Chapter Two

It was a black winter night as she stumbled on

and with every step grew closer to the ground.

She knew her one chance of living on was to strip away

all the colors that were casting her astray.

The twisting lights of the police cars and ambulances bounced off the terra-cotted awalls of the hotel as uniformed men and women went about their business. I was standing next to a good looking police officer who in turn was interviewing the head of the catering staff, trying to get a handle on why Miss Autumn Weaver had decided to jump off the roof of the Sunset Shadows Resort. I tried to pick up what they were saying, but the only thing I could focus on was her face as she hurtled towards the ground.

I still remember the sound of the small explosion as she landed on the roof of a car below – even as she was falling, Autumn was silent. The only noise had been the car’s groans of displeasure as it folded itself to encase her tiny body in glass and metal.

I didn’t realize until I reached the bottom floor that the car she had landed on was mine.

Someone else had phoned the police for me as I raced downstairs to alert anyone I could find that a woman had taken a swan dive off the building. When I reached the room where my office party was, everyone had crowded along the windows facing the front of the hotel to take in the eerie scene below them.

I stayed in the room long enough to catch Eric’s attention before I turned around and grabbed my jacket from the coat room. And now here I am – standing in grim silence while clutching the folds of my jacket to my chest. I know that the shivering coursing through my body isn’t from the chill nipping at my hands and bare skin.

A dismal cry rings up about the scene and I see a woman sitting on the edge of a bumper of one of the ambulances. She had been walking by my car when Autumn had landed on it and a few shards of glass had flown around the scene and attacked anyone within their range. An EMT presses a piece of gauze over a small cut on the woman’s forehead and she whimpers in pain as she tries to flinch away from her caretaker.

Thank God the police don’t think I went crazy and pushed her off the roof. I didn’t think anything like that until one of the officers actually told me that I shouldn’t have to worry about them coming after me with charges that I had a hand in Autumn’s fall. Her boss had found a note in her purse that had been stowed away in a locker at the very beginning of the night and no one had gone in until the owner himself unlocked the door after hearing about Autumn.

I was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

All I want to do is to go home and try to forget that this ever happened. Not possible, however, because the image of Autumn lying in a half assed spread eagle on the roof of my car is going to haunt my dreams probably for the rest of my life.

If my car weren’t a twisted array of metal any passerby would think that some random woman had decided to sleep on top of a parked vehicle. Autumn’s legs were demurely crossed at the ankles, her pale skin a stark contrast to the shining black metal of my BMW. Her dark hair had come out of her ponytail and wisps of hair were framing her face and snaking their way around the frame of the car. Her head tilted slightly to the right, her arm bending at an awkward angle so her fingers were just slightly brushing her temple. Her left arm dangled lifelessly above her head. Her eyelids shielded her lifeless brown eyes and the only trace of blood on Autumn was from a small cut just above her left eyelid. 

But she’s dead. There isn’t any doubt about it as a pair of EMTs hoist her off of the car and gingerly place her in a body bag.

Oh shit.

My legs suddenly knock together and I don’t know how I’m standing any more. Slowly, I sink to my knees and allow myself to huddle closer into my jacket before I sit down on the side of the curb. Autumn’s boss gives me a pathetic glance before he rubs his face with his hands out of frustration or stress or something along those lines, and heads off back inside the hotel.

“Mr. Timberlake, are you going to be alright?” the officer asks me and I look up into his eyes. He appears to be around my age and I can tell that he isn’t used to dealing with cases of this nature. I almost feel bad for the guy, but that would probably be more prominent if I weren’t in the middle of this nightmare.

“Uh, yeah,” I mutter before I stagger to my feet. “I should be okay.”

“Do you have someone to take you home?”

I start to open my mouth but an arm wraps around my shoulders and I turn to see Eric supporting me. Thank God for having friends in the workplace.

“I’ll be sure he gets home safe,” Eric assures the officer. The policeman makes sure he has all of my contact information should they need to further their police report and then sends me on my way.

I walk with Eric towards his car, which is on the other side of the parking lot. Lucky. I was able to leave my information with the towing company who is taking my poor, totaled car to the junkyard and once I’m able to get over the initial shock of this horrible accident I can take out a claim from my insurance company on the vehicle.

Eric and I are silent for the ride back to my small house in Westwood. I feel bad for the guy since he lives in the opposite direction of my home and he’s the type of dude who doesn’t really take charity or ask for favors so telling him he can crash in the guest room is kind of a lost cause.

But it really couldn’t hurt to ask…

“Are you sure…”

“Would you mind…” we both speak at the same time and for some odd reason it’s almost like sitting at lunch with a girlfriend you’ve been fighting with and you both say something at once. Thankfully we don’t do the awkward laughter and turn away from each other blushing like teenagers.

