Part 1 (1/2)
VIDA NOCTURNA.
By Mark Diehl.
For Jennifer.
Leaps of faith are easy when I know I'll land next to you.
Special thanks to Rebecca Ochoa, Bayo Ojikutu, and Gypsy Hope Thomas. Thanks also to Rita Dragonette, Jan Winfree, Renee Wilson, Elizabeth Granados-Perez, Libby Wheeler, Josh Lohrius, Matt Johnson, Marcus Thomas, Evan Arnold, Stephanie Friedman, Achy Obejas, Gary Wilson, Jeanne Loboda, Sandy LoMonico, and C. Milton Dixon.
CHAPTER 1.
Old Habits.
SARA'S EYES SCANNED the lobby. A lone figure sat in one of the overstuffed black leather chairs, hidden behind a Chicago Tribune front page with a photo of nuclear devastation and the headline ”Reagan Set for Fallout of 'Day After.'” Otherwise the room was unchanged. The floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected the crazy parquet floor pattern. The ghostly Nagel prints barely smiled with blood red lips from the stark white walls.
The figure didn't move as she rushed past him, her flat shoes rasping across the wood.
She slipped into one of the two elevators, the keys in her fist jingling as she pounded the b.u.t.ton for her floor. A silhouette appeared at the front door. The elevator hesitated. The newspaper reader s.h.i.+fted, turning toward her without revealing a face.
The doors clunked closed and Sara leaned back against the wall, forcing a few deep breaths.
The doors opened onto the third floor landing and the narrow hallway that stretched to her door.
Machinery whirred. The other elevator was coming up.
She ran. Her book bag slipped off her shoulder. She clutched its strap, forcing her numb fingers to tighten. Her hand found the right key but it shook too badly to open her door. Dropping her bag, she steadied one hand with the other.
The other elevator dinged and its doors began to open.
She fought the lock, her keys rattling against the door. She swung it open, tripping over the bag and spilling textbooks as she lunged inside.
She worked the key loose with both hands and shouldered the door shut, shoving the deadbolt home.
Sara was alone again.
She was safe here.
Tears fell to the carpet and the cover of her rhetoric anthology as she slid down the wall and collapsed among her things.
Gowan's Prime Steakhouse should have vibrated with echoes from the dark wood paneling but the stifled atmosphere gave it an eerie hush. A mounted wild boar's head stared down at her father's military-short white hair. Other animals watched gla.s.sily from strategic points around the room.
”I'm going to call your school and find out what happened, Sara,” her father said. His unnaturally calm voice probably helped in convincing his patients that they needed cardiac surgery. Sara blinked a few times, pus.h.i.+ng the soothing sound of the words from her mind.
”I still haven't seen your grades from last semester,” he said. Without breaking eye contact, he gently lifted his Manhattan from the table and downed the last few swallows.
Sara took a deep breath, careful to avoid raising her shoulders. She couldn't let him see her brace herself. She could do this. She was a spy at the c.o.c.ktail party, slipping upstairs to the safe, a superheroine keeping her true ident.i.ty secret, the smart girl who remained alive at the end of the horror film.
”Really, Daddy?”
He watched her brush a strand of her black hair back from her face and over her shoulder. She gave a little shrug, rolling her eyes at the piece of hair. ”It's this gloomy weather,” she said, brus.h.i.+ng one eyelid lightly with two fingertips. ”The humidity undoes everything I can accomplish with the curling iron.”
His expression did not change. His tailor-made suit flexed as he straightened in his seat, his posture now like a bad guy in a kung-fu movie. Sara turned her eyes toward her steak.
He stared at her, waiting.
”Maybe they're just slow mailing them out?”
His knife rose from his steak as he leaned forward.
”You're awfully calm about this, Sara. I'd think you'd want to know how you did. A motivated student would care.” The words came out soft and sticky, like webs.
”Oh, I do care, Daddy. I checked as soon as they were posted on campus.”
”And?”
”And ... I did fine.”
His head c.o.c.ked slowly to the side. His knife stayed poised above the flesh on his plate. ”Fine?”
”I got ... two A-minuses ...” She cleared her throat. ”And ... three B-pluses last semester, Daddy.”
He stared, his gray eyes as dead as the boar's. Sara wondered if he'd have cared half so much if he'd just learned she'd been killed.
”Sara,” he said. ”You know those grades will follow you for the rest of your life.”
”I know, Daddy.”
He directed his attention back to his steak, suspending the knife in his fingertips and making a perfect incision with one smooth stroke. ”And what will you do now?”
”I ... I'll just have to work harder.”
He made another precise cut. The fork dripped red as he inspected his next bite.
”I'm all alone now, Daddy. First Josh broke up with me, and then Angie moved away, and ... and I haven't made any friends at school. I'm ... really lonely. It's just going to take some time for me to get adjusted.”
”Tell me, Sara. What kind of friends do you want to make?”
She shrugged, smiling. ”You know, Daddy, just ... the friendly kind?”
His face was blank. ”Sara, you brought up the issue of your friends as if it was a serious problem. Now I'm trying to help you, but you're treating it like a joke. Is my concern a joke to you, Sara?”
”No, Daddy. I'm sorry. I ... well, I guess I want friends who I can talk to, who understand me, and ... who can help me when I'm feeling down ...