Night in the Lonesome October

  It wasn’t worth the risk.

  At last, I gave up and headed for home.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I was lost for a while, and had to check the signs at three different intersections before I found a street name I recognized. That street would lead me back to Division, so I followed it. Not all the way, though. Often, I took detours in case someone might be tailing me. A few times, I ducked out of sight behind trees, bushes or fences.

  The sky was gray with the approach of dawn by the time I entered my apartment building. The Fishers’ door was shut. I made my way silently upstairs. The long, dim hallway was empty. I went to my door, tried to make no noise as I unlocked it, and stepped into my room.

  I shut the door, locked it.

  Safe!

  It took me about five minutes to wash, brush my teeth, use the toilet, take off my clothes and climb into bed. Rolling onto my side, I reached out and picked up the alarm clock. And groaned.

  If I set it for 7:00 a.m., that would give me almost two hours of sleep and leave enough time to work in a quick shower before heading off for my eight o’clock Romantic Literature class.

  Oh, well. That’s why I’d taken the nap last night.

  I set the alarm, turned off the lamp, rolled over and shut my eyes.

  Far as I know, I fell asleep right away.

  And dreamed horrible dreams. Several times, I flinched awake with a frightened gasp, breathless, my body bathed in sweat, only to look at my clock and discover it was too early to get up. So I closed my eyes and tried again and fell into another nightmare.

  I only remember the last of them.

  I was lost among the dark streets of town, hurrying from block to block. Every time I found street signs, they bore strange names. I’ll never get back in time for class! As I hurried along, I saw a girl at the next comer. She wore a loose, white gown that drifted behind her as she walked. Maybe she knows where I am! I hurried after her.

  Is it the girl? I wondered. I couldn’t tell.

  But she was walking away, so I broke into a run. I quickly gained on her. As 1 closed in, I realized she might be frightened by my quick approach. So I called out, ‘Excuse me, miss. I think I’m lost. Could you help me ... ?’

  She turned around.

  She was an old, old man... the man from the porch. Cackling, he raised his arms and trotted toward me. I whirled around and ran.

  He’s an old bastard, I thought. He’ll never catch me.

  When I looked back, however, he was riding a bicycle and gaining on me fast.

  I turned to face him. I wanted my knife, but when I tried to take it from the pocket of my jeans, I realized I was naked.

  Where did I leave my clothes?

  I couldn’t even remember taking them off.

  But there was no time to worry about them now, because the old man in the gown was speeding closer on his bike. He was hunched over the handlebars, grinning, a pencil clamped between his teeth.

  Oh God, he’s gonna get me with the pencil! I’ll die of lead poisoning!

  It isn’t lead, I thought. It’s graphite. I felt some slight relief at the realization.

  ‘Gonna shove it up your ass, honey!’ he yelled. ‘Gonna give you the works!’

  If only I had my knife! I looked down again to make sure I didn’t. I was still naked.

  Damn! This is what I get for taking off my clothes! It’s all Holly’s fault!

  I seemed to recall we’d been making love in a park somewhere, and that’s why I was naked.

  Where is she? I wondered. Maybe she can get this guy off me.

  Did he get her first?

  ‘Got her right here!’ the old man answered from behind me as if he’d heard my thoughts.

  How can he talk with a pencil in his mouth?

  I looked back.

  The pencil was no longer clamped between his teeth. It was in his hand, upright, poked into Holly’s neck stump ... He held her severed head high in his right hand like a big, all-day sucker on a stick. Her eyes were open, her hair flowing in the breeze. ‘Hi, honey!’ she called to me. ‘Stop running away.’

  I felt glad to see her, but also horrified.

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked.

  ‘The works,’ answered Holly’s severed head. ‘The whole works!’

  My alarm went off.

  Thank God.

  I shut it off, then flopped onto my back feeling nervous and exhausted and slightly nauseous.

  How about cutting the eight o’clock?