I gesture for Eric to go first and he nods in gratitude, still keeping his eyes on the road, “Would you mind if I crashed at your place? It’s late and I’m still a little jarred about tonight and don’t feel like driving all the way back home. If not, I totally understand.”

I guess I should remind myself that Eric and I aren’t great buddies. I mean we go to lunch together at work and I know he’s close to proposing to his girlfriend (who I’ve met) and only when we realize that our social circles are completely occupied with other people do we call each other up and go to a bar for beers or whatever. So I shouldn’t be offended if he thinks it’s too forward to suggest staying at my place. I almost want to tell him that later we can play Truth or Dare and braid each other’s nonexistent hair.

“I was about to suggest that. It isn’t a problem at all, and my roommate won’t mind I’m sure.”

He nods again in thanks just as we pull onto my street. It’s a quiet road and the houses are eclectic and mostly wooden with shutters and small grassy lawns. I live one house away from the crossroads in the middle of the street so it’s relatively peaceful. It’s a white split level with a black roof and we’ve even managed to keep a few of the flower beds alive to meet the level of curb appeal the other homes have.

Eric parks in front of our mailbox and turns his Mercedes off. He’s been to my house before so I feel like I don’t have to really present anything to him. I dig the keys out of my pocket as we head up the front walk.

The outside of the house is modest but it’s pretty plush on the inside. Opening the door, we both step inside and I quickly lock up. I can hear the television coming from the living room in the depths of the house and it looks like Trace is staying up late tonight. He’s probably watching late night something or other and trying to get ideas for whatever clothes he’s trying to design.

My roommate/best friend/brother for life, Trace Ayala looks up as the two of us walk in on his territory. He’s got swatches of fabric all over the coffee table and there’s a pair of empty beer bottles buried among them. He immediately sets his sketchbook down and hurries over to me, clapping me on the shoulders and then bringing it in for the real thing.

“Dude, man, I heard what happened. Are you okay?”

“How did you hear?” I ask a bit surprised as he pulls away and nods courteously to Eric before he realizes that the living room is a bit of a mess and starts to clean up.

“Breaking news story. They interrupted Lettermen. I recognized the hotel and your car and could see you in the background. Tough shit on your car, man. Didn’t you just have it detailed?”

I love Trace, but he can sometimes be insensitive. But in his defense he didn’t know that I was with the girl who decided to throw herself over the side of the building. I tell him I’m okay before thinking that a glass of water could definitely help the dryness in my throat. Plus it gives Eric the opportunity to fill Trace in on what he’s missing from the story.

As I pull the water pitcher out of the fridge and start to pour the liquid into a glass I hear Trace’s, “Shit!” loudly from the other room. I return to the living room and see Trace’s look of utter astonishment and I merely shrug my shoulders as I take a big gulp from my glass.

“I don’t really want to talk about it right now. I’m exhausted, I need to go to sleep. You know where the spare room is?” I ask Eric. I feel bad for leaving him hanging, but I suddenly can’t really deal with other people right now. I don’t want to be left to my own thoughts, but being in the company of living people just doesn’t feel right at the moment.

I mean how can I be okay with living when I watched someone die right in front of me? Watch their body hit the roof of my car and reduce it into a twisted, empty sardine can destined for the trash? My throat is dry again so I take another sip.

My coworker nods in understanding before I turn on my heels and head towards the master bedroom. Trace and I decided I’d get the bigger room since I’d be paying more rent. While I have an established career, Trace is an up and coming fashion designer. He’s able to get some recognition because the actors and other artists who get noticed every day will wear his clothes if I manage to get them a really sweet deal on a picture. But Trace is all over the place on the earning scale so it was only fitting that the person with the steady paycheck would take the larger room.

It takes all of my energy to get out of my party clothes and into something that resembles pajamas. Thankfully the pants that I had been wearing the night before were still lying shapeless by the side of my bed. I pull them up around me and sink into my bed before turning off the lights.

Closing my eyes, they open straight away. The only thing I can see is the image of that girl, Autumn, falling through the black void of my closed eyelids. All I want to do is forget all about this and not have it affect my sleep.

But two hours later I’m still tossing and turning, the horrible yet delicate image of Autumn falling filling my thoughts, my line of vision, even my ears. Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s almost four in the morning and I have shit to accomplish in a few hours.

Getting out of bed, I stumble into the main area of the house and see that Trace is still awake. The man is a slave to his work and that means him getting no sleep and basically becoming an insomniac. Thankfully, I know his doctor has prescribed him sleeping pills and I’m anxious to get my hands on one or even two.

“Can’t sleep?” Trace asks me not looking up from his design book.

“No. All I can see is the girl, Autumn,” I add, “Can I steal two of your Ambien?”

“Shit, yeah,” Trace explains before he jumps from the couch and heads to his bedroom, which is on the other side off the house. He returns to the living room and I hold out my hand as he drops two of the precious pills into my palm.

