A. Walters: Lead Me Not

I nodded, even though it was a lie. I was so not okay.

I could feel the heat of the guy’s hand through my shirt, imprinting my skin. He was pressed close to me as we moved forward, his front brushing against my back. It was uncomfortably intimate, and if I could have, I would have run far, far away.

“Take a deep breath. You’ll be fine,” the voice soothed, somehow saying the words I needed to hear.

I found myself complying automatically. The voice floating in my ears through the dark held some sort of strange sway that was hard to resist.

The hand at my back began to move in comforting circles, and I found myself start to relax in spite of my trepidation. It was like the dude pumped Valium through his fingertips. He was Club Man , able to calm freaked-out girls with the power of his voice and hands alone! I tried to twist and squint at him again, but I still couldn’t make out more than a silhouette.

“ I see thee better—in the dark—I do not need a light ,” the man murmured, his breath stirring the hair at my temple.

Mystery dude was quoting Emily Dickinson? What in the hell? Had I unknowingly dropped down the rabbit hole and not realized it?

And just like that, my calm popped like a soap bubble, and the reality of where I was set in like a hundred-ton weight on my chest.

I was in an underground nightclub trying to find my friend. That was what I needed to focus on.

I didn’t know this guy and shouldn’t be dropping my guard in a place like this—what the hell was wrong with me?

I tried to push ahead—anything to get some distance from the potential serial killer behind me. But the wall of people made it difficult to move very fast. The hand at my back slipped up to the nape of my neck, fingers curling up into my hair.

My heart was hammering in my chest, and I was scared. I could almost read the headlines now: Girl killed while trying to locate her selfish jerk of a roommate.

But then the hand disappeared from my skin, and I was steered toward the bar. I could barely breathe. I was on the cusp of a full-blown panic attack.

“Your friend is over there,” came the soft whisper again.

Huh?

I craned my neck and almost passed out with relief at the sight of Renee, perched on a stool, looking shaky and uncomfortable, her eyes darting around nervously.

“Thank you,” I said loudly, finally finding enough light to take in the person who’d helped me. He was tall, with broad shoulders; a baseball cap was perched low over his brow, obscuring his face. In the red-tinged light of the club, I couldn’t make out a single detail, nothing to identify him. And that was more unsettling than anything else had been up until now.

The inexplicable control this man exerted made itself known again. I was like a fish on a hook, flopping around in vain, hoping to be set free, but at the same time stupidly enjoying the trap.

I wanted to see him. I needed to.

The guy leaned in, his lips brushing against my cheek as he spoke. I caught the faint smell of peppermint and smoke.

“You and your friend need to get out of here. This isn’t a place for you to be.” He brushed my ponytail off my shoulder.

“What?” I asked dumbly. I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the strange turn my night had taken. Why was he helping me? Did I have easy mark stamped on my forehead? Or was he a rare breed of Good Samaritan?

I patted the front of my jeans just to make sure I hadn’t been pickpocketed. Phone and cash seemed to still be there. That was a relief, I guess. But when I looked up, he was gone.

He had disappeared like he had never been there, a figment of my overactive and overly stressed mind.

I stood rooted to the spot, my ankle throbbing, my head dizzy, my ears ringing. I was shaken.

That man had shaken me. And I wasn’t sure if it was fear or excitement that thrummed through my veins.

He was right. I needed to get out of there. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw that ten minutes had already passed. If I didn’t get Renee outside soon, Brooks was going to go all suicide mission on the bouncer.

“Renee!” I yelled over the music. My roommate and questionable best friend turned in my direction, and her face went slack with relief. She jumped down from the stool and threw her arms around my neck.

“Aubrey, thank you so much for coming to get me,” she sobbed into my neck. I hugged the smaller girl and then pulled away.

Renee’s eyes were bloodshot; her mascara ran in dark ribbons down her cheeks. Her hair hung in a tangled mess on her back. She wrung her hands together in agitation, and my protective instincts kicked in.

She looked frightened and sad. I wanted to take Devon Keeton by the balls and give them a really painful squeeze. He didn’t deserve Renee. Why couldn’t she see that?

“Let’s go home,” I said, wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders.

Keeping her close, and with a hand out in front of me, I started body-checking people as we made our way to the entrance.

The music had picked up a notch, and the air buzzed with a frenetic energy. It pulled me in and didn’t want to let go. A part of me wanted to stay and get lost in it. My feet stopped moving, and I felt inexplicably torn. I needed to leave, but I wanted to stay.

Renee tugged on my arm, and I gave myself a shake. My momentary loss of rational thinking gave way to the more pressing desire to ensure Brooks wasn’t making nice with bouncer Randy’s meaty fist.

Just as we made it to the door, I felt a tingling along the back of my neck—a sensual awareness that made my hair stand on edge. My mystery man, with his face shadowed, stood just to the side of the exit. I felt his eyes follow my movements, and I couldn’t suppress a shiver of apprehension that was oddly enticing.

I tried to meet his eyes, almost desperate to see them. But he turned away, denying me what I sought. I watched with a strange displeasure as he faded into the gloom.

“Aubrey!” I heard a yell coming from outside. Brooks looked anxious, and I knew he was only seconds from bulldozing his way inside.

Holding tight to Renee’s hand, I half dragged, half carried her out of the club. We passed Randy, whose scowl could have made a lesser person piss themselves. I was half tackled by a perilously-close-to-losing-it Brooks.

“You gave me gray hair, Aubrey! Gray hair!” Brooks yelled, grabbing me by the shoulders and giving me a little shake.

“Sorry. It took me a while to find Renee,” I explained, trying to communicate with my eyes for him to chill out.

Brooks rounded on Renee and gave her his best stern-older-brother expression. “What were you thinking, spending your evening at Hepatitis Central? You need a swift kick in the ass, girl,” he lectured, though I knew his harshness had more to do with being worried than anything else.

Renee hung her head sheepishly, and even though I wanted to give her my own lecture, I knew it wouldn’t do any good. She was obviously tired and in a state of emotional shutdown.

She didn’t need judging. She needed a good night’s sleep, and then maybe I could give her the “I told you your boyfriend was a total dickhead” speech.

“Sorry, Brooks,” Renee said quietly, and I glared at Brooks, who held his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Okay, it’s cool. Let’s just get the hell out of here. I sure hope your car still has tires,” he muttered as we started to walk away from Compulsion.

As we headed down the street, I couldn’t help looking one last time back over my shoulder.

I couldn’t decide whether I felt disappointment or relief that the person I was searching for was nowhere in sight.