  And do what? Go back to sleep and have another nightmare or two? No thanks.

  Besides, my teacher for Romantic Literature was Dr Trueman, a truly sweet and daffy old scholar who would take my absence as a personal affront. I had to go.

  So I hauled myself out of bed, groaning, and stumbled into the kitchen. There, I peeled the plastic lid off the coffee can, held the can under my nose and inhaled deeply. The warm, calming aroma of French roast filled my head. My eyes drifted shut. I sighed.

  I’ll sleep all afternoon, I told myself. Just have to make it through my one o’clock, then I’ll come back here and hit the sack till dinner time.

  I spent a couple of minutes making the coffee. When it started dripping into the pot, I headed off to the bathroom to take my shower.

  As the hot spray splashed against me, I tried to think about what had happened last night. Not the dreams, the real stuff. But the real stuff almost felt unreal and dreamlike. Almost. I knew what was real and what wasn’t.

  After pondering it all, I concluded that I’d been lucky. I’d accomplished part of my mission: got to see and follow the mystery girl again, even though she managed to disappear. I’d been treated to a good, long look at the woman in the kitchen and didn’t get caught at it. The geezer on the porch had freaked me out but done no real harm.

  Most important of all, I’d escaped from Randy.

  He kissed me!

  It disgusted me to remember it ... and scared me to think about what he might’ve done if I hadn’t gotten away.

  I felt proud, though, of how I’d taken care of him. I’d been in minor scuffles from time to time, but I’d never really defended myself before ... or needed to. I’d certainly never stabbed anyone until last night.

  In my mind, I heard the pop! of the ballpoint punching through his jeans. I felt it go into him and the way the sides of the hole in his thigh held the pen upright and made it twitch in my hand.

  I really nailed the bastard.

  The pen is mightier than the sword, I thought, and smiled.

  If only I’d had a sword!

  But the pen had done just fine, and it seemed particularly appropriate since I considered myself a writer.

  I’ll have to write about all this someday, I thought as I climbed out of the shower. Maybe write a story about the woman in the kitchen. What was she really doing in there sipping tequila by herself at that hour of the night?

  Was she waiting for the mystery girl?

  Or maybe do a story about the old man on the porch. What was he doing there?

  Call it ‘The Old Man on the Swing.’ I smiled at the thought and pulled my towel off its bar and began to dry myself. ‘He was an old man who sat alone on a swing on his front porch and he had gone eighty-four days now without scaring the shit out of anyone.’

  Or I could write about Randy and how he sat down across from me at Dandi Donuts... and how he’d kissed me and pushed his tongue into my mouth.

  I won’t write about that, I decided. I might write about everything else that happened last night, but not about that.

  Maybe a story about the homeless guy sleeping in the space between the two buildings ... ?

  No. I won’t write about him, either.

  What about the mystery girl?

  Oh, yes.

  Someday.

  Maybe.

  Done drying, I headed for the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and wondered if I would ever see her again.

  Not unless she just pops up, I
thought. I’m not gonna go out like last night again. No way. Never again. I must’ve been out of my mind. Lucky I survived.

  Walking from my apartment house to the campus a few blocks away, I kept an eye out for Randy and for his Toyota pickup truck.

  Would he look for me in daylight?

  He might.

  Might look for Eileen, too.

  He’d only seen us far to the north, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out we might be university students.

  I’ll have to warn Eileen.

  Chapter Seventeen

  My classes kept me on campus until three o’clock. Between them, I wandered around outside, sat on benches, had a burger and Pepsi in the student union, and spent a while reading in the library. I kept my eyes open for Eileen, but didn’t see her anywhere.

  After my last class of the day, I considered heading over to her sorority house. But it was out of the way and she might not even be there. Besides, I hadn’t been able to figure out what to tell Eileen and I felt too tired to think straight.

  So I walked back to my own place and went to bed.

