Fade to Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1) (8 page)

“It’s a promise ring,” he announced like that cleared up all my questions.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

He bent his head to me, looking me in the eyes. “It’s a promise ring,” he said again, but more seriously. “I will promise myself to you, and you to me. If you agree? We will survive the separation of college and med school, and if you will let me, in a few years I want to put a bigger ring on this finger,” he said, touching the ring finger on my left hand.

Understanding struck me dumb. I was loopy from the drug and not at all sure I’d understood. I searched his face for confirmation of his words. I was a castaway child. I was unwanted. Yet here was an angel, sent to me to not only rescue me from death, but to rescue me from myself. I cried. I couldn’t help it.

I always thought this thing between us was only temporary, and that Matthew would marry some sweet southern belle. I didn’t know if it was the drugs, or the love I felt, or fear, or appreciation, but I wept—to his amusement.

“You agree?” he asked, hope evident in his voice. How could he doubt my longing to be with him always?

“Of course, of course, of course, of course. Yes!” I swore.

Excitement shone in his handsome face.

“Look, Piper,” and he gestured wildly in the air at things unseen. “The future, Piper. It’s wide open.
We
write our lives.
We
do. Not the ones who have done us wrong, but us. Together we can do anything. We will travel and help people in need. Maybe you will deliver babies, while I tend to expectant mothers.” He smiled.

I began kissing him. His mouth. His neck. All over. My body caught fire at his words. I began tugging at his clothes, pulling at his jacket. I think I shocked him a bit, because he didn’t seem to know what to do with me.

“Piper?” he said, chuckling with my lips on his. I didn’t answer. I was afraid to stop. “Piper?” he said, in deep heavy voice in my ear. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

I answered by putting my cold hands up his shirt.

“Oh, yes, Matthew. More than anything,” I breathed in his ear.

I felt his body turn forceful and hungry. Finally resistance caved, and we began to undress one another hurriedly. I was not at all ashamed or embarrassed. I wanted to be his wife, lover, and friend forever. What would stop me now, but silly notions?

I knew I was supposed to wait until marriage, but I had thought about this for many hours, and decided it was just a man-made law, and man has screwed up everything anyway, so what if spiritually, Matthew and I were married already? I, at sixteen, already felt like a wife, and I was ready to act like one.

We lay kissing, naked on the blankets Matthew sat on to study. He kissed my neck and breasts. I quivered from cold and excitement. My breath caught, and I began panting with anticipation. He was skilled with his hands. A doctor’s hands.

He touched me softly, yet obviously starved. I reached for him wildly, driven by mad desire to have him, all of him. I was high on more than drugs.

We made love the way teenagers do. Clumsy and fun. Loving every inch of each other. Playing and laughing. We were young lovers with a plan. We had the whole world by a string, and our futures were very bright ahead of us.

We lay breathless, intertwined in each other, the aftershocks of lovemaking leaving us slowly. For a while at least, I forgot I was damaged. I forgot no one could ever love me. And for once, Daniel never came to mind.

Matthew took me home, and I went to bed, still buzzing from the pill, the promise, and the sex. It was a great sweet sixteen. I had a ring, and I had a plan.

When I woke at three in the morning, sweating and scared, I should have listened to the warning bells ringing in my head. I woke feeling Daniel on top of me again. I hated him all over. I hated my mother all over again. I wanted to be with Matthew, but I would have to get used to being without him for the years he would be away, only able to see him in summer and holidays.

I lay in my bed, listening to the soft snores coming from Papaw down the hall. I gave up going back to sleep. I was restless, and my heart was troubled. I couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong.

I opened my window slowly, and stepped out to the roof. I had my favorite homemade quilt wrapped tight around my body. I lay back and lit my half-smoked joint. I inhaled deeply and felt my body begin to relax. Was I feeling guilty?

In the most important way, I had lost my virginity. No, I did not wait until we were married by law, and I was only sixteen. I stared into the clear sky above and inhaled deeply on my joint allowing me mind to roam.

