A is for Aftermath nosleep

It was a Dark and Stormy.

I eyed it, but only slightly dubiously. I mean, it was free. Maybe I’m not a big rum fan, but what can you do? I smiled, I nodded my head, and I braced myself for what would come next. Enough free drinks and I’d be fine.

He slid in next to me, all boyish with curls flopping down over his eyes. He was at least thirty, but hey, if you still have all your hair, might as well showcase it, I guess. He did have very green eyes.

“Hi,” he said.

“Inspired opening,” I returned. Then, “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a dick. ‘Hi’ is way better than almost anything else you could have said. I’ve had a rough week.”

“No worries.” He grinned at me over whatever was in his glass, and took a swig. “My name is Jamie.”

I downed the drink and slammed the glass on the table, for effect. “You’re going to have to buy me some whiskey before I give you mine.” I was in a Mood.

Jamie’s grin didn’t falter as he waved the bartender over. “I’d like to buy the lady a drink,” he said. “Whatever she wants.”

Both he and the bartender looked at me, waiting. I decided to be merciful.

“Double Jack, neat. Please.”

Jamie smiled approvingly. “A whiskey drinker, huh? You don’t get that often.”

“I get it every day,” I answered, eyes fixed on the pour. The bartender lifted his gaze to mine when the drink hit double, then looked back and kept pouring.

Good sign.

Jamie turned to me as my drink slid across the counter. “So, I believe you owe me a name?”

“Give me a second if you want it to be the real one.” I lifted the glass, sniffed, and swallowed. That would do. “My name is Adele. And what’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Buying you drinks,” Jamie smiled. “You?”

“Drinking them.” I laughed, my blood alcohol level approaching acceptable.

“I think we’re at an impasse,” Jamie said. “So. Tell me something.”

“I once knew a guy named Bill Bailey who lived to 137 years old,” I replied. Jamie’s eyebrows knitted. I laughed again. “You didn’t say it had to be interesting.”

It was, of course. But, I mean, he wasn’t interested, so what was I to do?

“I was thinking more of things about you,” he said, settling his chin into his bar-propped left hand. “What do you do for a living?”

Ah. One of those.

“Not much,” I said. “How about you?”

“Well, I’m a software engineer,” he began. And, in these cases, it is always ‘began’. They don’t shut up for at least half an hour. But as long as they gesture toward the bartender during the occasional pause for breath, it doesn’t really matter. I just nod, and drink. Honestly? It helps. I like to make them comfortable. I like to make me drunk.

“Wow,” I said, all admiring. He wasn’t done yet, but I was sick to death of hearing about Java. “That sounds… really impressive.”

“Oh,” he slurred, “it’s more impressive than you think. I mean,” and he downed the final dregs of his beer, “I’m more impressive than you think.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” he said. “I have,” and he almost tipped his stool backward as he gesticulated, “twenty thousand dollars in my bank account.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he continued, waving at the bartender again. He shouldn’t have. “My dad is a senator.”

“And that makes you impressive?” I asked, as two more drinks materialized.

“No,” he giggled, “but it makes my bank account impressive.”

“Neat,” I said. I tipped my double bourbon into my mouth. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Hell yes,” Jamie answered, very enthusiastically, and more than slightly drunk. “I have a bottle at my house. You wanna go?”

I tried to keep my lips from curling as sinisterly as they naturally do, but it never works. “I would love to.”

Jamie stumbled, somehow, still sitting on the stool, as he attempted to withdraw his phone and pull out his wallet. “Awesome.”

He wasn’t bad-looking, I reflected as he signed the receipt. Unfortunate.

In the Uber, he put his arm around my shoulder. I settled in. “Do you have any roommates?” I asked.

He guffawed unpleasantly. “Why would I need them?” He asked. “I make a hundred twenty-five K a year.”

“Ah,” I said, and let him nuzzle my hair.

He was a bit the worse for alcoholic wear when we pulled up outside of the city’s most generic apartment building. I graciously thanked our driver while Jamie moaned and dashed and fumbled for his keys. I followed gradually. Call me particular, but I am really not a fan of the sound of vomiting. I found the open door on the fourth floor just as he exited the washroom, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Not only is that the polar opposite of attractive, but it meant I had to step up the game.

“Want another drink?” I leaned against the doorframe. He looked momentarily uncertain. “I do,” I said.

Jamie was the kind of guy who takes a drinking woman as a challenge. “Yeah,” he said, trying to hide the fact that he was turning slightly green. “Let me get us one.”

I plopped down on his leather couch, leaned back, and set my feet on his coffee table. The night, for me, was maybe young, but the hard part was over and done.

“Jamie?” I called as he shuffled in the kitchen, slamming cupboard after cupboard, looking for who knows what. “Do you smoke?”

“Not cigarettes,” he said, emerging with a glass in each hand. He pushed the fuller one at me.

“Oh, well.” I like a little nicotine now and again.

“Adele,” he slurred. “Adele.”