  When I woke up, my room was dark. I didn’t know what was going on. My clock showed 8:15. That helped me figure things out, since the sun would’ve been up by that hour of the morning. Pretty soon, I remembered that I’d climbed into bed for the nap. Then I remembered the rest.

  Something had to be done about Eileen.

  After getting dressed, I went into the kitchen and microwaved the leftover pizza from last night.

  While it was heating up, I checked my answering machine. No new messages. It hardly suprised me. Eileen didn’t want me to think she was forcing herself on me, so she probably intended to leave the next move to me.

  While I ate my pizza, I read some of Wordsworth’s The Prelude, but couldn’t concentrate very well. Maybe I would’ve done better with The Prelude if it had been a real barn-burner, but it wasn’t. At best, it was quiet and lovely and nostalgic. At worst, boring.

  My mind was mostly elsewhere while my eyes moved over the words. Just as I was about to give up, however, a passage caught my attention:

  ‘Sometimes it befell

  In these night wanderings, that a strong desire

  O’erpowered my better reason, and the bird

  Which was the captive of another’s toil

  Became my prey; and when the deed was done

  I heard among the solitary hills

  Low breathings coming after me, and sounds

  of undistinguishable motion, steps

  Almost as silent as the turf they trod.’

  A couple of days ago, I wouldn’t have given the lines a second thought; now, it was as if they’d been written about me - a night-wanderer whose desire overpowered his better reason. ‘The bird’ might be the mystery girl. And the final four lines hinted of danger from someone ‘coming after me.’ Someone like Randy, perhaps.

  I read the passage again and again, feeling its deep mystery and magic, struck by the strange union of circumstances that had compelled me to discover it on this night of all nights.

  After marking the passage with a yellow Hi-liter, I kept on reading. Wordsworth had my full attention for about ten more seconds. That’s when he started rhapsodizing about bird eggs and I began wondering how to get in touch with Eileen.

  Call her on the phone? More than likely, she wasn’t in her room; she usually did most of her studying in the student union or the library. Even if I could reach her on the phone, I probably shouldn’t; it might look as if I were trying to avoid her. Better to go out and find her in person.

  I put Wordsworth and Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby for my Twentieth Century American Literature class) into my book bag, slung the strap over one shoulder and left my rooms.

  Downstairs, the Fishers’ door stood open. They had their television on. Keeping my head straight forward, I walked as if I were in a big hurry and got past their door without being beckoned.

  But the Fishers were a minor nuisance. Randy was a real threat, and he might be anywhere outside.

  Cruising the streets, searching for me or Eileen.

  Or parked and watching.

  Or walking.

  I looked for him constantly on my way toward campus.

  Though I carried my Swiss Army knife in a pocket of my jeans, it didn’t give me much comfort. Neither did my ballpoint pens. My assault on Randy last night had only succeeded because I’d taken him by surprise. Next time, he wouldn’t let me get away with it.

  There’d better not be a next time.

  He might not even try to find us, I told myself.

  The hell he won’t.

  But maybe he won’t hunt for us this far south. Maybe he stays in his own area, and we’ll be safe as long as we don’t go there.

  Maybe. But I doubted it.

  Every so often, a pickup truck went by, putting fear into me. Each time, I got ready to run but the pickup kept on moving. Now and then, men who matched Randy’s physical shape came walking toward me. One even had a limp. None, however, was him.

  What if it goes like this from now on? I wondered. Watching for Randy all the time, everywhere I go, never knowing when he’ll pop up and grab me ... give me the works.

  Or maybe he’ll grab Eileen, instead. Drag her into his car and take her someplace desolate.

  Where no birds sing.

  What if he already has her?

  My stomach cringed.

  I should’ve warned her! What was I thinking? Why didn’t I phone her room the instant I got back to my apartment this morning?

  It hadn’t even occurred to me.

  She’s probably fine, I told myself.

  If she isn’t, it’s all my fault.

