THE BEAST ─ five hargreeves

[ 049 ] kitkat bars with a side order of minor traumatic brain injury

XLIX.

k i t k a t   b a r s
w i t h   a   s i d e   o r d e r
o f   m i n o r   t r a u m a t i c
b r a i n   i n j u r y

—LUTHER WAS HAVING a dream. In his sleep, he tossed from side to side.

Allison's face floated before him in the darkness.

He'd liked Allison—he'd been damned fond of Allison. He'd been pleased that Allison liked him too.

Allison was so capricious. He remembered that from when they were children. Lots of good fellows that Allison would turn up her nose at and pronounce dull. "Dull!" Just like that.

But she hadn't found Luther dull. They'd got on well together from the beginning. They'd talked of movies and music and books together. She'd teased him, made fun of him, ragged him. And he, Luther, had been delighted at the thought that a girl like Allison was keen on him.

Luther was not like his brothers. He never had Ben's bookish charm, or Klaus' promiscuity, or Diego's way with women. Even Five—whom everyone had thought would end up a grouchy old man, alone and miserable, shaking his fist at neighbourhood children to frighten them off his lawn—had, by some miracle, gotten a girl to go starry-eyed for him the very week of his return. But Luther? Only Allison had ever taken the slightest interest.

Interest indeed! Damn fool he was not to remember what fickle creatures women were.

He'd loved Allison. He could see her now. Her heart-shaped face, and her dancing deep brown eyes, and the bronze curling mass of her hair. He'd loved Allison and he'd believed in her absolutely.

Out there in Texas, in the middle of all the hell of it, he'd sat thinking of her, taken her picture out of the pocket of his trousers and held it close before every fight.

And then—he'd found out!

It had come about the way things happen in movies. Going to look for her after a very long time. He'd found out her address and gone to see her, only to find her new husband at the door. Even in his sleep, he could feel the shock of it—the pain . . .

God, it had hurt!

And the business had been going on for some time. The wedding photographs on the mantle made that clear.

Almost a year—just six months before Luther dropped into the alleyway . . .

Allison—Allison and Chestnut!

Goddamn the fellow! Damn his smiling face, his ridiculous name, his brisk: "Come in, do come in." Liar and hypocrite! Stealer of another man's girl!

Of course, Allison might not have told him . . .

But why? Had Luther not meant something to her? Was she angry at him for messing it up with Vanya? Had she forgotten his very existence?

Never mind—it wouldn't matter anyway. What he had (or had believed himself to have) with Allison was so long ago. So—So purposeless now. He would have to forget about it.

Forgetting made life lonely, though.

He would need to make sure he dealt with it alright. He would have to keep the stiff upper lip. Betray the right amount of feeling—dignity and self-respect—but no sadness, no discomfiture, no loss.

Through his sleep, he could could hear the wind breathing on the windowpane—a little louder now at this time of day. The birds were getting up, too.