Buzzing, I tried to relax my thoughts out of my head. I knew Nana would think it was wrong for me to smoke weed, but I’d rather smoke weed than pop some antidepressant meds the doctors tried to feed me. No. I would not feel guilty.

I closed my eyes, and took in the night sounds. This was when I had the most peace—alone on a rooftop, stoned. The quiet sounds rocked me gently. I put the burned-out joint in a cup of sand I kept out there for these occasions. I turned to go back inside, when something in the woods caught my eye.

By the moonlight I saw a glint of glass. It was tiny, but my keen awareness picked it up. I froze in terror. I stared at the flicker in the distance. And as I stared, trying to make out a shape, it was gone. I stayed perfectly still, watching the woods.

Hunters were not allowed this close to the house. Territories were marked very clearly, and the ones out tonight knew the boundaries well. A terrible thought hit me like a ton of bricks. Daniel was in the woods, watching me. He didn’t die in the fire. He was there now, plotting my death or my capture.

But that was absurd. Nana said they recovered a man from the fire, burned to a crisp, a dog collar attached to his neck. No trace of my existence was found. Nana never made me tell the police. My medical records were sealed and my refusal to speak at the time only confirmed the suspicion that I’d had an accident. Nana thought it best to spare me the attention. Justice had been served. We knew the truth, and no one else needed to know.

So who was this? It was definitely the scope of a rifle. I’d recognize that anywhere, and at any distance. I watched closely but never saw it, or anything else, again. Buzzing from the weed, I made my way back inside, hoping I could sleep, and dream of when I would be with Matthew always, and have little kids running all over the place. But as I lay down, thoughts of dread filled me. Unexplained fear kept me wide-eyed till dawn.

Who was in the woods so close to the house? Why did I, after a wonderful night, feel like something bad was about to happen?

chapter twelve

Winter did not let up that year until the end of March, and it was bitter cold and icy till the end. Spring lasted less than two months. In east Tennessee, temperatures are either cold or hot. We have short falls, and short springs. Summers are brutally hot, and winters are freezing cold.

By May, Matthew was set to start at Duke University in the fall. We spent as much time as we could together. We would spend evenings in the blue barn, and the days we were not in school, we stayed on our four-wheelers, discovering new parts of our woods.

It was a Saturday the end of May, and temperatures were already in the eighties—hot and sticky. Matthew would walk the stage to receive his high school diploma later that night and I could feel the clock ticking down. I wanted to attach myself to him and refuse to let him go.

We decided to take our four-wheelers to the cliffs to be alone. Our precious time together would soon be restricted to a few weekends a year.

We made love on the cliffs in the sun. We then ate sandwiches and pickles, drank Cokes and shared a piece of Nana’s chocolate pie. We sat quietly, watching the sky change above us, until finally it was time to pack up and head out.

I had a new dress for the ceremony ready and I needed time to fix my hair. I wanted to be extra pretty next to my handsome boyfriend. I couldn’t wait to see Matthew in his cap and gown.

On our way down the mountainside on our four-wheelers, Matthew, always the gentleman, wanted me to go before him so he could watch me.

We could not go side-by-side because the path was too narrow, and had a sharp, elbow turn. He took my helmet from my hands, and placed it on my head. Snapping it in place, he kissed my nose through my open visor.

“Be safe,” he said, and I began my descent.

I felt like a pro now with my Yamaha. It was powerful and drove smoothly across rock or ditches. After five minutes of careful navigation, I was at the bottom.

There were so many trees that I could not see Matthew as he made his way down. He would give me time to reach the bottom and then begin his descent. I waited. I waited so long that I started trying to see back up the hill. No Matthew. After ten minutes, I killed my motor so I could listen for him. My heart clenched, and a strange nagging in my brain told me there was something wrong.

