Night Owl

CHAPTER 19

Matt

I WOKE TOO early on Monday. I didn't need to look at my clock to know it was early. The light coming through the window was pale and depressive.

No Hannah.

I didn't know how to be apart from Hannah anymore. I didn't know how to wake up without her. When I was with her, I felt right and the world felt full of possibility.

We'd spent all of Sunday driving and hiking around the park. We drove back late last night. When I dropped Hannah off and pulled away, a familiar desperation came over me.

Why the desperation, still?

Why did every small separation still seem to echo a future goodbye?

I had broken up with Bethany. I called her the same day I tried to meet Hannah for lunch. In vague terms, I told Bethany that I could no longer be with her. I apologized for the timing, the phone call, everything.

Bethany sobbed and swore. She was by turns accepting, then venomous and threatening. She demanded to know if I was seeing someone else.

"There's no one," I lied.

I would protect Hannah no matter what. I wouldn't drag her deeper into my mess.

"I don't believe you!" Bethany's voice was shrill. "You lying cheating f*ck!"

"Bethany, please—"

"Don't say my name! You f*cking a*shole. I've always been able to do better. Like I need you and your ridiculous antisocial neurotic bullshit. Good riddance. You don't give a f*ck about anyone or anything but your f*cking writing."

I didn't hang up on Bethany. I smoked and let her rip into me; I watched the city darken and thought of Hannah. When this was over, I could really be with her.

Finally, Bethany wound down to tearful hiccups.

She said she couldn't wait to tell her father that he was right about me, that I was no good after all. He was right, I thought.

She said she would get her things when she returned and stay with a friend, and could I please not be around when she packed.

"Of course," I said, lighting my third cigarette. "I'll go out. I can gather up your things, if you want..."


I thought of Bethany's stuff crammed into the trunk of my car.

"F*ck you," she said, and she was gone.

That night, I didn't let myself reach out for Hannah. Bethany might call back for another round of cussing and questioning, and besides, I didn't deserve Hannah's comfort. I deserved a night alone.

I deserved worse.

Had I really made things right by breaking up with Bethany? I had no intention of telling Bethany about Hannah or Hannah about Bethany. Could I pull this off? Could I blithely begin a relationship with Hannah on this foundation of lies?

I peeled back the sheets and checked my phone.

8:45 a.m.

Hannah would be getting ready for work. More like on her way to work. I hoped she wasn't too wiped out from our weekend in the mountains.

Maybe today I could meet her for lunch—for real.

I frowned. Would I need to dress up like a "businessman" again? Sooner or later, and preferably sooner, I had to tell Hannah that I was M. Pierce. She would understand. She would see how I'd been cornered into the lie about my line of work. Wouldn't she?

I pulled on a t-shirt and flopped into my office chair. I opened my email. An email appeared as I was deleting spam. I smirked at the sender name: FIT TO PRINT.

That goddamn zine. I subscribed to their updates simply because they were vocally obsessed with the mystery of me. They weren't idiots, either. Somehow they had uncovered my representation by Pam's agency. Keeping an eye on them couldn't hurt.

I skimmed over the subject line.

My body went cold.

My throat constricted.

It wasn't possible. I clicked the link to the story.

M. PIERCE'S IDENTITY UNVEILED; FIT TO PRINT FIRST TO PRINT

July 8, 2013

Author M. Pierce is Denver resident Matthew Robert Sky Jr., an anonymous source recently revealed.

Though Sky forced friends and family to sign non-disclosure agreements protecting his privacy, sources close to his girlfriend say they have long known she was protecting Sky's secret.

"She would never tell and always fudged about his work," said one friend, "but we had a bet going about it. There were a lot of small clues. He controlled and manipulated her with threats."

I tried to keep reading.

The words blurred on the screen.

I knew I was having a panic attack. I knew this. I knew the symptoms.

I couldn't get enough oxygen. The air in my apartment was suddenly frigid. I began to sweat. I needed to breathe. I had to breathe.

Sources close to his girlfriend.

Sky's secret.

She would never tell.

Bethany.

Bethany ratted me out.

I broke up with Bethany and she ratted me out.

My lists.

My lists.

Hannah.

I thought I felt my heart stop.

Where was my pulse? I clutched at my chest.

I was still breathing, but I couldn't find my heartbeat.

My cell rang and rang and rang. How long had it been ringing? The tone was discordant.

I brought it to my ear with a shaking hand.

"Matthew?"

It was Pam.

"Matthew? Are you there? Are you seeing this?"

"Hannah," I managed.

"Excuse me?"

"Is..."

"Matthew, listen. I need a word. I don't care how this happened, it's out. I need to know how you want to spin it. There's a reporter here."

I tried to stand and found myself on the floor.

A reporter.

No, it didn't matter. Pam didn't matter. Fit to Print didn't matter. Bethany didn't matter. My secrets and books didn't matter.

Hannah.

"Hannah," I said. "Where—"

"Matthew! For god's sake. I would happily throw Hannah at this reporter and make him schedule an appointment with me in 2016, but she's not here yet. Listen. I can call security and have him removed, or I can sit down with him and pretend to ignorance. Or we can let the cat out of the bag. It's already basically out, so we—"

Not here yet. Hannah wasn't at work yet. The reporter. The email. Did Hannah get that email? Did she subscribe to Fit to Print?

I don't remember ending the call with Pam and calling Hannah. I only know that her voice was on the line.

"Hey you!" she said.

I could tell that she was moving. Wind rushed over the receiver. She sounded normal. She sounded cheerful.

"Hannah. Hannah, listen."

"Matt?"

I reached for my office chair and it swiveled out of my hand.

"Matt, what's going on?"

"Hannah." I swallowed. I tasted bile. "Where are you?"

"I'm... about five steps from the agency, and about ten minutes from getting growled at by Pam for being late. Look, are you—"

"Don't go," I said. "Hannah. I need you to come over. Don't go in. Don't go to work."

My voice broke.

Hannah hadn't read the article yet, but she was about to collide with a reporter who had.

"Matt, you're scaring me. What's going on? Are you okay?"

"No, Hannah, I'm not. I need you, please. Come over. Now, please."

"I will. It's okay. Breathe. God, Matt, you make me so scared for you. I'm coming right now, okay? Let me—"

"Please just come, please Hannah..."

Hot tears spilled over my eyelids.

"Matt, I swear, I'll be there. I have to tell Pam I'll be late. I'll be there, though, just..."

My mouth worked speechlessly. I wanted to beg her not to talk to Pam. I wanted to threaten her. Come directly here, or else...

He controlled and manipulated her with threats.

"Please," I whispered.

"I'm coming. I'm going in, I'm telling Pam I'll be late, and no matter what, I'm coming over Matt. Give me ten minutes. Five minutes."

"No matter what," I repeated.

"No matter what."

"Promise. Hannah, Promise. Promise you'll be here no matter what."

"Matt, I promise. I'll be right there. No matter what."