Lighthouse Nights

21

00sexboy00: what METHOD dumbass?

dante_fire18: pills prolly. whatever i can get my hands on.

00sexboy00: pussssssyyyyyyyy too much chance to fuck it up

dante_fire18: i guess we’ll see.

00sexboy00: have u considered a gun?

dante_fire18: ha! i’d love a gun. but i don’t even know where to start with that shit.

00sexboy00: i can get u a gun. easy.

*  *  *

trevor didn’t know if it was the clouds, crescent moon, or some invisible chemical reaction that was responsible for tinting his world green. he was a contingency planner and criminal mastermind, not a meteorologist. 

perhaps the dull emerald glow of the catwalk lights was the source of the sickening hue... but the stars were green too. he inspected the revolver. viewed at the right angle, it became a jade ornament.

the gun was the solution to julesie’s betrayal. the gun was the solution to a boy who was STILL BREATHING.

until the chat with dante fire, trevor barely knew what city he was in. but the little chitchatwith “king dante” gave him PURPOSE again. it snapped him out of his month-long sympathy binge and motivated him to do what masterminds do best: PLAN.

the gun was the key. he nearly planted it in blake’s hand to make the botched crime look like a suicide. the dearly departed had the motive and note, but guns weren’t clean like pills. guns were sloppy. guns made mistakes.

trevor understood the basics of forensics, but the shit that went down in blake’s condo was messy, and messy indications of MURDER would have been inevitable whether he left the gun or not. detectives would have traced the weapon’s registration to shotgun-doug, which would've turned THAT case from a solved suicide into an open homicide; flinging more turds than trevor would be able to catch.

gabe, however, would shoot HIMSELF. there would still be a gun, but no mess. the revolver would still be linked to shotgun-doug, but with gabe’s clean “suicide,” the enigmatic connection would end with his death.

without her precious boy, jules would be lost in a town that wanted her dead. she would realize her mistake. she would experience the same pain she forced upon her soulmate. and when she hit rock bottom, trevor would be there to save her. again. she would pray for forgiveness; she would grovel at his feet for absolution for stabbing him so coldly in the back. she would dig her nails down the nape of his neck and together they would sleep beneath the desert’s yellow stars.

the truck’s shitty green clock read two-thirty and gabe’s minivan curved, right on time, into the boardwalk’s parking lot. the boy parked fifty feet away and swaggered the gap between them with hands in his pockets. “you sexboy?” he asked.

“you dante?”

the boy pulled out his wallet and shuffled through a clump of hundreds. “how much?”

“three,” trevor said.

“how about seven.” gabe handed over the entire wad. “who needs money when you’re dead?”

trevor pocketed the cash and gave gabe the gun. “you’re not going to fuck it up like last time?”

“not a chance.”

“you know how to use that?”

“i’ll figure it out.”

“no you won’t. here...” trevor took back the revolver and snapped open the chamber with his gloved hand. “six shots. don’t cock it ‘til you’re ready or you’ll shoot your eye out.” he pressed the barrel in the soft spot between his jawbone and adam’s apple. “this is right.” he put the gun to his temple. “this is wrong.”

“got it.”

“you can put it in your mouth, but make sure you’re aiming up and not out the back of your throat.”

“i did my research.”

trevor gave back the gun. “jules... you didn’t tell her i’m here?”

“why the hell would i tell that skank anything?”

“don’t let her get in your head. tomorrow night is YOUR night.”

gabe lifted the gun, closed one eye, and aimed at the flashing bulb atop the nearest lighthouse. “this has nothing to do with her.”

“good. where will you do it?”

“bedroom. parents’ll be out.”

“you’re sure?”

“i bought them tickets for the grand rapids opera for christmas. they’ll be gone all night.”

“proud of you. don’t screw it up.”

the men shared a moment of silence in the olive-tainted night.

gabe stepped away, breaking the quiet with grinding footsteps. halfway to his van, he turned around and continued walking backward. “hey sexboy.”

“yeah?”

“you’ve been in that chat room for a long time. when is it your turn?”

trevor didn’t answer the question, but flashed his trademark smile. “remember dante,” he said, “it’s your show tomorrow night. go out with a bang.”