Last Light (7 page)

“Let’s go, little bird.”

“Don’t call me that.” I unplugged my phone. “Where are we?”

“Outskirts of Trenton. Come on.” Seth bummed another smoke off me and we climbed out of the car. The cold felt amazing. The night’s momentum, greased with alcohol, pulled me along at just the right pace.

Seth caught my hand and guided me toward a large building with dark windows. People stood outside smoking and laughing. This was a bar, I realized, or a club. Cool. My postcollege life had been pretty straitlaced, and I missed this scene.

“You all right?” Seth led me past a bouncer.

“I’m fine, no worries.”

Jeez, we got inside so easily. One moment I was standing in the cold, the next I was in a chic low-lit club with hardwood floors and a semi-industrial look—brick walls, exposed pipework. A crowd filled the floor. Toward the front of the room was a stage studded with speakers and washed in blue light.

A DJ called out from a booth I couldn’t see. “My man Seth is finally in the house!” The crowd cheered. I blinked up at Seth. “Here’s one more song and then I’m off, thank God.”

The volume amped up. I recognized a remix of … “Come & Get It” by Selena Gomez? I must have been drunk; it actually sounded good.

The crowd swirled around us and colored lights strobed overhead. A petite brunette with a buzz cut appeared out of the throng. She and Seth hugged.

“Steffy, hey!” Seth shouted to be heard.

“Hey, baby, who’s this?” The girl smiled at me.

“Oh, this is Hannah! Take care of her, yeah? I’m doing
three
songs and leaving—” Seth held up three fingers emphatically. “We didn’t get to practice! I had the thing for Matt!”

“Oh, yeah, the thing! Oh, my God!” Steffy hugged Seth again. Her arms lingered around his back. “Okay, get going! Wiley is going to kill you!”

Seth smiled at me. I smiled back at him, though I was confused as fuck. Maybe Seth was a DJ, but who the hell schedules a gig after his brother’s memorial?

“Cool?” Seth shouted.

“Yeah,” I mouthed.

Seth vanished into the crowd, leaving me with Steffy. I turned my uneasy smile to her.

“Cool! I’m Steffy! Okay, drinks!” Steffy hooked her arm through mine and dragged me to the bar. Her pupils were dilated, a thin rim of iris visible. She was rolling, I guessed.

Two screwdrivers later, I found myself at the foot of the stage with Steffy. Shaggy-haired band guys were messing with mike stands and cables. They did a sound check and the crowd went crazy, pressing against us and screaming.

“Oh, my God, finally!” Steffy squealed.

I laughed and let the crowd jostle me.

The stage darkened, then blared with orange light. A man jogged to the mike. “Okay, without further fucking ado”—the crowd laughed—“give it the fuck up for
Goldengrove
!”

I blinked against the bright light. Goldengrove? I tugged Steffy’s arm.

“Goldengrove?” I shouted. “Like …
Goldengrove
?” I knew this band, an indie rock group notorious for turning down record deals. I liked their stuff.

“Yeah!
Wooo!
” Steffy waved her hands and pointed. I followed her finger to the stage and my jaw dropped. Seth stood at a mike about five feet away. He was shirtless and laughing. He wore an ironic little smile, as if the whole scene embarrassed him.

“Good to be home,” he said into the mike. He shook out his hair. The crowed exploded and surged forward, shoving me against the stage. I stared up at Seth helplessly. Of course, he had Matt’s lean, sculpted torso, flat abs, and a teasing treasure trail.

Fitted jeans clung to his hipbones.

Two large tattoos covered Seth’s flanks, curling ink scrawled from his waist to his ribs. One read
GOLDENGROVE
. I caught a look at the other as he twisted.
THE PENNY WORLD
.

“What’s up with the tattoos?” I yelled to Steffy.

“Oh! The thing, like, about childhood! You know, like—”

Sound erupted from the speakers—drums and muted cymbals, then the howl of an electric guitar. I found myself laughing and cheering. Live music is intoxicating.

“This is a cover,” Seth shouted. “‘In One Ear’!”

The band played for a while and then Seth started to sing. His voice, smooth at first, turned gravelly at the chorus. He swayed as he sang, pulling the mike stand with him. He was good. He was actually good. And he was a beauty on stage, though I felt guilty looking at him.

What would Matt think of all this? What
did
Matt think of it?

He never told me Seth was a singer.