“Thanks,” I mutter before I throw them in my mouth and swallow without the water. He claps me on the shoulder and I reach up to grab his forearm before I turn around and head back to my room.

I pass out before I even have time to register that the last thing I see is Autumn’s peaceful fall from life.

The blinding light of the sun creeps through my curtains and lands on my face. Scrunching up my face, I smack a hand to my face and try to rub the discomfort away. Groggily, I try to sit up in my bed and squint my eyes to protect myself against the battling sun.

Ugh. I feel like shit.

Glancing at my clock, I realize I wasn’t able to sleep the full eight hours like the pills promise and see that it’s almost noon. I’ve slept later, but I still feel like a slug as I pull my tired and tense body out of bed.

The shower wakes me up and as I walk into the main area of the house in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt I realize that the rest of the house is finally waking up.

I don’t know if Trace slept at all last night, but he’s in the kitchen making breakfast, or I guess lunch. Eric, to my surprise, is still here and is sitting on the couch scratching the ears of Trace’s Labrador, Noggin. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and shirt that Trace has designed and looks fairly well rested. I’m surprised he’s still here.

“Sleep okay?” Trace questions and I’m hit with the lovely smell of eggs as I come closer to the kitchen.

“Yeah. I didn’t dream at all. I don’t know how you aren’t obsessed with those sleeping pills. They’re pretty awesome.”

“Don’t want to pull shit like that,” Trace points out, “You get addicted to those, you get stupid with them. I am not Marilyn Monroe.”

“Definitely,” I tell him with a wry grin, “you’re too skinny and you suck as a platinum blond.”

“Please don’t remind me of my high school days. Very painful.”

“Glad to see you’re doing better,” Trace retorts as he turns to pay attention to the hash browns.

And then it all comes rushing back at me.

Hotel. Roof. Autumn. Falling. Car. Totaled. Dead. Fuck.

“As better as can be expected, I guess,” I explain with a noncommittal shrug. I head for the L-shaped couch and sit on the opposite side of Eric.

“That’s good,” Trace calls from the kitchen. It’s times like this I’m grateful the kitchen opens up into the little breakfast nook and the living room. He’s about to continue but the phone rings and he curses loudly. “Do you mind watching the hash browns for me? I think this is Marissa with Ed Hardy. They might want one of my designs for their spring show.”

I get to my feet and head for the kitchen, Eric following me, no doubt looking for something to do. Trace disappears into the dining room with the cordless phone and I can hear his jovial hello into the receiver as I start to shift the hash browns around in the pan.

“Did you sleep alright?” I ask Eric, “I’m sorry for bailing on you last night…”

“It was fine, don’t worry about it. And don’t worry, it was a rough night last night.”

“Oh…I see….” Trace’s voice wafts into the kitchen.

“Tell me about it. I got a call from work saying for you to not worry about making your appointments for the rest of the week. Nigel even says he’ll pay for counseling if you need it or whatever,”

“Really? Well I’m real sorry about that, I heard about it, yes,” Trace really needs to keep his voice down. God, his phone voice can get grating sometimes.

“Oh,” I start in response to Eric’s comment; “I don’t think I’ll need counseling, but maybe I can use those days off…go to the beach…”

“…Except it’s December,” Eric interjects helpfully.

“Yeah,” I say with a nod, “Forgot. Mind is on other things, sorry.”

“Well I’ll let him know….”

“I’m sure,” Eric, adds as he pulls the eggs off the frying pan and onto three different plates.

“…a bit of a shock for everybody.”

“Are you heading into work today?” I ask Eric as I turn the stove off and put the hash browns onto a serving plate.

“Nah. Too late and all my clients are booked and are all busy so that’s good for me, I guess.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know. It shouldn’t be a problem…” Trace says curtly, still on the phone.

“That’s good,” I mention to Eric as we bring all the food to the kitchen table. Glad to know we can finish off Trace’s work without destroying it.

We don’t hear Trace say goodbye to Marissa or Ed Hardy or whoever, but he comes over to the table with a weird look on his face.

“What?” Eric and I ask him at the same time.

“Is it a go for Ed Hardy?”

“That wasn’t Ed Hardy,” Trace says solemnly as he sits down in his usual chair. Eric and I follow suit and I just give him a look. Something’s up

“Then who was it?” I question, thoroughly intrigued.

“That was Mr. and Mrs. Weaver. They’re Autumn’s parents.”

My heart stops beating in my chest and I swear it’s in my throat. Apparently it wants to be swallowed into my stomach and be my breakfast. “Why are they calling here?”

“They want to meet the man who was with their daughter before she died.”

Yup. Heart has entered stomach.

“I told them it wouldn’t be a problem. They’re expecting you within the hour.”

Stomach begin to digest heart for exiting of the body.