortunately, the bump was on the back of my head. I’ll turn over, I said. But I didn’t move. Though I definitely wanted Casey to kiss my bump, 1 felt very comfortable on my back.

  I’ll turn over in a little while, I thought.

  The next time I thought about turning over, I felt calm and well rested and alert. I opened my eyes. A few pale rags of clouds were rushing across the sky. The full moon was high and very bright. Apparently, I’d been asleep.

  An area at the back of my scalp felt stiff and sore, but my head felt pretty good inside. The nap had apparently given the aspirin a chance to do its job.

  I raised my left arm above my face and pressed the button to light my wristwatch. 11:10.

  Not bad!

  Wary of my head, I sat up slowly. Then I got to my feet, and still felt fine.

  Very good.

  I looked around. All the lights were out, just as they’d been before my nap.

  My lucky night, I thought.

  Yeah, right. Lucky if I don’t count Sunny Boy or the creeps under the bridge or Kirkus falling on me or my head getting bounced off the street.

  Ah, well, I thought. After all that, things can only get better.

  Oh, yeah?

  Let’s hope so. Let’s at least hope I’ve lost Kirkus for the night and let’s hope I don’t have any trouble finding Casey. That’s all I really want. Simple, really. Casey and no Kirkus.

  I went around the side of the house, let myself out through the gate, then stopped at a comer of the front lawn. The neighborhood didn’t look familiar. It was darker than when I’d arrived. I saw nobody wandering about. For a while, no cars went by. Then two came along, one after the other, and kept on going.

  Eleven-fifteen on a Friday night. A lot of people are already in bed. Some are on their way home from movies or parties. Others are still out, living it up.

  And where’s my good buddy Kirkus? I wondered. Back in his own apartment by now? Or did he return to mine and wake up Eileen so she could fully appreciate my disappearance?

  If he did that ... !

  Maybe, saints preserve us, he went back to the damn bridge and jumped off. And wouldn’t that be a pity?

  I felt guilty for thinking it.

  He wouldn’t, I told myself. He never meant to jump in the first place, just climbed up there for the drama of it. He wouldn’t have done it at all if I hadn’t been there.

  Did it to get my attention.

  Well, he got it, all right.

  I suddenly remembered the feel of his open mouth, the feel of his hand. It made me a little sick, the way you might feel if you accidentally stepped on a dead baby bird.

  I wiped my lips on my sleeve, then started walking. At the sidewalk, I turned to the left and headed for the end of the block.

  You try to be friends with a guy, I thought, and he does that to you.

  ‘What do you expect?’ I muttered.

  When I reached the corner, I looked up at the street signs. Olive and Conway? I’d never heard of either of them.

  Where the hell am I?

  After running away from Kirkus, I’d concentrated (to the extent that I’d been able to think at all) on making turns and losing him. I hadn’t paid much attention at all to my actual location. Nor had I kept track of my route after running away from Sunny Boy’s house.

  Doesn’t matter, I told myself. I’m not actually lost, just temporarily vague about my position. No cause for alarm.

  I was obviously somewhere north of the Fairmont Street bridge. That was my impression, anyway. After ditching Kirkus, I’d headed generally to the north and east. I think.

  I knew where I wanted to be ... at the tequila woman’s house on Franklin Street to begin my watch for Casey.

  So which way is that?

  Farther north, probably.

  But which way is north?

  Standing on the comer, I turned around in a full circle. I looked up and down the roads. Saw headlights, parked cars, trees and houses. Nothing, however, stood out as a landmark.

  Terrific.

  It’s all right, I told myself. I’ve got plenty of time.

  Pick a direction, any direction. Doesn’t matter. Whichever way I go, I’ll soon run into a street I recognize. Then I’ll be set.

  I turned to the right and walked quickly. The faster I walked, the sooner I would find a street I recognized and the sooner I could calm down.

  It didn’t feel good, not knowing where I was. It gave me an uneasy feeling as if I’d wandered into the Twilight Zone.

  I half expected Rod Serling to step out from behind a tree.

  Offered for your consideration ... one Edward Logan ... He went out on a fine October night in search of his true love but found, instead, that streets don’t always lead where you expect and that love may not always find a way,’ especially in that region of uncertain boundaries we call ...

  The sound of an engine broke into my thoughts. I looked over my shoulder. Headlights. Coming on fast.

  Ride or Hide?

  Too late to hide.

  So I stood motionless on the sidewalk and watched the headlights grow larger, brighter.

  A pickup truck.

  It raced by.

  As it passed me, I saw that it was a compact pickup truck, pale in color. I couldn’t see the driver, but I saw the passenger for a couple of seconds.

  Her head was drooping as if she’d fallen asleep. It wobbled with the motions of the truck. So did her shoulders. She probably would’ve fallen over if not for her seatbelt.

  The way her head hung down, most of her face was shrouded by her hair.

