Harlan Coben - Six Years

Benedict turned away and started sipping his beer.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing.”

I gave him a little shove. “No, come on. What is it?”

Benedict kept his head lowered. “Six years ago, when you went up to that retreat, you were in pretty bad shape.”

“Maybe a little. So?”

“Your father had died. You felt alone. Your dissertation wasn’t going well. You were upset and on edge. You were angry about Trainor getting off with nary a slap.”

“What’s your point?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Forget it.”

“Don’t give me that. What?”

My head was really swimming now. I should have stopped several glasses ago. I remembered once when I had too much to drink my freshman year and I started walking back to my dorm. I never quite arrived. When I woke up, I was lying on top of a bush. I remembered staring up at the stars in the night sky and wondering why the ground felt so prickly. I had that sway now, like I was on a boat in a rough sea.

“Natalie,” Benedict said.

“What about her?”

He turned those glass-magnified eyes toward me. “How come I never met her?”

My vision was getting a little fuzzy. “What?”

“Natalie. How come I never met her?”

“Because we were in Vermont the whole time.”

“You never came to campus?”

“Just once. We went to Judie’s.”

“So how come you didn’t bring her by to meet me?”

I shrugged with a little too much gusto. “I don’t know. Maybe you were away?”

“I was here all that summer.”

Silence. I tried to remember. Had I tried to introduce her to Benedict?

“I’m your best friend, right?” he said.

“Right.”

“And if you married her, I would have been the best man.”

“You know it.”

“So don’t you find it bizarre that I never met her?” he asked.

“When you put it that way . . .” I frowned. “Wait, are you trying to make a point here?”

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s just odd is all.”

“Odd how?”

He said nothing.

“Odd like I-made-her-up odd? Is that what you mean?”

“No. I’m just saying.”

“Saying what?”

“That summer. You needed something to hold on to.”

“And I found it. And lost it.”

“Okay, fine, drop it.”

But, no, that would not do. Not right now. Not with my anger and the drink talking. “And speaking of which,” I said, “how come I never met the love of your life?”

“What are you talking about?”

Oh man, I was drunk. “The picture in your wallet. How come I never met her?”

It looked as though I’d slapped him across the face. “Leave it alone, Jake.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Leave. It. Alone.”

I opened my mouth, closed it. The ladies reappeared. Benedict gave his head a shake and suddenly the smile was back on it.

“Which one do you want?” Benedict asked me.

I looked at him. “For real?”

“Yes.”

“Windy,” I said.

“Which one is that?”

“Seriously?”

“I’m not good with names,” Benedict said.

“Windy is the one I’ve been talking to all night.”

“In other words,” Benedict said, “you want the hotter one. Fine, whatever.”

I went back to Windy’s place. We took it slow until we took it fast. It wasn’t full-on bliss, but it was awfully sweet. It was around 3:00 A.M. when Windy walked me to the door.

Not sure what to say, I stupidly went with “Uh, thank you.”

“Uh, you’re welcome?”

We kissed lightly on the lips. It wasn’t something that would last, we both knew that, but it was a small, quick delight, and sometimes in this world, there was nothing wrong with that.

I stumbled back across campus. There were students still out. I tried to stay in the shadows, but Barry, the student who visits my office weekly, spotted me and cried out, “Taking the walk of shame, Teach?”

Caught.

I gave him a good-hearted wave and continued serpentine-style to my humble abode.

A sudden head rush hit me as I entered. I stayed still, waiting for my legs to come back to me. When the dizziness receded, I headed into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of ice water. I drank it in big gulps and poured another. I would be hurting tomorrow, no question about it.

Exhaustion weighed down my bones. I stepped into my bedroom and flicked on the light. There, sitting on the edge of my bed, was the man with the maroon baseball cap. I jumped back, startled.

The man gave me a friendly wave. “Hey, Jake. Sheesh, look at you. Have you been out carousing?”

For a second, no more, I just stood there. The man smiled at me as though this were the most natural encounter in the history of the world. He even touched the front of his cap at me, as though he were a professional golfer acknowledging the gallery.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked.

“That’s not really relevant, Jake.”

“Like hell it isn’t. Who are you?”

The man sighed, let down, it seemed, by my seemingly irrational insistence on knowing his identity. “Let’s just say I’m a friend.”

“You were in the café. In Vermont.”

“Guilty.”

“And you followed me back here. You were in that van.”

“Guilty again. Man, you smell like cheap booze and cheaper sex. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

I tried to keep from swaying. “What do you want?”

“I want us to take a ride.”

“Where?”

“Where?” He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s not play games here, Jake. You know where.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” I said. “How did you get in here anyway?”

The man almost rolled his eyes at that one. “Oh, right, Jake, that’s what we want to waste time discussing—how I managed to get past that piece-of-crap excuse for a lock on your back door. You’d be better off sealing it closed with Scotch tape.”

I opened my mouth, closed it, tried again. “Who the hell are you?”

“Bob. Okay, Jake? Since you don’t seem to be able to get past this name issue, my name is Bob. You’re Jake, I’m Bob. Now can we get moving, please?”

The man stood. I braced myself, ready to relive my bouncer days. There was no way I was letting this guy out of here without an explanation. If the man was intimidated, he was doing a pretty good job of hiding it.

“Are we ready to go now,” he asked me, “or do you want to waste more time?”

“Go where?”

Bob frowned as though I were putting him on. “Come on, Jake. Where do you think?” He gestured toward the door behind me. “To see Natalie, of course. We better hurry.”

Chapter 14

The van was parked in the faculty lot behind Moore dormitory.

The campus was still now. The music had ceased, replaced by the incessant chirping of crickets. I could see the silhouettes of a few students in the distance, but for the most part, 3:00 A.M. seemed to be the witching hour.

Bob and I walked side by side, two buddies out for a night stroll. The drink was still canoodling with certain brain synapses, but the combination of night air and surprise visitor was sobering me up pretty rapidly. As we neared the now-familiar Chevy van, the back door slid open. A man stepped out.

I didn’t like this.

The man was tall and thin with cheekbones that could dice tomatoes and perfectly coiffed hair. He looked like a male model, right down to that vaguely knowing scowl. During my years as a bouncer, I developed something of a sixth sense for trouble. It just happens after you work a job like that long enough. A man walks by you and the danger comes off in hot waves, like those squiggly lines in a cartoon. This guy gave off hot danger-waves like an exploding supernova.