I took my helmet off. I couldn’t drive back up the narrow path for fear I would run into him, and create the problem of either me going down backward, or him going up backward, both dangerous things to do on such a narrow path with deep ditches on the left side.

I sat, squinting through the woods for any movement. None came. I began to panic. My reactions were not great. Lana had introduced me to Xanax a few weeks before, and I had a two-a-day habit now. Those, along with the weed, kept me pretty loose.

I began the steep climb up. I hadn’t walked far when I saw the green of Matthew’s four-wheeler through the trees, but I didn’t hear the motor. I climbed some more, wanting to hear something, but still I heard nothing. I got to a point where the hill was so steep that I had to pull at branches to help me climb. My fear was rising.

“Matthew?” I said.

No answer.

“Matthew!” I said louder.

No answer.

I willed my legs to climb harder. Almost there.

Sweat poured into my eyes, and terror poured into my heart. Something was wrong—very wrong. Finally, I rounded a bend, and I saw the ATV on its side, the front wheels still spinning. I couldn’t breathe.

“Matthew!” I screamed “Oh, God! Matthew!” No sight of him.

I looked under the four-wheeler. Not there. I looked further up the path, thinking maybe he’d fallen off up there and the ATV had rolled down on its own.

I began to scream and scream. Frantically, I looked here and there, and then I spotted him. He was lying face down in a ditch, about fifty feet up the hill. I dug my feet into the mud, trying to get to him, screaming his name all the while.

When I reached him, I turned him over, and wiped blood and dirt off his face. There was a gash on his forehead, deep and long, from his hairline to his eyebrow. His blood was thick, and starting to dry on his face. I shook him.

“Matthew,” I whispered again and again sobbing.

No response. In my state of panic I could not recall how to take a pulse. I begged him to answer me. If I were honest, I knew he was dead, but my mind would not allow me to think such things. Impossible things like a world without Matthew Logue. I kissed his lips then placed his head softly down on the grass. Numbly, I ran back to my four-wheeler, and raced off toward Matthew’s house.

I had no way of lifting him. I had to get help. The doctors could fix him. They could fix me, so they could fix him. I pulled into the Logues’ driveway, and raced toward the house. Matthew’s dad was carrying grocery bags in from the car. Such a normal thing to be doing and I wanted to laughed at the absurdity of it. When George Logue saw me heading toward him, he paused and waited. I skidded to a stop right in front of him.

“It’s Matthew,” is all I got out.

His eyes swept my top and blood covered hands. George dropped the bags he was holding, and ran to the garage to get Josh’s four-wheeler. We drove back to Matthew, and all the while, I kept chanting in my head,
Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.

We got to the bottom of the hill, and I told him we would need to climb one at a time. He motioned for me to get on the back of his ATV, and I raced to get there. We made it to Matthew’s overturned four-wheeler. Climbing past it, I tapped his dad’s shoulder to let him know this was the spot. He pulled in between two trees so the ATV would stay put on the hillside.

George Logue was a big man, but he moved to get to his son with the speed and lightness of a much smaller person. Sliding down into the ditch, he assessed the situation. He tried to get Matthew to breathe, but nothing changed. Matthew was motionless. Still. Quiet. Dead.

George scooped Matthew up and got him onto the ATV. He strapped his son’s body to his, then turned an ashen colored face to me.

“You’ll be all right getting back to your ride?” he asked.

I nodded, and watched him go, helpless. I stood still. I hadn’t realized I was crying until I noticed my shirt was nearly soaked through. I stood for a long time, looking around the ground, for what I don’t know. I was so numb and foggy. It wasn’t until I got to my own ATV that I figured out what it was I had been looking for.

Matthew had a head injury. That was a fact. Another fact was he always, always, always wore his helmet. I couldn’t find his helmet. That’s what I was looking for.

I retrieved my helmet from the ground and placed it on my head. I was cold in spite of the heat. I drove home, not thinking. I don’t remember what I told Nana when I got there, but we were at the hospital ten minutes later. Mrs. Logue was rocking back and forth. Her hands clutched her face.

