In Autumn's Wake Page 10

  “No. Were you too drunk or too sick to drive home? Which is it?”

  “Both.”

  She takes a break from the harassment to sip her drink, giving me a chance to enjoy a quiet drag of my smoke. The table lamp next to me flickers when I ash my cig. The strobe effect not unlike the laser display that threw hearts onto the Andersons’ house the night I dropped Heather off. She glanced over her shoulder and blew me a kiss while hiking up the long drive, wearing black sneakers, not boots like Ed said. Black sneakers.

  “You’re twenty-two and shouldn’t be at house parties anymore. What were you doing there?” My mom starts in on me again.

  “What do you think I was doing there? It’s a Friday night. People drink on Friday nights. Chrissakes, Mom, stop it.”

  The line falls silent. She’s annoyed I raised my voice at her.

  “Okay,” she whispers. “Well, say yes to dinner this Sunday. I’m making mashed potatoes and galumpkis, one of your favs.”

  “Can you call them cabbage rolls?”

  “Why? They’re galumpkis. We’re Polish. Guh-lump-keys,” she criticizes. “Will you be here? I want to see you, and not just for two minutes at the bar. Bring Sean, too. I’ll open that box of wine he gave me for Christmas.”

  The box of cheap wine was a joke. My dad laughed when she unwrapped it, but she thought it was wonderful. She said she’d save it for a special occasion.

  “We’ll be there at five,” I say, zoning out when she starts to update me on my younger cousins. I love her and let her talk because she’s lonely, but it’s late, and she’s adding to my headache.

  “Your cousin Holly isn’t doing well in English, but her science and math grades are exceptional. I think she may go to college to become a computer scientist.”

  My head more than just aches, the pressure feels like it’s in a clamp. If I had it, I’d take another snort of coke to ease the pain. Addictions are my nature, but so far, I haven’t picked up any drug habits, which is incredible considering I drink every night, can’t live without a cigarette hanging out of my mouth, and I’m obsessed with Heather’s note.

  “Holly quit the swim team and started taking ballet, but I think she may be too old to start that now. Don’t you?”

  I place my hands on my stomach, bouncing the cigarette up and down in my mouth, admiring the shag carpet Sean vacuumed when we got in. Coke does that to him. He can’t slow down until the rush is over, going way beyond his normal edginess.

  “Dylan?”

  That party was a disaster, but we did the right thing. One of us would be dead if we hadn’t shot those two guys. And lucky for us, there were only two.

  “Dylan, wake up! Don’t you?”

  “Don’t I what?”

  “Think she’s too old for ballet?”

  “Maybe.”

  I doubt any of the kids who scattered from the party will talk. Northlanders know to keep their mouths shut and mind their own business. And I know the shady cops and corrupt detectives will put a spin on what happened. They’ll come out on top, and the moral cops will remain blind to it all.

  “Oh, and remind me to show you the photos from the concert. She looks all grown up.”

  The dryer buzzes. I keep my fingers crossed that the blood came out of my clothes. If not, I’ll burn the jeans and coat.

  “Are you listening?” my mom asks. “I finally downloaded the photos to my laptop.”

  “What photos?”

  “She won the fourth-grade spelling bee! Isn’t that great?”

  “Mom, that was last spring.” I roll my eyes.

  “I know, but I was just reminded of it when I loaded the photos. The spelling bee, Dylan! Maybe she can help her sister in English. What should I send as a gift? You think maybe a gift card to Applebee’s? You know, Applebee’s? Spelling bee? Is that funny?”

  “It was last spring,” I repeat. “It’s too late for a gift.”

  “Oh, phooey. Party pooper. I can still send something, can’t I?”

  My mom teaches third grade but took the last school year off to deal with the loss of Jake. Then that year turned into a second. Now she drinks all night to ease the pain because the pills she pops for depression aren’t doing their job. She’s turned into a rambling drunk and a prescription drug addict, lost in time like the rest of us.

  “I’ll go with the Applebee’s card. I think she’ll understand it’s meant to be funny.”