The band played an original song, one I knew from the radio, and Seth transitioned to the piano and played and sang through the third song. He rocked on the bench, his thighs tense as he shifted his foot on the pedals. Under the blue and orange lights, I saw sweat on his neck and toned muscles on his arms. His tattoos seemed to writhe.

He played like he wanted to break the piano.

If his hand hurt, he gave no indication.

I danced halfheartedly with Steffy, who danced wholeheartedly with me, grinding on my leg and rolling her hips.

A writer. A doctor. A musician. The Sky brothers. They were fascinating, or I was drunk. I wanted to be in their world.

“Encore!” the crowd wailed.

Seth loped back to the mike. His silky hair looked perfectly disheveled. Part of me thought
cool,
and part of me resisted his crude appeal.

Seth made a big show of debating the encore, tossing his hair and sighing.

“
Wellll,
” he said. For the first time since he stepped on the stage, he looked at me. Directly at me. My eyes widened.

Seth smiled.
Trust me,
his smile said.

He reached down and caught my hand, or maybe I gave him my hand. He hoisted me onto the stage. I wobbled on my heels and he snaked an arm around my waist.

His body was electric, vibrating with energy. I clung to him. I missed Matt with sudden, crippling intensity, and I pressed my face into Seth’s bare shoulder.

“One more song,” Seth said into the mike, “if my new friend Hannah kisses me.”

I jumped.

“Only if she kisses me! I want a kiss from this beautiful girl.”

Seth hugged me tight. Shock lanced through me, and the fog of my buzz lifted abruptly.

“I will
not
!” I rasped right into his ear.

“Kiss him!” the crowed screeched. “Kiss! Kiss!” It became a chant.

I made the mistake of glancing down at Steffy. Her eyes were hard and black.

“It’s a show,” Seth murmured in my ear. I felt the full slow trail of his finger up the nape of my neck. “Kiss me on the cheek or something.”

I grabbed Seth’s jaw and jerked it aside. The crowd cackled. Seth winced. I planted a kiss on his cheek and climbed off the stage.

“Damn!” I heard him saying. “Better than nothing, right? Okay, one more song!”

I forced a smile as I pushed my way to the back of the club. Strangers whistled at me and girls glared. My lips burned hotter than my cheeks. What the hell was that about?

I found a pay phone in the lobby and jabbed in Matt’s new number.

Chapter 10

MATT

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I kept replaying my conversation with Hannah.

“We have a problem,” she said. She hiccupped in my ear. “I—I just—today—”

“Slow down, bird. I can hardly hear you. Where are you?”

“At a bar. Er, a club … thingy.”

“A bar?” I frowned. Maybe Hannah needed a drink after the memorial. Understandable, but … “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“It’s about the book.
Night Owl.
”

I stilled, and then I smiled slowly.
This is it,
I thought. Hannah went to my memorial … and everyone knew about
Night Owl.
I could easily imagine her embarrassment. I felt the same embarrassment when
Fit to Print
exposed my identity last year, and the media ran with it, and suddenly the whole world knew the most private details of my life.

Night Owl
had become a phenomenon, just as I was a phenomenon. And Hannah was the star of
Night Owl.

Soon, I knew, she wouldn’t be able to stand it. The gossip. The speculation. The way my family must have treated her. She would understand how cruel the media can be. She would fear the public, with its vulgar curiosity and sickening sense of entitlement.

And then she would come to me. Then, finally, we could leave the country together. Disappear … start over … be free … just as I’d hoped and planned.

Hannah’s voice broke into my thoughts.

“Matt, it was posted on the Mystic Tavern. Like, first. What the hell?”

My heart stammered.
What?
No, this wasn’t in my plan. How did she find out?

“The Mystic Tavern,” I repeated.

“Yes! You know, the site where we—”

“I know.” I rubbed my mouth. “That … that’s…”
That’s something you weren’t supposed to figure out.

“That’s fucking insane, is what it is,” she said. She sounded breathless. “Who else knows about that site? I mean, who—”

“A couple people, actually.” I got up from the couch.
Get a grip, Matt. Get control of this situation.
“Yeah. Mike, my psychiatrist … he knew. I think I told Kevin, too. And Hannah, let’s be logical here. Whoever put the story online must have hacked my e-mail, like I said. We’re talking about a…” I closed my eyes. My lies sounded truly ridiculous. “A really tech-savvy person,” I mumbled. “Someone who could trace me to that Web site … no problem.”

“Yeah … I guess.” Hannah sniffled.

“Babe, are you crying?”