She was wailing, “Not my boy. Not my boy.”

The doctors pronounced Matthew dead. His parents signed a form to allow the hospital to donate any of Matthew’s organs that they could. I watched this from the outside of my body, only taking in bits and pieces.

Josh stood, arms crossed, staring at the floor, not moving. He was not crying. He showed no emotion. In that moment, I thought we must feel as dead as Matthew was. I walked to Josh, and we held each other in silence until it was time to go. Nothing more to do.

Somewhere a graduation celebration was starting without its honoree. Nana and Papaw took me home. When I entered my room, my dress for that night’s graduation was hanging on my wall mirror, still in its light plastic bag, taunting me.

I had been so proud of my grown-up dress. I had imagined Matthew would think me pretty, and I thought of the ease of slipping out of it later, as we celebrated alone. I tore it down and threw it aside. I couldn’t bear to look at it.

I went to my stash of pills and took a handful. I no longer cared. I wanted to die in that moment. My hero was dead, and with a jolt of horror, I realized my husband was dead.

I would never be Piper Logue, like I had scribbled on my folders and every blank piece of paper. I would never walk down the aisle in Nana’s dress, with Matthew waiting for me at the end. It was a stupid dream, and I had been a fool to buy into it. I had no promise. I had no plan.

I allowed sleep to come. I didn’t wake up for hours. Nana came in and kissed my forehead, but I had no memory of hearing her—just the whisper of the kiss, and the smell of her bath salts.

It was four in the morning when I opened my eyes. Something had awakened me, but I laid still, trying to figure out what I’d heard. A knock on my window made me sit straight up, wide-awake now. Looking, I saw Josh through the glass.

I got up and went to open it for him. He motioned for me to come out. I got my stash of weed and then climbed onto the porch roof, where I had spent so many nights recently, dreaming of my wedding day. In my heart, I had known it had to be too good to be true. People like Matthew were too good for girls like me. Daniel was right. I never would be happy.

I sat next to Josh without speaking as he rolled tight the joint. The sky was starting to change color. Josh lit the joint inhaling deeply then handed it to me. We smoked in silence, trying to numb ourselves, until we couldn’t feel the pain and absence of his brother, and my lover.

After a few minutes of us passing the joint back and forth, Josh finally broke the silence.

“We have to pick a casket tomorrow,” he said mechanically.

I just nodded and took another hit. More silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. If Matthew was my husband, Josh was definitely my best friend. Lana was my best friend too, but I only got to see her when she wasn’t working at the drug store now, on her days off.

Josh, I saw every day. At school, we ate lunch together. At home, we roamed together while Matthew studied or helped tutor younger students for extra money, money he loved spending on me. The money was unimportant, but the care he took of me was priceless.

That would never happen again, and the thought took me under, to a dark place. I began to weep, my body shaking. Josh wrapped me in his arms, and I noticed he too was shaking with sobs of his own. We clung to each other as the sun rose. I glared at it. I had been hoping it would stay down, so I could forever walk the dark night alone.

Time would not stand still. I would have to go through with the funeral. The burial would cover two people. I was dead when Matthew found me years ago, and he breathed new life into me. When he died, I died again right along with him, returning to the dead girl I knew I was.

Josh and I said good-bye to each other when the sky grew bright, and he returned to his home, to his broken family. I remained on the roof and watched as my papaw started his day, walking to the barn with a bucket of oats for the horses.

He spotted me, and if he thought it was odd for me to be sitting on the roof, he didn’t say anything. He yelled up and asked if I wanted to come with him.

“Give me five minutes.” I said.

I hurried back inside and dressed at breakneck speed. I couldn’t stand the thought of staying in my room, with the dress I bought just for Matthew. I threw on clean clothes and stopped to look down at the blood on my clothes scattered on the floor. I held it to my face. The loss of Matthew was agony. And it had just begun.