Whatever the Impulse Read online

  ****

  In the light of a west-coast sunset, Night sought out his sole companions. In a cliff-side crevasse between giant pines, he pulled the lid off the dilapidated crate and took inventory of his family of field mice.

  While tearing apart some crusty bread from the restaurant, he deliberated over which mouse would have to fight for its meal tonight. As usual, it would be the one that refused to stand up to the others and take what he knew it wanted—the one that reminded him most of himself. He lifted that mouse by the tail and sprinkled some bread into the crate with his right hand while the mouse in his left hand dangled over the others, playing dead as it always did until he placed it back inside. He imagined there would come a time when he no longer required their company and set them all free, but for now he would remain the dominant field mouse. He replaced the lid as he noticed darkness descending fast over him…prompting him, now, to scurry along home.

  Chapter Three

  “Night! What the hell are you doing?”

  Daniel, the Emerald Shore’s friendliest waiter, was the only employee who spoke to him as though he wasn’t deaf. After the anticipated poke in the back, Night turned around.

  “You’re ignoring a customer.”

  Night turned around to scan the counter.

  “I’m talking about that one…” Daniel broadcasted to the whole room, pointing to the lobby.

  A teen girl waved back. Everything about this moment matched his fantasy, except that the girl’s wild yellow hair was now coursing a fiery red!

  With his father away for the evening, a casual air danced around the place and Daniel gave Night a push toward the lobby, offering to cover the bar in his absence. The girl winked at the waiter before she signaled for Night to follow her out of the building.

  It smelled like rain as she led him to her car and opened the passenger door of her compact beater-hatchback.

  When he yielded to making eye contact, she said, “I just thought it would be easier to talk out here.”

  It shocked him that she hadn’t long written him off as the world’s least desirable conversationalist.

  “So…you must have a girlfriend?”

  He didn’t answer her, content at that moment to be lost in the silver on her eyelids and the red on her lips.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to be here,” she said, startling him from his reverie. “I know I’m not exactly in your league.”

  “What do you mean?” he blurted. He was truly finding it a chore to speak, which added credibility to his performance. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back.”

  “Waiting for me? I think I’m about to disappoint you, and I’d rather do it now than later.” An amused snort escaped her. “Like, what if I told you I used to dance naked in a club?”

  Night’s pulled away from her, shocked at nothing more than the word “naked”.

  “I also have a kid. Big surprise…” she chortled disparagingly. “That was years ago, and I want you to know is that, despite what I just told you, I’m different now. I’ve gone back to school and another thing…I would never have gone after someone like you before.”

  Although he sensed her shame, it didn’t compare to his own as he accepted, once again, that he understood nothing.

  “I’ve started over,” she explained with a double edge to her voice of half pride and half defeat. “I’m not raising my baby. My mother takes care of her and it bothers me every day…but…you don’t seem bothered by any of this. Why?”

  He crooked his head. “Bothered…by what?”

  She giggled with relief. “That’s chivalrous, Night—my Knight. So, we’re okay?”

  He nodded, allowing the mischief in her eyes to invade his.

  “Night…you don’t say a lot. Maybe I can learn that sign language you do. Maybe you can teach me.”

  He considered this for a moment. If he talked only with his hands, would it be the same as speaking out loud? Would the threat of eternal doom be realized either way? And he’d already spoken… He decided that he didn’t really care. A few words wouldn’t hurt…and he wouldn’t have to tell her his secret.

  “By the way, I’m Daphne.”

  “Daphne…” he repeated the name as though he needed the verification.

  “That’s right. Can you show me how to sign my name?”

  He shook his head. Andrew had never told him what to do for names.

  “Well then, show me how to say yours.”

  This time, he raised his hands and represented his name as the word. He placed his wrists together forming a sort of cross.

  “Let me try.”

  She asked him other words too, but the sporadic intrusion of headlights in the parking lot distracted him more every time.

  “I think we should go somewhere else.” She’d read his mind. Her hand gripped the key in the ignition while Night’s hand went for the door handle, so she followed his lead. She took his hand and pulled him away from the Emerald Shore, away from the lanterns and cars and toward the forest. The wind was starting to pour through the branches—a warning about the rain only seconds behind.

  Daphne turned to him at the bottom of the hill as rain started streaming down. The delicate white fabric of her dress turned sheer, outlining her body…hips and beveled thighs, slender arms, shoulders and breasts in more detail than Night had ever seen.

  Waves slapped against the rocky shoreline, the black ocean trying harder to reach them with every successive miss, as though envious of their enthrallment with one another.

  Like a music box dancer coming to life, Daphne drew herself to him. Her hands rose up to move the matted wisps of hair away from his face while she sought permission in his gaze. Satisfied with whatever she saw, she lifted her chin and kissed his lips.

  His gaze fell between them as he swayed back to study her and then traced the path of his eyes with his fingertips. He brushed his hands over her cool, wet arms, and he wasn’t even sure of his motive when he picked up her hair and dropped it again so that it tumbled across her chest, dividing around a soft mound that supported a well-defined nipple. His fingers caressed one after slipping down the faded neckline of her dress, but he withdrew his hands when she fired a laugh to the skies.

