Saying Goodbye to the Sun Read online

  Saying Goodbye to the Sun

  By David McAfee

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover Design by David McAfee and William Campbell

  This is a work of fiction, and should be viewed as such.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your direct use only, please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Visit David McAfee on the web at mcafeeland.wordpress.com or email him at [email protected]

  Other Books by David McAfee:

  33 A.D.

  The Lake and 17 Other Stories

  GRUBS (July 2010)

  For Heather.

  Again.

  Chapter One:

  Raine

  July 12, 1986,

  The Eye, an after-hours club

  I knew she was too good to be true. Women like Raine don’t go for guys like me. Ever. You see them draped over the arms of actors or athletes, or walking the red carpet on Oscar night, or even playing trophy wife to the latest software billionaire, but you never see one sitting alone in a crowded nightclub. If by some odd chance you do, you can bet they aren’t going to make time with guys like me. But from the moment we met I felt an undeniable connection. An invisible thread that bound us together in ways I didn’t understand, and I didn’t try to. The first time I saw her, she was sitting alone in a breathtaking scarlet dress while the lights and colors of New York City nightlife ebbed and flowed around her, seemingly beneath her notice. Her bored expression couldn’t hide her exquisite features, and despite my better judgment, I couldn't keep from introducing myself.

  Raine was beautiful, to put it mildly. Long, obsidian hair framed a face as pale and delicate as the petals of a white rose. Her crimson lips shone against her cheeks like blood on snow, and when she looked up from her drink and smiled at me, I felt closer to Heaven than I ever have before or since. It was the kind of smile you can take to the grave with you, and still feel your life was worth living just for having seen it.

  Her beauty aside, when I think about that first night, it is her eyes I remember most. Deep sapphires sparkled beneath lashes so full and thick they scorned the use of anything so mundane as mascara. A man could drown in those dancing pools if he looked too long. Hundreds of years ago, when the romantics ruled the world, men might’ve died for them. Some undoubtedly did in the 1980’s too, come to think of it, though not for the same reasons.

  Beautiful as she was, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling of danger whenever I looked into her face. Something about her intimidated me, even scared me a little. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was a perfect example of the subconscious mind having more sense than the conscious. My subconscious told me something was amiss, but my conscious mind quite rudely told it to shut up, it had better things to do.

  I walked over and asked if I could sit with her. She looked at me with those eyes, deep and enthralling as the sea, and I was gone. Hopelessly smitten. I knew in that instant those poets and romantics from hundreds of years ago were right about two things. The first being love at first sight was indeed possible. The second being men could, in fact, die for a woman’s eyes. Some would even consider themselves fortunate to have had the honor.

  “Please do, Vincent,” she said, and smiled.

  I was so lost I didn’t even realize she’d called me by name, even though I had not given it to her. It just never occurred to me.

  “My name is Raine,” she said, and waved to a server nearby.

  “That’s a beautiful name.” I knew it was lame, but it was all I could think to say.

  The server stood next to the table and asked what I would like. I told him I would have water, since that’s what Raine was drinking. He retrieved a glass from the bar, filled it from the tap, and brought it over. When he set it down, I thought I saw a strange look pass between them. When I turned to face him it was gone. I chalked it up to being nervous.

  “Here you go, sir,” he said, and left. Some small part of my mind told me I should leave, too, but I ignored it.

  What followed was the ritual small talk, common in club meetings worldwide when two strangers are trying to get to know each other. She was a teacher, I was a freelance cartoonist. I didn’t have a girlfriend. She had no boyfriend, and there were no children in the equation at all. The usual topics that come up in such meetings. It’s as though they all share a common theme, a set track like a job interview. Which makes sense, if you consider the job you're applying for is one involving companionship perhaps not just for the immediate future, but for the rest of your days.

  Or nights.

  Before long we made our way to the dance floor, where Raine stole my ability to focus on anything but her. She moved with a fluidity and grace I would never have imagined possible. The soft way she eased her lithe, supple body across the floor took my breath and what little remained of my resistance away and tucked them somewhere into the folds of her red dress, leaving me open for anything.

  “You’re an incredible dancer,” I told her, and meant it.

  “Thank you,” she replied, smiling. “Lots of practice. I’ve been dancing for a very long time.”

  “It shows. How long?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not important. Just dance with me.”

  I was happy to oblige.

  “So you don’t have parents or friends in New York?” She asked.

  “No, not really. My folks died in a crash about three years ago, and I don’t meet many people through my work.”

  “I see,” she said, looking thoughtful. The barest hint of a smile twinkled in her eyes. Again, those warning bells sounded in the back of my head, and my instincts told me to get out of there. But again, I ignored them, and when Lady in Red began to play and couples all over the club were getting close, we did the same. As we danced to Chris Deburgh’s beautiful ballad, the entire world fell away, leaving only us. Two single stars in an otherwise empty universe. I sighed as she put her head on my chest, and for once the world had meaning.

  Raine was soft, and smelled of rose petals. We danced, and I felt the movement of her body in time with mine, both of us swaying gently to the music. Neither of us spoke, and that’s when I knew for certain she had me. I would not have been able to let go even if I wanted to, which of course I didn’t. Sometimes drowning is better than swimming, ask any romantic old poet.