  There’s a soft knock on my front door. I lift a brow, a second passes, and Autumn walks in. Just like that, she steps right in like this is her home.

  I sit up and put my feet on the floor. “What are you doing here?” She takes off her coat and hangs it in the front closet, kicks off her boots, and gestures for me to follow her upstairs. “Mom, I gotta go.”

  “Which bedroom is yours?” she calls down.

  “Is someone there?” my mom asks.

  “A friend just stopped by,” I tell her.

  “Never mind. I found it!” Autumn shouts.

  “Dylan, stop lying to me.” My mom’s heated voice gusts through the phone. “I knew you weren’t sick.”

  “I’m suddenly feeling better. See you Sunday.”

  “Wait—”

  I snuff out my smoke and walk over to the stairs. “Autumn, get down here.” I wait and listen, the upstairs thick with silence. “Hey, get out of my room and come downstairs!” I listen again. A deadness falls throughout the entire house. “Autumn?”

  12

  And so it starts.

  The girl I’ve fallen for is in my bed, her upper body propped up by her elbows, knees bent with one leg over the other, a foot bouncing in the air. The sight of her leaves me paralyzed. I thought I’d spend another night depressed and alone, staring at the haunting knickknacks in my room: trophies, photographs, a corkboard plastered with the past. But she’s here. Autumn is here.

  “Too bad I can’t press a button and put you on pause,” I say in my lowest, sexiest voice. I fold my arms and lean alongside the doorjamb, taking in her beauty.

  “That’s a better pick up line than the one at the party.” She grips the front of her purple sweater and repositions her bra, eyes gleaming, a flush creeping up her face.

  I’ll take this moment as a gift but proceed with caution.

  “You can’t just waltz in here like you own the place.”

  “That sounds so trite, Dylan.”

  “I know, but—”

  “The door was open,” she says.

  “Still, that doesn’t mean you can—”

  “You invited me.”

  “When, Autumn? When did I invite you?”

  Her pouty lips jut out as she taps her chin. “Hmm, you don’t remember?” She slides her cell from her pocket. “You sent a text that we needed to talk.” She waves it in the air. “I responded that I’d find you when I was ready. I’m ready. I’m here. Let’s talk.” Her foot bounces faster. “By the way, you’re super cute when you’re shocked.”

  “I’m not shocked. I’m being cautious. This has to be a trick.”

  “No trick.” She puts her head on my pillow and pats the bed for me to lie next to her. “Join me, please. I’ll only bite if you deserve it.”

  In less than two hours I went from snorting coke, to killing drug dealers, to taking a beating from Ed and a reprimanding from my mom, to this, her, Autumn in my bed.

  My brain is mush.

  “Ask me anything you want to know.” She pulls her sweater over her head, removes her jeans, tee, bra, and socks.

  “I knew it. I knew it was a trick.” I step back. “You want sex, but I bet the second I’m on top of you, you’ll knife me in the back.”

  “Literally?”

  “Yes, Autumn, literally.”

  She shakes her head. “Dylan, I’m giving you all the control. But there’re rules. No fondling or kissing if you want me to answer your questions.”

  “Giving me control? Right,
it sure looks like it.” I blink multiple times, doubting if I’m awake. Could be I’m passed out cold and she’s a figment of my imagination. “You can’t strip and expect me to not touch you. This is bull.”

  “If you wanna screw, we’ll screw.” She waves a hand down her body as if she’s on display. “Is that what you want tonight?” Looking up through long eyelashes, she rises to all fours and crawls to the end of the bed. “I know you want answers, Dylan, not sex. Not yet. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

  I cover my growing erection with my hands. Down to a pair of sheer panties, which match the jaw-dropping shirt she wore to the party, and a couple of heart-shaped pasties that cover her nipples, she’s not nude, but darn close. What a clever scheme. This girl’s killing me.

  “So we can fuck, but not talk, or we can talk, but not fuck? Is that right?”

  “That’s right.” She leans back and puts her hand on her hip, acting all smug and shit.