  He figured he’d messed up and, with a dropped jaw, tried to back away, but she held on and kissed his mouth before he could close it. Her parted lips traveled upward, collecting the water droplets from the tip and bridge of his nose. She kissed his heated eyelids, his forehead, and grazed his eyelashes with her lower lip as she murmured about the utter perfection of each of his features.

  The scent of evergreen and sodden earth harmonized with Daphne’s floral perfume. She had more kisses for his face and neck, and an electric current trilled down his back as she teased his ear. His fingers raked down the length of her mysteriously transformed hair before her body sank and her open hands slid down his front. Cool air invaded his skin as her fingers drove two layers of fabric up his chest; her dense cloak of hair replaced some of the warmth as her tongue slid up his breastbone.

  With Andrew, he’d never known this kind of attention—attention that held him breathless for each successive move. His father’s lifelong proclamations of love had come with the stingiest offers of physical affection—while, in less than a few minutes, this mere stranger had transcended a long list of his latent desires.

  Her breath warmed his ribs and her tongue ran like hot steam across his chest. He shuddered from the sensation of her wet hair sweeping his middle, but not like he did when he felt her tongue on his nipple. Her one hand ran gently along his inner thigh before one finger at a time closed around what he’d hoped to keep secret. He pushed her away and tripped backward.

  He had long since been warned about how wrong it was to touch it in this state—let alone reveal it to anyone—and he tried to observe at least the latter half of the edict.

  Headlights flashed on the hilltop and the muffled sound of an alarm and a car door slamming came down with the rain.
Daphne peered sideways to read his frantic expression. Her hand touched his and he grasped it, but only to take her with him, back onto the dirt path. His quick strides punished Daphne for wearing heeled sandals. The lanterns in front of the restaurant pulled him forward—lights that looked ominous and distorted through the rain.

  Water splashed up from the rock-studded path as they lost contact. Daphne veered toward her car and Night headed straight for the concrete steps. He turned around to find Daphne unwilling to follow his lead, this time. Her expression revealed hurt and fear, and his eyelids crumpled as she ducked to climb into her car. He had literally bolted from her offer and he no longer had a shred of hope of her ever coming back.

  She offered him one last glance through the windshield before her car’s headlights severed their connection, yet his gaze lingered long after the car’s taillights had vanished. He kicked a clump of dirt before proceeding up the long concrete steps that spilled like puddles out from underneath one another, but in the end, he decided to use the back door.

  He removed his sopping sweater in the warmth of the kitchen and loosened his hair. Someone whistled in jest as he crossed the room in a wet short-sleeved undershirt to set his sweater on the radiator, but he barely gave it a thought as he settled into washing dishes. Only then did it become a challenge to ignore the simpering remarks around him.

  “I’d say that was a first.”

  “For what?” asked Daniel in response to the head chef.

  “For our bartender getting personal with anybody…let alone getting it on with some chick. I mean, everyone here has tried to break the ice with him at one time or another. Some of us have even attempted signing—which you might want to try yourself if you want to be avoided by him for all time.”

  “Yeah, he’s a little bizarre, but his father can be a little intense. I suppose it’s no wonder if Night’s a bit of a freak.”

  “Maybe he just can’t read lips all that well.”

  “Maybe he only reads drinks,” Daniel quipped as he loaded orders onto a large platter.

  Holding a stack of dinner plates, Night looked at the sink full of hot soapy water and then at the hard tiled floor on which he dropped them. The crash froze everyone in the room, except Night, who pretended to be oblivious to all sound, even as he began firing the broken pieces into a metal garbage bin.

  Amidst the cacophony of clashing ceramic, tin, and human squawking, a waiter ended Night’s catharsis by intervening with a stand-up dustpan and lobby broom. Quickly thereafter, Night realized his resentment had everything to do with his gross incompetence with Daphne, not with the remarks of the staff, and that’s when Andrew appeared in the kitchen. He took one look at Night and smiled.

  “That’s good, Night. Stay back here and help the others.”

  Despite the chill he still felt, the reassuring softness in Andrew’s light blue eyes made Night begin to sweat.

  The last customer and then the last employee left the Emerald Shore. The crash and click of the heavy front doors closing reverberated through the deserted room. Night pulled his musty sweater back on and came out of the kitchen.

  The fireplace had guttered out and the bar had been organized for the next day. Andrew stood motionless in the middle of the room, like one of the formidable monoliths along the shore. Clutching a turquoise shawl in both hands, he first leaned down to blow out one forgotten candle before he refocused on Night.

  “Your friend left something behind.”

  Night caught the streak of color that came whirling at him, but he threw it aside like he had no attachment to it at all. The essence of Daphne now lingered between them.

  “How wonderful that the two of you hit it off so well…or so I hear. Apparently, she’s a redhead now… almost like you. That is so darling.”

  Night took in a breath but abandoned any attempt at a reply.

  “No doubt you spoke with her?”

  “No.”

  Andrew shifted his weight. “Well, I sure hope you talked some in all that time!”

