XVIII. The Moon. [Reversed]

By The Shore—NIGHT

In the evening, I picked up Andrea. Spike, her now estranged lover, waved us off, grinning, as we left timidly hand in hand.

“We’ll try to get back soon as possible.” I lied, not sure what would happen.

Now, my Impala is parked on the pier in the cold, wet evening. I have a flu that is killing me and she claims that she is starting to get it, too. And, as close as she has been this night, for a change, it is likely, perhaps. We have take-away soup from the only little booth still open on the pier this late. And as we walk back to the car slurping it, she wishes there were a bar open on Sunday night.

I put my arm around her and say, “You’re always there. From Saturday night specials to Sunday night soups.”

At the car she heads around the passenger side and I the driver’s side, wondering where we will go. I manage to get in and hand her my open container without spilling it, then struggle to pull find the lever to pull the seat back so I can comfortably fit behind the wheel and eat. As I struggle, she puts the soups on the dash and lays back, putting her feet up there too.

At length, I make myself comfortable, admiring her white legs poking out of her long, slitted black skirt, and then pluck at the leg of her panties as the skirt falls way to reveal them. She giggles, and I reach down and tickle her there as well.

But as she snuggles sleepily against me, I feel myself drifting off rapidly as well; the cold medicine we had taken back at home is apparently stronger than I have expected. My brain is flying and my last thought, as I give in to sleep, is that there is someone outside of the car.

When I come to, I find myself on the beach. At first, as I struggle to get up and maneuver in the dark, this all seems familiar and typical. Then I remember being behind the wheel of my car but also, a nauseating and frightening impression of us slumped together in the back seat of a moving vehicle.

In the dark, I blunder back towards the piers, banging face first into a lifeguard station. My hands find a transistor radio. I snap it on. A news report blares in the dark.

“Police are remaining tight-lipped about the identity of the body found on the 800 block of the City Boardwalk earlier this evening. However, a nearby abandoned car is registered to Francis J. Trautman of...”