  She seemed to be wearing a dark, skimpy garment with a plunging neckline. It was open very wide, showing an expanse of dusky skin and much of her left breast.

  Eileen ?

  In Randy’s pickup truck?

  The truck must’ve been fifty feet away by the time I got over my shock enough to give chase. I gained on it for a few seconds while it waited at a stop sign at the end of the block.

  Then it took off and left me behind.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Though I kept after the pickup truck, it was soon a block ahead of me. Then two blocks. Then it turned left. By the time I reached the corner where it had turned, it was nowhere to be seen.

  Exhausted, head pounding again, I quit running. I leaned back against a tree and tried to catch my breath. And tried to talk myself out of what I’d seen.

  Maybe it wasn’t Eileen. I hadn’t gotten a very good look at the passenger’s face - only glimpsed it, and the light had been bad, and her hair had been in the way. She might’ve been a stranger who bore a certain resemblance to Eileen.

  And wore Eileen’s
dress?

  It wasn’t necessarily Eileen’s dress, I told myself. Obviously, its top had a similar (identical, who am I trying to kid?) design to Eileen’s dress. But who knows what it might’ve looked like from the chest down? And was it even green?

  The pickup truck wasn’t necessarily Randy’s, either. It had looked similar, but there must be a lot of light-colored compact pickup trucks around town. And I hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of the driver.

  What I’d seen might easily have been a local couple, strangers to me, a guy and his girlfriend on their way home from some sort of formal occasion: a dance, a dinner party, maybe even a wedding.

  Sure thing.

  It was Eileen, all right. Asleep or unconscious (dead?) in the passenger seat of Randy’s pickup truck. Somehow, he had found her and grabbed her and now he was taking her someplace.

  I had special plans for her, he’d said at the donut shop.

  You want to go out with her?

  I want to go in her.

  He’s taking her someplace to do that, I realized. Someplace private where he can go in her. Where he can give her the works.

  Or maybe she’s still back at my apartment, asleep in my bed.

  Fat chance.

  She might be, I told myself. Maybe it really and truly wasn’t Eileen in the pickup.

  It was.

  But I had to know for certain.

  Call. Find a phone and call. If she answers ...

  ... she won’t ...

  everything’s fine.

  There might be a pay phone over near Dandi Donuts. Though I couldn’t specifically recall seeing one in the vicinity, it seemed like a good place to try.

  If I can find my way there.

  I had stopped at a comer with a signpost, but hadn’t checked it yet.

  Let’s hope.

  I looked up at the signs: Olive and Franklin.

  Franklin!

  Somehow, in my confusion, I must’ve crossed Division without even knowing it.

  I looked up and down Franklin Street. The houses seemed vaguely familiar. More than likely, I was still south of the tequila woman’s house.

  North should be to the left ... the same direction Randy had gone.

  He’s taking Eileen someplace north of here.

  As I started hiking up Franklin Street, I realized that Randy’s destination might be nearby. Maybe he’d kept driving or turned onto a different road, but maybe he’d stopped at a curb along Franklin ... or pulled into a driveway. So I slowed down and kept watch for his pickup.

  I also kept watch for the tequila woman’s house. And for Casey.

  Casey’ll get me to a phone, I thought. She’ll probably take me into the nearest dark house ... or maybe into the home of a ‘friend’ such as Marianne or the tequila woman.

  Now that I really need Casey, I probably won’t be able to find her.

  I’ll just go on to Dandi Donuts. By the time I get to the tequila woman’s house, it won’t be much farther to Dale. Take Dale on back to Division, and I’ll be at the donut shop.

  What’s the point? I wondered. Eileen isn’t going to answer the phone.

  She might.

  She really might, I told myself. The mind can be a tricky thing. It sometimes shows you what you’re expecting to see, not what is actually in front of your eyes. Maybe the girl in the pickup truck looked very different from Eileen. The ‘plunging neckline’ of her gown could’ve actually been something like a V-shaped design on a sweater.

  Possible.

  Stopping at a corner, I looked both ways. No traffic. No sign of Randy’s pickup truck parked along either side of the street or in any nearby driveways. No sign of any pedestrians in the distance.

  I hurried across.

  The porch and windows of the comer house were dark.

  Why go all the way to Dandi Donuts?

  I pictured myself sneaking into the comer house, creeping through its darkness, finding a telephone ...

  ‘Not a chance,’ I muttered, and kept on walking.

  But what if I can’t find a pay phone?

  There has to be one over by Dale and Division.

  Doesn’t have to be. And if there is, it might be out of order.

  I’m not going to sneak into another supposedly empty house! Not tonight, not ever!

  (Not by myself, anyway.)

  When I reached the next corner, the home of the tequila woman came into sight. I forced myself to look away from it and check in both directions for Randy’s pickup truck and for Casey. No sign of either. So I crossed the intersection.