“Yes?”

“It’s just a pretty name.” He reached for the table, but he hit the glass edge, and his drink slopped to the floor. “Fuck,” he said, and leaned back.

“Pretty?” I chuckled. “Why do you say that?”

“I think it’s the A,” he slurred, eyes closed. “And then the L. Soft sounds. Pretty.”

“What about Aurora? That’s an R instead of an L. In Linguistics, both sounds are called liquids. Is the name Aurora pretty too?”

My gaze had sharpened, but I don’t think he quite caught it. His eyes slightly slitted.

“Aurora?” he mumbled. “Yeah, Aurora is pretty too…” His head lolled backward.

And that was it. He was out. This was unacceptable, so I went to the kitchen.

The refrigerator was new. Of course it was. It had an icemaker, and a cold water dispenser. I filled a pitcher.

“Jamie?” I shook his shoulder. “Jamie?”

He moaned. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so tired…”

“Like someone drugged your drink, huh?” I grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and hoisted him up. “You just can’t stay awake?”

“No, no.” He waved a hand. “Just… Can you bring me a glass of water?”

“No.” I straightened my back and let my utter sobriety burst forth. “No, I will not.”

Even in his wildly impaired state, Jamie cracked his left eye open. “Why not?”

I showed my teeth in what would have been a smile, if there were any reason left to bother. “Aurora,” I said. “It really is a pretty name, isn’t it?”

If he had been asked, I imagine this would have been the moment that Jamie Halloran would have said he’d suddenly become sober. He did straighten his back, open his eyes, and catch my meaning, at least.

“You…”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s your admission? That’s all you have to say?”

“I…” he stammered. “Uh… why do you ask?”

I straddled his lap and leaned in. “I don’t,” I said. “I don’t have to. Aurora is a pretty name, right? It just is. It’s a beautiful name.” Jamie nodded, uncertain, not willing yet to know what I meant.

“A pretty name,” I continued, “for a pretty girl, right?” My forehead touched his, and his eyes utterly failed to lock onto mine. I was glad he wasn’t driving. I handed him my glass.

He took it and swigged, and did not speak. I could only see his green, green eyes. His pupils were enormous. I was sick of the whole thing.

I dashed the glass out of his hand and shoved him away, arm’s length and eyes wide. “Where is she?”

“Who?” He was very bad at feigning confusion. I leaned in again. My left hand slipped soundlessly across his shoulders.

“My sister,” I breathed. “Aurora. Where is she? What did you do to her?” My hands met around Jamie’s throat. I squeezed, but only a little. Only enough to make my point. I released.

Jamie sucked in air like he’d been deprived since an early, erroneous burial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he choked. “I don’t know any Aurora.”

This is why I do it this way. I don’t have to worry about false accusations.

“No?” I admit it, I smirked.

“No!”

The ice had almost melted. I dripped about a double shot of it on his forehead.

“This can be unpleasant, or it can be very unpleasant.”

“Just unpleasant, please…” It was only a whimper, but a pretty good rejoinder. I gave him a genuine smile, for whatever good that would do.

“Probably not. Tell me, what did you do?” And I finally, fully showed my teeth. After a certain amount of swearing and thrashing, he agreed to show me.

We stopped in the garage to grab his shovel. “Anything interesting up there?” I asked, gesturing toward the hatch in the ceiling that led to the attic.

“No,” he said. “Just insulation.”

I did not press. I did grab a hacksaw and tuck it down the back of my dress. “Take me to her,” I said.

He hunched like I’d kicked him in the stomach, then scuttled out the back door. I strode, I admit it, I strode, and I grinned like a jack o’ lantern. I followed, slowly. And then I heard him howl.

“What the fuck? Oh Jesus, what the FUCK?”

I found him fallen on the ground before a long, deep, empty hole. His hand was beating the unbroken ground just slightly to the North, growing weaker and weaker. As I drew near, he looked up at me, eyes anguished. “What the fuck?” he whispered. “Where did she go?”

I raised my right hand and looked at it. Jamie’s backyard floodlight lit it from behind. I watched the shadow grow as I pressed it against his face and shoved. He fell backwards into the shittiest makeshift grave it has ever been my displeasure to be allegedly buried in.

“Jamie,” I scolded, rising to my feet against the light. “Did you think she would stay, like the others? Did you really think all of them were at rest?”

He moved, a bit, but I’m not sure toward what. “Because,” I said, “I’m not.”

I hate it, but I did drag him back into the house before I finished him, and I fed him half of the rest of the bottle. Alcoholism works differently when you’re like me.

But this is why I do it this way. It works. Aurora? Adele? Adrianna? Ashley? Agnes, Agatha, Alma, Ariadne? Any of the Above?

All of the worst I can find end up the same at the finish.

A is for Alcohol.

A is for Appetite.

A is for Aftermath.

So, what’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?

Submitted March 22, 2017 at 02:25PM by BlisterstheCat http://ift.tt/2mrP0j5 nosleep