Lighthouse Nights

8

00sexboy00: danteeeeee whats up

dante_fire18: bored out of my effin’ mind. where’s butterfly?

00sexboy00: do i look like her mom?

dante_fire18: i’ve never seen you. maybe you do.

00sexboy00: F U. need a shoulder to cry on cause that bitch stood u up?

dante_fire18: just looking for somebody to chat.

00sexboy00: lookin for a pact?

gabe furrowed his brow and typed “no” into the text box. he paused, then reread sexboy’s question, “lookin for a pact?” he stood from his chair and walked to the foosball table. edgar followed with a swoop and perfect landing on the plastic head of a miniature soccer player.

gabe looked into the crow’s eyes; wet, black, pearl eyes.

he turned back and sat at the desk. he focused on the keyboard, then cautiously pressed each letter between moments of deliberation.

dante_fire18: yeah. maybe. who do i talk to?

sexboy responded immediately.

00sexboy00: butterfly. she’s been lookin for someone like u

dante_fire18: so i hear.

“gothic_butterfly1 has joined the chat.”

00sexboy00: speak of the devil!

gothic_butterfly1: what’s going on, boys?

00sexboy00: dantes lookin for a pact!!!

dante_fire18: maybe... should we talk on the phone butterfly?

gabe took several deep breaths as he awaited her response. 

a full minute passed without a reply. he typed:

dante_fire18: hello?

*  *  *

“are you totally, completely, ABSOLUTELY positive that you wanna do this again so soon?” jules asked.

“why would we wait? this is huge!”

less than a minute ago, trevor woke her up by dropping the laptop an inch from her face. now she paced the suite from computer to window with the chicago expanse shuttering and honking beneath her. “it feels rushed.”

“find out where he lives, jules. NOW.”

she bit her thumbnail and scraped her lower teeth against the polish. “we’re so close, aren’t we?”

trevor was shirtless and sweaty, probably from his morning routine. “he’s waiting, baby. don’t let this one get away.”

“you think he’s rich? you think he’s worth it?”

“it’s always worth it. now sit at your computer and do your fucking job.”

*  *  *

“screw it,” gabe muttered.

he moved his cursor to close the chat-room window. a split second before he clicked it away, another message appeared.

gothic_butterfly1: dante? what’s your number?

if gabe hesitated, he wouldn’t do it. so he typed his number, pressed return, and rapped his fingers on the desk.

he was expecting his usual cellphone ring. instead, a soft hum pulsated from across the room and he remembered his birthday present. he jumped up, snatched the box from the nightstand, tore it open, and plopped the thin black device into his palm. “h—hello?” he stammered.

(”ello?” edgar said.)

“hi.” her voice—even in that solitary word—was porcelain.

“sorry,” gabe said. “i was... my phone... i got a new phone. what’s your name?” he winced at his stupidity and walked figure-eights around the foosball table and couch.

“sarah,” she replied.

“sarah. cool.”

“where do you live, gabe?”

“how do you know my—”

“john said your name when you tried calling that night.”

“oh. right. that was—”

“yeah.”

“yeah. so how does this work? do you still want to—”

“end my life?”

“yeah... that.”

*  *  *

“i do,” jules said. “but i’m afraid of doing it alone.” she eased her back into trevor’s chest and pushed his body against the paisley curtains. his hands explored her midriff as she stared at the city below and spoke with NUMBER EIGHT.

“what do you look like?” the boy asked.

“does it matter?”

“of course not. i’m sorry.”

she sighed. “straight black hair. about five-nine. slender.”

trevor pinched her waist and she squirmed. “what a perv,” he said and jules nudged him to keep him quiet.

“you’ll come here?” gabe asked.

“if that’s where you want to do it. i just had a pretty awful experience... but i’m in chicago now.”

“chicago? you’re only three hours away.”

“three hours?” she repeated for trevor’s benefit. “perfect.”

“will we spend time together beforehand? is it just you?”

“just me. unless you have a friend who’s interested.”

“no.” the boy sounded on the verge of throwing up.

“you need to be sure about this. i won’t drive three hours to have you pussy out on me. are you as serious about this as i am?”

“yeah,” he said. “definitely.”

“there’s no going back.”

“i understand.”

“tonight then?”

trevor circled his hips, jutting his pelvis into her rear.

“tonight sounds good,” the boy said.

jules smiled and pressed her butt against trevor. “what’s your address, hon?”