  By the time I reached campus, I was frantic.

  First stop, the student union. Otherwise known as the Tigers’ Den. Willmington University’s teams (and students in general) used to be known as the Braves. Then came the era of political correctness. ‘Braves’ was deemed to be a slur against Native Americans, so a new name had to be found. We chose to be Tigers. Our student union, the Braves’ Cave, became known as the Tigers’ Den.

  It was crowded. Students sat at almost every table: some by themselves but most of them with friends. They were talking, laughing, eating snacks, drinking coffee or soft drinks, some even trying to study - books spread out on their tables. The food line was closed for the night, so several students were busy trying to buy refreshments from vending machines.

  I knew many of the people I saw, and smiled and nodded at those who noticed me, even exchanged a few words with some of them.

  ‘Hey, Ed, what’s up?’

  ‘Not much. How about you?’

  ‘Hangin’ in. Come on over ’n sit with us.’

  ‘Can’t. Thanks, though. I’ve gotta run.’

  That sort of thing.

  Several of Eileen’s sorority sisters were in the Den. Among them, someone probably knew where to find her. I stayed away from them, though. For one thing, Holly would’ve come up. For another, they didn’t need to know I had any interest whatsoever in Eileen.

  I left the snack area of the Tigers’ Den and wandered across the room to the lounge section. There, students sat in armchairs and on sofas. Many were by themselves, reading. Several couples occupied the sofas, talking quietly, some holding hands.

  Holly and I had sat together on these sofas so many times last year ... trying to study but never for long, soon holding hands and talking, staring into each other’s eyes, often laughing at little things, giving each other a pat on the thigh or back. We’d probably been on every one of the sofas at one time or another.

  We drank our coffee black. We often ate red vines. They were usually stale. Holly taught me how to make them soft and mushy by dunking them in coffee. Sometimes, we took turns eating the same vine and it excited me to know that my end of the candy had just been in Holly’s mouth.

  The memories made me feel hollow and hungry and sick.

  The memorie
s and the loss.

  Lovers were here, but Eileen wasn’t. I hurried away and was glad to get outside.

  I headed for the library. Holly and I hadn’t really spent any time there together, so it felt like safe ground. As I walked from the student union toward the libary, the intensity of my loss slowly faded ... to be replaced by worries about Eileen.

  The worries felt better. But they grew stronger while I searched the libary.

  What if she’s not here?

  Then I’ll see if she’s in her room at the sorority house.

  What if she’s not there?

  That’s when to really start worrying, I told myself.

  But even if she isn’t in the library or her room, it won’t mean that Randy got her. There are a lot of other places she might be.

  Like where?

  I found her on the second floor of the stacks in a far comer of the room at a study carrel reading Crime and Punishment.

  Thank God, I thought.

  It felt great to find her safe.

  And I was struck by how wonderful she looked, sitting there in the light of a reading lamp. Her thick hair, which usually looked brown, shimmered with secret threads of gold and russet. Her face looked warm and smooth. She frowned as if concentrating deeply on her book. She wore the bright plaid chamois shirt that she’d had on the night we made love.

  ‘Hi,’ I said very quietly.

  She raised her head, saw me, and smiled.

  ‘Hi, yourself,’ she said.

  So that I wouldn’t loom over her, I crouched. ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ I said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Would you like to go somewhere?’

  ‘Sure. But can it wait a while? I really need to get some reading done.’

  ‘Same here.’

  ‘How about an hour?’

  ‘Fine. There’re some empty carrels.’

  ‘Okay. See you in an hour.’

  I found a study carrel only a few away from Eileen’s and along the same wall. With everything that had been going on the past few days, I hadn’t actually started Gatsby yet. So I pulled it out of my book bag and started reading.

  I got through about half the first page.

  What sort of shit is this?

  I knew it was supposed to be a great book. It’ll probably get better, I told himself. And I tried to read more, but just couldn’t.