  I can’t say how long we danced like that; it seemed to me I was lost for centuries, though it couldn’t have been longer than the single song. I could have stayed right there in that minute for the rest of my life and beyond, but even then I knew it would end. Sooner or later, it would have to.

  The end came when she pulled away and looked in my eyes. I don’t know what she saw there, but the look on her face changed from contentment to guilt faster than it took me to draw a breath. This time the look did not pass quite so swiftly; in fact, it didn’t pass at all. Her lips, those beautiful lips that I had been longing to kiss all night, parted, and I thought she would say something, but she didn’t. Instead she took a step back, her head shaking slowly back and forth, her brow furrowed and eyes wide and wet. Then she turned and ran to the door without stopping to look behind her.

  “Raine, what is it?” I asked, but she ignored me and bolted through the exit. By the time I recovered it was too late, she was gone. “What’s wrong?”

  My shirt smelled like roses. />
  ***

  Stumbling home from the club, I had only a vague awareness of the sidewalk under my feet; otherwise I was oblivious to the world. My bleary gaze showed me the halos of two streetlights where only one had stood just a few hours before. Thought didn't come easy after all the booze, and soon my head felt like it had taken a hit from a splitting maul. I figured it was the lights giving me a headache, so I turned my back on them in defiance, a self-satisfied smile on my lips. That would show ‘em.

  As I walked away, my focus cleared just enough to see a person standing in front of me. I almost bumped into her. If she hadn’t called my name, I might have done just that. As it was, I barely stopped short in time to avoid a collision. I tried to mutter some word of apology and go around, but my feet never got the directions from my brain, and I tripped and fell, landing squarely on my ass.

  I sat there a bit, waiting for the earth to cease spinning when a thought made its slow way into my head. This woman knew my name, so she must be a friend or associate. That thought prompted another; there I was falling over myself in front of someone I knew. The thought of how I must look gave me the impetus to stand up and see who she was.

  My breath caught in my throat when I saw Raine standing in front of me. I had not expected to see her again. We had passed in the night like those two fabled ships and that had been the end of it. I guess the sea had other ideas. In my sodden state I couldn’t make my mouth do anything other than gape. I couldn’t think of a thing to say and doubt I could have said anything anyway. I could only stand there, looking ridiculous as I tried desperately to think of some witty, face-saving comment.

  She solved that problem for me by pulling me close and pressing her lips to mine. Surprised but very pleased, I kissed her back. There was something familiar about the taste of her breath. It had a distinctive flavor to it. I couldn’t place it then, but I know it well now. In retrospect it seems so obvious that I can’t believe I missed it back then, when it was important.

  Blood.

  Her kiss was fire. Ice. Hunger and desperation rolled into one. Pure passion. It filled my every pore, squeezing out everything I had been before like hands wringing out a dishtowel. I sobered up in an instant as a churning, raging river of life flowed through me. Parts of my body began to tingle with anticipation for what was sure to come, while my subconscious pined for what it knew I was about to lose. I didn’t care. I had what I wanted.

  Then her body stiffened, and she pulled away from me again. The warmth that had been flooding into me was gone in a heartbeat, broken like an electric current after the power is cut. We both staggered, and I nearly fell. She recovered her balance quickly and stepped away from me, her face turned toward the sky.

  “I can't do this,” she whispered, eyes trained on the sky.

  Confusion and anguish marred her lovely face, turning it dark and sad. The face of someone who has just been told she has six months to live and those six months would be strapped to a machine. Although I had no idea what the fuck was going on, I knew I was about to lose her a second time. I couldn’t let her walk away from me again. Something in my head told me if I let her go it would be the last time I ever saw her. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t.

  Reacting purely on instinct, I reached out and took her arm in my hand. I tried to pull her close to me, but it was like trying to move a telephone pole with your bare hands. I tried anyway. All I could think about was not letting go.

  As if my touch on her arm woke her up, she snapped her gaze to my hand. With a grip stronger than any vise, she plucked my fingers from her arm and stared at me. Her ocean-blue eyes turned hard, and her jaw set. The red stain of her lips pressed into a thin line, like a fresh cut across the lower half of her face.

  “Run,” she said, “Please, just run.”

  “But-”

  “No. No questions. You don't need to understand, Vincent. You just need to run.”

  With that, she turned and ran, leaving me to watch her go. Again. I shook the cobwebs from my head and stared at her back as she ran away.

  Not this time. I took up the chase. I didn't think I catch her, but I tried anyway. Even then I knew I was in way over my head, but something extraordinary was about to take place, something that involved Raine, and I didn't want to miss it.

  She led me quite a chase, I'll give her that. We ran through the darkest alleys, the most confusing paths, and the worst parts of the neighborhood. Always, she seemed to linger just on the edge of my vision. The exertion of trying to keep up with her stole the remaining effects of alcohol from me, and with a cleared head, it was much easier to wonder just what the Hell was going on. As she rounded a corner and turned into an alley, I thought I had her. I knew the neighborhood well, and that particular alley was blocked at the far end. She had no way out. I hurried in to cut off any escape, thinking I would have my answers soon.