  “Autumn, this isn’t … dammit, I want you.” I pace. “You already know that, so why are you doing this to me?”

  “I’m giving you what you want, and what I want, too.” She grins. “Come talk. Or let’s screw. You choose.”

  “There’s no choice. This is a test.” I run my hands down my cheeks while eating her up with my eyes. “God, you’re stunning.”

  “Thank you.” She turns and lies flat on her back.

  The hallway light makes her pale skin look even paler like she’s sugared in snow. I see no scars, but the spray of freckles on her nose and cheeks continue along her shoulders. No tats either, except for the tiny black heart on her ring finger.

  “Dylan, come.” She rolls to her side and snuggles up with my pillow.

  I follow her long legs up to her sheer panties. She’s not shaved, only trimmed. I love the natural look, more womanly than girlish.

  “If you’re trying to make me feel helpless again, it’s working.”

  A white rosebud navel ring sparkles in the low light, and her light pink nipples sneak out the sides of the pasties. Physically, she’s feminine in every way.

  “Dylan.”

  But psychologically, she’s a spear through my heart.

  “Who the hell are you? You can’t manipulate me. This isn’t fair.”

  “I’m not.” She raises a leg and points a foot at me, uncovering the area between her legs. “I said you’re in complete control. I promise. Lie next to me, and we’ll talk.” She lowers her leg and pats the bed. “You have the power, not me.”

  “I’m not a puppy dog,” I say, dropping my fleece bottoms before lying next to her like a puppy dog.

  “I didn’t say you were. Just try to relax. You’re hyped up from craving more coke and from shooting Mack. So am I.” She brushes the back of her hand across my cheek.

  “You don’t act like it … And, I thought you said no touching.”

  “Starting now.”

  I reach up and turn on the reading lamp over my headboard, aiming the light down her body. I slide up alongside her and rest my head on the pillow, at full-mast beneath my boxers.

  “Hi,” she whispers.

  “Hi,” I whisper back.

  “No kissing yet.”

  “Yet? Yet is good.”

  “What’s the decision? Talk or screw? And don’t say both.”

  “Both,” I say.

  She bops my nose. “You’re bad. I said not to say that.”

  “Come on. You’re within lips’ reach wearing only pasties on your nipples and see-through panties. What do you expect me to say?”

  “I expect you to have a conversation with a woman, no matter what she’s wearing.”

  I groan. “Autumn, you’re just so … so …”

  “Awesome?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, awesome, and unusual.”

  “You too. I like you.” She threads a hand through her hair.

  The freckles on her light skin are reminiscent of clusters of fall leaves, her bi-colored eyes exotic and beautiful. Out of all the women I’ve been with, I can’t remember any of them having such unique features.

  “Have you done this before?” I ask.

  “Killed people?”

  “Well, yeah. But no, shown up at a guy’s place in the middle of the night and stripped?”

  She looks at the ceiling and thinks.

  “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

  “Does it matter?” she asks.

  “Of course it does. For all you know, I could attack you. It’s dangerous.”

  “If you attack me, my gun is three feet away, and you only have a baby blade that’s sitting waaay over there.” She points at my desk.

  “It’s not a baby bl—”

  “So what do you want to do?” she interrupts.

  “I’m not about to ruin this.”

  “Ruin what? What’s this?” she asks.

  “A possibility.”

  “Then talk.”

  “You’re devious.”

  “So are you.”

  I suck in my cheeks to fight back a smile.

  “Dylan, make a choice. I have somewhere to be in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fifteen? I can’t finish in under fifteen.”

  She laughs.

  “What’s funny? And where do you have to be?”

  “Are you asking questions? Is this starting now?” She rubs her foot along my calf.

  “I can’t decide.” I look down at her foot. “You said no touching.”

  “You have fourteen minutes.”

  “Okay. Who are you?”

  “Autumn. Next question.”

  “You didn’t answer that one.”

