Chapter 1 #3
A girl in a white dress at the bottom of the stairs twirled. She lit up the dim foyer and her smile lifted with a laugh as she followed her Freddy boyfriend around the corner. Her laugh continued, making me think of Linda. How long was it? A year since she’d broken up with me? Time really flew by.
Doesn’t have a life. How can he give the column life . . .
The pop rock thumped louder. Freddies swam around me and I blinked.
Refocusing on the notebook, I slowly let go of a breath.
Why couldn’t I get Jill, or the Man Dead a Week in Central Pittsburgh Apartment, out of my head?
I struggled to gulp down a fresh lungful of air and push back the vision of myself dead and rotting.
Maybe I should get a cat.
Yes, I’d go to the shelter tomorrow. Then all will be good. Great, even. Perhaps the cat’s fur will help soak up the nasty echo. . . .
I clicked my pen, a habit Hannah found irritating when I did it at the office. But pen-clicking soothed me and brought out the creativity in me. The frustration built until there was nothing left for me to do but make my pen gush everything and anything out.
Click. Click. Click!
Angle. My angle. What could it be?
Click. Click. Click!
A girl in dark pants, shit-kickers, and blue streaks in her chocolate hair walked in the front door.
My stomach clenched and my finger paused at the top of the pen. There it was, over the girl’s shoulder.
My angle.
My pen hit the paper, and the ink flowed.
Jock. Big-boned. Broad shoulders. Tall. Runs fingers through hair as though he’s attractive and knows it.
Walks into party like he has all the time in the world, slow but oddly graceful.
Ears look like they’ve had a serious clubbing.
Lashes like a girl’s, long and dark—suggesting his blond hair is unnatural.
Laugh lines around the mouth, a deep crack in his skin where a dimple might be.
Casual jeans, dark green T-shirt, beat-up leather jacket.
Bag slung over shoulder. Black, non-descript.
Wears so much Axe body spray, it’s detectable across the room.
His gaze clasps on a male making out in the foyer. Hurt flashes in his eyes. A raw, pained look. But he swallows it back as if he doesn’t care. Or isn’t entirely surprised by what he’s seeing. He stops in front of the slighter male who has his tongue locked in—
I pushed my glasses further up my nose. Huh.
—another guy’s mouth.
I paused my pen on the page as I stared for a moment. Then My Angle spoke, and I was back to pushing the pen. I shouldn’t have left my recorder at home. And I really should take a shorthand-writing course.
“Wow. I really do always go for the wrong person.” His voice was heavy and creamy, edged with the same hurt his eyes reflected.
The slighter man, long bangs swept over his forehead, pulled out of his kiss, looking to My Angle and then glancing to the side, toward my brown canvas shoes. Reproachfully, as if My Angle were the one in the wrong, he said, “What are you doing here?”
“What are you?”
“I was going to tell you,” Long Bangs said.
The music grew louder, and I slipped down a step to hear them better. My Angle glanced at me briefly, his jaw twitching. Green eyes.
“Well, Chris, seems now you don’t have to.”
I transcribed the rest of the argument, the idea for the column piece articulating in my mind. Yes. It would be about breaking the illusion that college parties are superficial. Raw, real, uncensored emotion lived here. I’d call it University of Party, Lectures in Life.
A thrill rushed through me as I envisioned the column, complete with insignia in the form of a keg.
I clapped my notebook shut and zipped it in the inside pocket of my jacket. My pen went back to my pocket, and I strode out of there, leaving the party, the booze, and the breakup behind me.
I had my angle. I was done.
I sucked in the fresh night air and made my way down Shady Ave. A few drunken students roamed the street, some dressed in black and yellow, cheering for the Pirates; others—like myself—quietly slipped through the shadows.
At the lights on the corner of Shady and Fifth, someone stumbled to my side. He was a guy about my age, with dark coppery spiked-up hair and much higher cheekbones than mine. He smoothed his tight, net T-shirt to his flat stomach. “Could I borrow your glasssses?”