  I stepped into the alley, looking left and right. There weren’t many hiding places. A few trashcans and a dumpster off to the left. I checked behind the dumpster, but she wasn’t there. After a moment’s thought, I knew her hiding place. I threw open the lid, but she wasn’t there, either. Worried now, I searched through the trash, even climbed in and dug my way down to the bottom. All I found was refuse and a few rats, very vocal and none too happy about having their supper interrupted.

  She hadn’t run past me, and I didn’t see her leave, there was no way out. She had to be there. Had to be. But she was gone.

  Again.

  Chapter Two;

  Kagan

  Three nights later, and for the third night in a row, I sat in a small, dingy diner directly across the street from The Eye, a cup of strong coffee sending up tendrils of steam in front of me. The melamine tabletop was supposed to look like granite, but bore the faded stains of many meals, which detracted from the overall effect. This night, as in the previous two, I watched the entrance to the club for hours on end, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious Raine.

  The smoke from perhaps a dozen cigarettes drifted lazily through the dining room, mixing with the cooking smells that wafted through the kitchen window. It was their busy time. Between the hours of ten pm and two am the little diner - called Jo Ann’s - enjoyed a steady stream of clients coming in from The Eye. Mostly bawdy drunks who felt the need after a night of revelry to fill their bellies with something solid.

  As I sat there dreaming of Raine and rehearsing in my head the things I would say when I saw her again, the waitress refilled my coffee and moved on to the next table. Her name was Rose, and she had a sharp wit and a pleasant smile that always made me feel welcome on those long nights staking out The Eye. Since I was only there for the busy hours, Rose and I were never alone in the place, but once or twice there was no one near my table, and we’d talked for a few minutes. She could keep a straight face while she told a joke that would curl a sailor’s hair. I remember laughing several times at something she’d say on her way to another table.

  “Thank you, Rose,” I said, and she rewarded me with a sly wink as she juiced up a disheveled, heavyset man in the next booth who didn’t seem to appreciate the strength of her coffee. He took a long pull and winced, nearly choking on the stuff. I hid my smile in my cup and returned my mind to the matter at hand. Finding Raine.

  While the man berated Rose for her ‘motor oil,’ I returned my attention to the door of The Eye. At only 10:00 PM, it would still be a few hours before the revelries of the night truly began; things didn’t really get wild in The Eye until well after midnight. So I waited. And I would continue to wait until I saw her face, no matter how many days and coffee refills it took. I settled myself into the seat and prepared for another long night.

  I was just bringing the cup to my lips when a voice right next to my booth startled me from my thoughts. My arm jerked, a reflexive action, sending up a spray of very hot coffee, which splattered on the table, as well as my arm and face. Coughing and sputtering a curse, I turned to the speaker with a scalding remark o
n my lips.

  I swallowed my comment when I saw the portly fellow who had been sitting at the next booth was now seated at mine. How’d he move so quietly? I wondered, cursing my own lack of attention. I had been so focused on the entrance to The Eye that a herd of elephants could have tromped in next to me and I wouldn’t have noticed. I grabbed my napkin and wiped the coffee from my stinging face and arm.

  “Be more careful next time,” I said, controlling my irritation with great effort.

  “You should thank me,” he replied, his voice like gravel. “You're better off wearing that shit than drinking it.”

  Great, I thought, company. I sat back and waited to see what the husky man would say.

  ‘Husky’ wasn’t actually the right word for him, though. It’s a nice word, a politically correct word. He was fat. Very fat. And dirty, with a leering smile shrouded by what looked to be a week’s worth of growth on his face. He wore a ratty shirt that seemed made of wrinkles, untucked and with the top three buttons open, revealing a small forest of chest hair. His shoulder length, dirty blond hair resembled nothing so much as a ragged, filthy mop atop his head. It hung from his scalp in clumps like greasy dreadlocks.

  And the smell! His stench drowned out both the cooking and the cigarettes, replacing them with something foul, yet indefinable. Sickly sweet, like overripe fruit rotting in the summer heat. I wondered when was the last time he’d had a bath, and decided I was better off not knowing.

  His overcoat was a light tan color, but spotted here and there with various stains of grease, oil and food. He looked like one of the homeless guys who hung around the burning barrels in all those movies, Hollywood’s idea of the indigent. Something about him that just wasn’t right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I didn’t like him, and I didn’t want him sitting with me.

  It’s his eyes. They give me the shivers. Squeezed almost completely shut by large, flushed cheeks, his eyes were little more than dark slits in a face made of shadows, glittering with malice under the shadows of his furrowed brow. The irises were such a dark brown they could have been called black, while the whites showed a sickly, jaundiced yellow. A malevolent, cunning intelligence glinted there like a small red light, giving me the disturbing impression that their owner was watching, waiting only for the perfect moment. The eyes of a madman. I was so absorbed in the wrongness of him that I only realized he’d spoken because he seemed to be waiting for me to answer.