  She bottles up a breath and looks at the ceiling. “It’s Black. Autumn Black.” She exhales. “Don’t laugh; I know it’s an odd sounding name. I’ve been picked on my entire life because of it.”

  “It’s cool. Wicked sounding, but cool, it’s not what I’m asking though. Who are you that you know Ed and that chief from the other district? A cop? A student? A coke head? What?”

  “I’m a lost soul who was chosen to transform the city, same as you.”

  “You mean like a snitch? Like Sean and me? Are you a rat like us?”

  She nods, sliding her index finger between her cleavage, comforting herself with the repeated motion. “I like to call us, informants.”

  “Nah.” I wipe my face against my pillow. “You can’t be.”

  “Why? Because I have these?” She jiggles her breasts.

  “No, because”—I stop to watch them bounce—“because, I … I don’t know why.” I touch her shoulder and look into her eyes, in disbelief that I’ve met a woman involved in the same squalid life as us. “Because you’re better than a snitch.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “You in Rick’s district? Is that why he hauled you out of Ed’s Tahoe?” I speak as calmly as I can, curbing the excitement that she’s one of us.

  “Yeah, for Rick.”

  “How long?”

  “Over a year. Every district has someone.”

  “I figured this was more widespread than Ed and his cronies.”

  “It goes all the way up the ladder. The districts are at war to be the one with the lowest crime rate. It’s a contest to them.” Her mouth sets in a hard line.

  “I know. We’re the cheap under the table labor, dumping bodies in other districts to hurt their chances of coming out on top.”

  “Rivalry at its best.” She sweeps my hand off her shoulder. “Let’s not waste any more time on this. You’re down to eleven minutes.”

  The front door opens, and Autumn looks over my shoulder. Sean’s lead-footed steps move through the downstairs, from living room to kitchen. The fridge opens, bottles clang, and he lumbers back to the living room.

  “Roommate?” she asks.

  “Yeah. He’s supposed to be at the pool hall.”

  He walks upsta
irs and into his bedroom, opening a drawer, pushing items around. “Hey Dylan, the pool hall was closed. Can you believe it? There was a fire in the building next door.” The drawer closes, and he steps into the hallway. “What are you doing? Whacking off to Autumn again?”

  A frown seizes my face. “Good one, Sean. Could you shut up now?”

  Autumn covers her chest when he appears in the doorway. I sit up to block the rest of her body.

  “Christ.” He tugs his earlobe and turns away. “Wooowww.” The word rises and falls from his mouth like a roller coaster. “Hey, man, you should’ve told me you didn’t wanna go out because she was coming over.” He puts his head against the doorframe, trying hard not to peek. “You two wanna come down and have a drink with Riley and me? Or … I guess you’re busy.”

  “Sean, get out.” I throw a pillow at him. “And shut the door when you leave.”

  The hallway light fades as the door closes.

  “I can’t believe he said that.” I bury my face in my hands.

  Autumn laughs and pulls them away. She moves closer until our noses touch, her warm breath on my lips, skin scented with strawberries.

  “I get a question now,” she says.

  “Go for it.”

  “How many times have you touched yourself while thinking of me? Once? Twice?” Her leg gets a bump from my arousal. “Tell me,” she persists in a gentle voice. “Have you masturbated a lot this week? All because of me?”

  “You’re so nasty. I can’t stand it,” I whisper.

  Her foot slides higher up the back of my leg. “Sexy, not nasty. And you love it.” She slips a slender hand inside the opening of my boxers, gently owning me with her delicate fingers.

  “Jesus.” My face burrows into the pillow. I can’t stop rocking into her, every nerve in my body has been awakened, my skin ablaze. Babbling this and that, I’m unable to comprehend my own words. Something about desperately wanting to kiss, to touch, to dip inside her, but her hand on my chest keeps fending me off.

  “I must have you.” My words come out as a moan. I’m wild about her and dumbfounded by how powerless I’ve become.

  Her hand slides away. “Answer my question. How many times did you think of me?”

  I lick my lips. “Every day, Autumn. Every. Day.”