  Night knew there could be no diffusing answer.

  “Did she touch you?”

  “No… We went outside and she talked about herself a little bit. She wanted me to talk but I told her I had to go back, and I did, and she left.”

  “Is that the truth, Night?”

  “Yes.”

  Andrew looked down and let out a breath when suddenly his eyes shot up, flaming. “Bullshit! Do you think I’m an idiot? Why do I bother instructing you when you don’t care and you won’t listen! I know you did more than go for a walk.” He scooped up Daphne’s shawl from the floor and hurled it into the foyer. In the same frenzy, he snatched Night’s ragged hair and sharply pulled back on it. “Take a good look at the bar because you won’t be back here to see it for a while.”

  ****

  In the car, Andrew revved the engine to match his rage. “You really don’t listen to me anymore, Night, and I know that, but I can make you listen.”

  Night glared at the windshield.

  “You know, if your jaw was broken you wouldn’t have too much to say for a while. Oh, do I have your attention now? Because then you would have to have it fixed, which would mean having your teeth locked together with wire for weeks and weeks.”

  Night tried to imagine it. “Then how would I eat?”

  Andrew shrugged with a wry grin. “Well, you can’t, Night. It’s quite possible you would starve to death.”

  “How could talking to people be more dangerous than that?”

  Andrew shed the amused sparkle in his eyes. “It can be a lot more dangerous, Night. Trust me.”

  Chapter Four

  Then came the day when Lila just showed up at the house, about a week after his banishment from the restaurant.

  Night played his expected part by ignoring her knocking, but he couldn’t very well avoid her when she let herself into the house.

  “Night…did your father go to work without you today? I’d hoped to still catch him this morning.”

  He stood in the corridor with hikers already on. If Lila had arrived even a minute later, the house would have been deserted. He nodded with a sigh.

  “Well you know…” Lila’s face brightened, “this does allow us a wonderful opportunity. We can go into town together, and you can help me choose a birthday gift for your father. It’ll be fun. And we can learn more about each other along the way.”

  The ride to this mysterious place that people called “town” felt much longer than his trips to the restaurant, and they traveled in the opposite direction. The fir trees grew scarcer as houses and larger buildings took over the landscape. Eventually, the world turned into an elaborate maze of concrete and brick passageways.

  Lila parked her car on a quiet street and she tapped his arm when he didn’t make any move to get out. “Night...? What is it?”

  His chest felt crushed. There was no air here “in town”.

  In a series of quick motions, Lila turned his face to hers, searched his eyes and then felt one of his wrists. He could feel his own pulse racing beneath her fingers.

  “What’s the matter with you? He didn’t mention you had any other conditions…”

  Lila’s voice sounded far away, but her little huff, meant for his father, made the world seem familiar again. He had to remind himself that this was what he wanted: to experience more. He nodded like he’d already been involved in a conversation and then slowly cracked open the door. Lila followed and they made their way to the shops in complete silence. With his attention firing around at everything but Lila, it took him a while to notice her frustration at not being able to speak to him.

  His awe at the mundane quickly turned into despondency. All the people around him looked so comfortable with their surroundings that, all at once, he knew exactly what a freak was. When pedestrians glanced his way, he figured they could see it too.

  Lila squeezed one of his arms and then waved for him to follow her into a shop filled with marble works and dec
orative items. Her hand reached up and caressed something hanging from the ceiling. “I love wind chimes. They have such a haunting sound, especially at night. …I’m so sorry. That was incredibly insensitive of me.”

  “I think he would like it,” Night replied, expecting Lila to hear forgiveness in his answer, but when her features twisted, he feared she’d heard nothing beyond his plain speech. She turned away from him to take a wind chime down from a hook on the ceiling. It had a large metal wreath in the form of pine-needle branches surrounding a rectangular plate. “We could have ‘Emerald Shore’ engraved across here and he can hang it at the restaurant.”

  It made sense to Night, and he nodded.

  Lila turned to him while the woman behind the desk wrapped the gift in tissue paper. “So when is your birthday?”

  “What do you mean?” he said, his focus breaking up amongst the different objects in the room.

  “Your birthday… When were you born?”

  He shrugged as though she had asked him something bizarre and irrelevant while an object on a nearby table made him forget she even asked a question. He walked over to the clear ball and lifted the orb straight off its claw-foot base.

  He could feel Lila’s stare on his back as his eyes widened—just before he flinched and dropped the solid crystal ball that shattered on the granite floor.

  When the saleslady cringed, Lila dumped her purse back on the counter and pulled out her checkbook. Lila stared at him for a while after they left the shop, clearly seeking an explanation.

  Finally, Night spun at her. “I saw something inside it! It looked like me with—”

  “Oh, Night, it was just lined with a mirror and with the glass…it’s nothing more than an optical trick.”

  Night turned around and kept walking. Lila’s theory made too much sense to argue with, but if it had been his reflection, and nothing more, why did his image have white hair? Lila wouldn’t know about this phenomenon, but the white-haired image of himself, and even the pains in his limbs, were now boldly creeping into his waking hours.