“No. I’m in the lobby. It’s cold. I just … stopped for a drink before heading to the motel.”

“Hannah, how do you know it was posted on the Mystic Tavern
first
? I mean, it’s all over the fucking Internet. Maybe it got posted there randomly … a coincidence.”

Hannah told me about the lawsuit then. She told me about her meeting with Shapiro and Nate’s minor obsession with
Night Owl.
I gave her hollow reassurances.
They have nothing. The book doesn’t prove I’m alive. Refuse to cooperate and Nate will drop the lawsuit.

Now I was lying for both of us.

I checked the bedside clock: 2:49
A
.
M
. The gears in my mind wouldn’t quit turning.
Night Owl
 … Shapiro … the Mystic Tavern … Melanie.

I told Melanie she wasn’t in trouble—but she was, apparently, and so was I.
Night Owl
pointed to Melanie. Melanie pointed to me.

I took my phone to the deck and sat on a snow-coated chair. The cold and damp quickly crept through my lounge pants. I lit a cigarette.

When the day’s first light hit the treetops, I flipped open my cell and called Melanie.

“Hello?” Her voice was muzzy.

“Hey. It’s me.”

Melanie coughed and went quiet for a moment. I heard water running. “Jesus. It’s like … six in the morning.”

“I know. It’s also Sunday. I assume you don’t have work.”

“I’m between jobs. But if I were working, I think I’d want to sleep—”

I barked out a laugh. “Between jobs. That kills me, that phrase.” I waved my hand. “Like the next job is right around the corner.”

“You really
are
an asshole.”

“Yeah, the legends are true.” I wanted to laugh—really laugh. “Listen, Mel, sorry I woke you. We’ve got a little problem.”

I paused and Melanie waited.

I was about to speak when she said, “How did you do it? The mountain lion. All that.”

I squinted against the sunlight. I was still thinking about Hannah and my failing plan to drive her to me, and wondering why I was such a dick most of the time, and why I couldn’t seem to change. And then I was thinking about the mountain lion. Her muzzle was pure white, like she dipped it in paint. Beautiful—and so terrible.

“The cat wasn’t part of the plan,” I said.

“Jesus…”

“Mm. I cut my wrist and my forearm. I took codeine … not enough. I had a tourniquet around my arm. The idea was to bleed enough to…”

“Enough to make it look like you bled out.”

“Right. Like I fell on my ice axe or something. Sounds stupid now.” I lit another cigarette with trembling hands. It felt good to tell someone what happened—someone besides Hannah. I’d spared Hannah the details because she’d go crazy with worry.

Melanie waited for me to continue.

“I fell,” I said simply. “I lost consciousness. The pain meds, the blood loss … the cold or the altitude, I don’t know, all of it. I blacked out. My plan was to hike out and wait for a fresh snow to cover my tracks. The cat…”—a cylinder of ash broke from my cigarette—“found me. Dragged me, I guess. Mel, I was out cold. I don’t know for how long. When I came to, she was shaking my leg, she was just shaking it and shaking it, and the skin, she was … it was tearing, she was shredding it without even trying. I was stuck on a rock. I saw, you know, I saw how she was trying to pull me over a rock and my pack was stuck.”

“Oh, my God,” Mel whispered.

I stared into the memory.

I wouldn’t tell Melanie how I thought I was dying—how I thought,
This is it.
How I wasn’t ready. How desperately I wanted to live, and how scared I felt.

“Anyway.” I laughed. “Long story short, I woke the fuck up and I screamed my fucking head off, and I waved my arms and all that, and I scared the shit out of the cat. She took one look at me and she was like,
You really are an asshole,
and she beat it.”

I forced another chuckle. I slid my bare feet through the snow on the deck. Cold. Cold that hurt, because I was alive.

“That’s insane,” Melanie said.

“Yeah, for sure.” I struggled to sound blasé. “Couldn’t have bribed the cat for a better performance. Blood, animal hair, the trail into the woods—mountain lion attack, case closed. I threw on my snowshoes and hiked out of there, and that was that.”

“Your leg—”

“Was fine, shallow wounds. I had a first aid kit. I’m fine.” I winced.
Fine
could never describe my hike off Longs Peak with a torn calf and bleeding arm in subzero conditions. Every few steps I stopped to make sure I wasn’t trailing blood. Every few steps I thought,
I’m too weak to get to the cabin, if I sleep I’ll die, I’m going to die, I’m really going to die out here.