I subtly pulled back from him. “Excuse me?”
“My contact came out. Can’t see the numbers. Looking for”—he lifted his hand and splayed his fingers—“five-twelve Shady Ave. Should be ’ere somewhere.”
The pedestrian signal turned green. I could hurry off and get myself home, but that wouldn’t be particularly Caring Citizen of me, would it? This was just a guy that needed a hand. If I’d lost my glasses, even sober, I’d be half blind.
“I’m keeping my glasses right where they are,” I told him, gesturing him to walk across the street. “But I can walk you home.”
“Shovel-wrist,” he mumbled.
Was that chivalrous? Hard to tell with the slurring. I let myself believe it was a compliment and nodded. “You’re welcome.”
With an uninhibited sigh, he hung on my arm and we crossed the street.
“I’m Mitch, by the way,” he murmured, tightening his grip and sagging his weight against my side. “I donna usually drink. Donna think I should again, either.”
“I suspect you’ll be thinking that all day tomorrow as well,” I said.
He stumbled so I slowed my pace. Along with alcohol, he smelled like something sweet—like he shampooed with cotton candy. When the brass numbers 512 shone under the lantern light, I steered Mitch up the stairs and to his door.
He dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out his keys, dangling them in my face. “Got ’em.”
“So you do.”
He chuckled as he fumbled for the right key and opened the door.
“You good from here?” I asked. Surely he’d at least find his apartment inside?
He nodded, and in an awkward—rather flexible—move, he kept the door open with his foot and threw his arms around my neck.
Vodka-laced lips met my cheek, followed by a low chuckle, whispering over my skin as he pulled back. “Night!”
The door shut, and I blinked under the lantern light. Well. Interesting night.
I turned and jogged down the steps.
For a second, I thought I heard my name whispered in the breeze, but the scuttling of leaves over the pavement reassured me I was imagining things.
Liiiiam. I walked faster. My imagination was getting the better of me—
A fractured shadow of Freddy’s sharp-fingered hand stretched long and menacing under the streetlight.
I picked up my pace to a trot. I didn’t like to think of myself as a scaredy-cat, but that didn’t stop it from being the case.
The clanking of steps got closer, and the shadow grew, splitting more under the light. Breath hit the back of my neck. I jumped, looking over my shoulder.
Freddy’s scarred face loomed toward me, and I skedaddled to one side. “Am I a magnet to the intoxicated tonight?”
I steered away from him and his awful mask. Time to get home—
Glittering steel shot out and sliced down the side of my arm, tearing my sleeve.
Pow!
Pain bloomed in my gut. “What the—?” A punch hit my jaw, and I stumbled back. My heel hit something and I fell, slamming the back of my head against the concrete.
Two or three blurry Freddies spiraled above me. A sharp metallic taste filled my mouth and slipped down the back of my throat. Who the hell was this guy? Was he trying to rob me?
“Leave me alone.” My wispy, weak voice didn’t match the intensity of my request. “Take my wallet.” I twisted and spat out blood.
Another jolt of pain ripped up my side, and I curled into it.
Stand up. Get away—
I struggled to push myself up, but no sooner had I heaved myself onto all fours than Freddy kicked my side, and my arms buckled.
The streetlight darkened, shadowed by his figure crouching next to me. Freddy twisted his steel, gloved fingers, taunting me with the light dancing on their sharp tips. “Let’s see how you like this up—”
Wham!
Freddy choked on his words and fell. I scrambled away, wincing at the throbbing, dizzying pain in my head. There were only shades of blue and soft ground under me as I crawled. I made it a few feet before I collapsed.
Blurry, the silhouette of a hooded figure loomed. He hauled Freddy up by his shoulders and kneed him until he crumpled to his boots—
My head throbbed again. Who was that? I strained to make out more, but all the blues around me bled into one, and I lost consciousness.