  Keeping Franklin Street between me and the tequila woman’s house, I continued northward. Slowly.

  For a while, I had a view of the kitchen window. It was dark. But the porch lights were on. Light also showed through the curtains of the large front window.

  She - they - apparently hadn’t gone to bed yet.

  I checked my watch again. 11:48.

  Instead of going on to Dandi Donuts, why not hide and wait here for Casey to show up?

  Might take hours.

  What if she’s in the house right now?

  Even if she isn’t, the tequila woman probably is. Maybe she’ll let me use her phone.

  I stepped off the curb, made sure no traffic was coming, and walked to the other side of Franklin Street.

  My mouth was dry. My heart thudded. Fresh pain began to pulse inside my head.

  I can’t be doing this, I thought.

  Sure I can. Why not?

  I climbed the porch stairs.

  I’ve lost my mind. The bump on the head must’ve scrambled my brains.

  I stood on the welcome mat and pressed the doorbell button. A sound of chimes came from inside the house. I had a strong urge to run away.

  What’ll I say?

  I had no idea.

  On the other side of the screen door, the main door opened a few inches, letting out a vertical strip of light. At about my neck level, a guard chain pulled taut. Then a face appeared in the gap.

  Tequila woman’s face.

  It was prettier than I remembered it. And younger.

  Her large blue eyes looked out at me.

  ‘Yes?’ she asked. She sounded neither frightened nor angry, but somewhat puzzled.

  ‘My name’s Ed,’ I told her. ‘I’m very sorry to bother you, but there’s some trouble and I’m wondering if I might be able to use your phone.’

  Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head sideways and seemed to be considering my request.

  ‘I know it’s almost midnight,’ I said, ‘but it’s sort of an emergency.’

  ‘Your name is what?’ she asked.

  ‘Ed,’ I repeated.

  ‘Ed Logan?’

  Stunned, all I could do was gape at her.

  She shut the main door. A moment later, it swung wide. She reached forward, pushed the screen door open and said, ‘Come on in, Ed.’

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  She knows me? It didn’t seem possible.

  As I entered her house, she backed into the foyer. I saw that she was barefoot, wearing tan corduroy trousers and a long-sleeved white blouse. The blouse was untucked. It wasn’t completely buttoned.

  After shutting the door, she offered her hand. ‘I’m Lois,’ she said.

  ‘Hi, Lois.’ I shook her hand. It was warm and smooth. I could hardly believe I was shaking the hand of the woman I’d spied on. And she knew my name!

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘I believe we have a friend in common,’ she said. ‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’

  ‘As far as I know. I haven’t seen her tonight. I just came here because your lights are on and I really need to use a phone.’

  Whether or not she believed me, she said, ‘It’s over here,’ and turned away.

  I followed her into the living room. Nobody else was there. The television was off. No music was playing. In the silence, I could hear our footsteps on the carpet. The
tail of Lois’s blouse draped the seat of her corduroys.

  She walked to a lamp table at the end of the sofa, picked up a cordless phone, turned around and handed it to me, saying, ‘Here you go.’

  “Thank you.’

  As I tapped the numbers in, Lois wandered out of the room. Probably to give me some privacy. It seemed very trusting of her.

  A book lay open on her lamp table, face down, probably to keep her place. She must’ve been reading it when I rang the doorbell. Light in August by Faulkner.

  After several rings, my answering machine took the call. My own voice told me, ‘This is Ed. I’m not in right now. Please leave your name and number at the beep.’ Along came the beep.

  ‘Eileen?’ I asked. ‘Are you there? It’s me. It’s Ed. If you’re there, I need to talk to you.’ I waited for a few seconds, then said, ‘Eileen? Are you there? It’s really important. I have to talk to you. Please pick up if you’re there.’ After waiting a while longer, I returned Lois’s phone to its cradle.

  This is bad, I thought. This is really really bad. It wasn’t someone else in the pickup, it was Eileen.

  Of course. It was always Eileen.

  But if she’d answered the phone ...

  There was never much chance of that.

  Lois came back into the room. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Not really. But thanks for letting me use your phone.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  I sighed. ‘I don’t know.’ It was hard to concentrate.

  ‘You look beat. Why don’t you sit down and relax? Would you like some coffee? A drink?’

  ‘I don’t think I want anything.’ I sank onto the sofa and leaned back. It felt good.

  Lois sat down beside me. Turning toward me, she tucked one leg under the other and rested an arm across the back of the sofa. The way she sat, her blouse was drawn up against the underside of her left breast. The same breast I’d seen naked on Tuesday night.

  I was blushing, and knew it.

  ‘You seem very upset,’ Lois said.

  Not knowing what to say, I just nodded.

  ‘I’ll help you if I can,’ she said. ‘My friend thinks the world of you.’

  The words warmed and thrilled me. ‘She does? We only met last night.’

  ‘She couldn’t wait to come here and tell me all about it.’