That Night     by Cassidy Stephens

I.

    When I first met her I was in the process of finishing my day. As always, I was exhausted and needed to go back to my small apartment made for one, which I call home in Brooklyn. However, it was only 10:15 p.m., and what was a guy like me gonna’ do besides just go home, sit on my couch with beer and chips, and watch the Knicks get defeated--one more damn time.

    I drove down Sixth Avenue to an intersection that took me around a dark corner to a bar with one burnt out neon light that read "T.J.’s ub." Its a classic, small bar with an old, Irish bartender named Peter GoGarty I’ve known most of my life, where I knew, as always, I could relax and shoot back a couple of cold ones with the guys I grew up with in Brooklyn. Besides, after a hard day’s work in a city full of eight million people that "never sleeps" as they say, it’s hard for a guy to find some good "R and R," and T.J.’s seemed to be just the trick every night.

    This night was different though. In fact, I remember everything about that night. It all started as I parked my car outside of T.J.’s. I then noticed a taxi pull up with the most beautiful creature I had ever seen stepping out of it.

    She was tall and slender, not too thin, but curvy. You could tell by the way the dark blue suit with a truly defining miniskirt she had on was hugging her hips and chest, but only hanging loosely from her waist. The white shirt with huge lapels she had on underneath the navy jacket was unbuttoned all of the way down to just that certain spot where the curves and shadows start to press against each other. She had a defined jaw line, full red lips on a very fair face, and huge dark brown puppy dog eyes.

    I wasn’t really sure where she came from, but all I really knew was that she was getting out a cab by my bar, the bar I walk into every night, with a certain glow around her. I couldn’t believe she was going into T.J.’s. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who normally went into pubs. She would probably just sit around and drink Martinis all night. This, of course, to my own imagination would be done while she waited for a richer, older, and married boyfriend. But, if that were true, I wouldn’t have cared because as she opened that door and walked through, I didn’t even hesitate as I decided to follow her--into my fate.

    Looking back now I probably should have at least thought about hesitating, but it was like I couldn’t control my mind, or my legs. I ended up following the woman like a dog with a leash she had already wrapped around my neck, ironically enough when she hadn’t even given me one glance.

    As I followed her into the bar, she walked across, sat down on one of the barstools and let her long, doll-like, locks of dark hair down covering her whole back and shoulder blades. Then, she ordered a full pint of Guinness and lit up a straight camel. I must have stared at her for at least a good forty-five minutes. When I finally got up the nerve to say hello to her, she looked at me and said, "so, you are finally doing something about it huh?"

    I said, "what are you talking about?"

    "Oh please. It is so obvious that you have been wanting to buy me a drink all night."

    I couldn’t say anything. I was just mumbling. Then she stopped me and said, "so are you going to buy me the drink or not Officer O’Brian?"

    "How did you know my name?" I asked.

    And she said, with confidence I might add, "its on your nametag, on the shirt." I asked GoGarty for another pint of Guinness. As he tabbed it, he kind of winked at me and nudged me on the shoulder like a good dad would do. As I was about to give her the Guinness, I noticed her cigarette needed a light. So, I gave her mine. Then she gave me the most seductive smile I have ever seen a woman give. And, that’s just about when the night took off.

    We talked for the rest of the night, pretty much about anything and everything. At times, we would just sit in the most comfortable silence and just--stare at each other. I had never done that with someone. It’s one of those experiences that are unexplainable. However, she never let herself get too personal. Her name was Gina. She was from Manhattan, and that’s pretty much where she left that. And I didn’t feel as though I needed to know anything more about it. I figured she would tell more--eventually. Boy, was I wrong.

    After the night ended, we were pretty drunk, and we had had a fun night. We just let the talk take us away. It was about two in the morning the next day, Friday, and I asked her if she wanted to go back to my place. This, I have to admit, I had never done with a girl before, and of course, no girl had ever actually said yes. But, there was something different about that night because surprisingly, she responded with, "I would love to see where you live."

II.

    I woke up the next morning, and Gina had already dressed. It looked as though she was running out on me, like it was going to be a one-night stand or something. I didn’t want to lose her, and I panicked. I had met my soul mate, and I wasn’t about to let her out of my sight.

    So, I sat up quickly, and pulled her back down on the bed. I was very quick with my interrogation and just asked her if we could start dating. She was hesitant to my question. In fact, I believe she was scared of me. I could see it in her face, the eyes, like a deer in the headlights of a car, and the quiver in the eyebrows, intensifying the crease in the middle of the two dark strips of thick dark hair. As I was about to ask her what was wrong, she responded with the quick statement, "I adore you. You do know that, don’t you?"

    I was confused. "Then, what’s wrong?" She paused a long time, as though there was still something she wouldn’t tell me until I figured it out.

    "I’ve never felt the rush of emotion that I feel when I’m with you. I’m not sure how to control it, and that scares me because I’ve never lost control. I never thought I would be subjected to, or even given that chance of—of losing control."

    "Gina, it’s not about control. It isn’t a competition."

    And what she said then, I couldn’t believe. She stared me straight into the pupils of my green eyes and said, "well, whatever it is, its over. Maybe I just can’t give myself like you can."

    "What? I’m not asking you to give yourself to me. I would never want to be in control of you. I am just asking you to try something that you have obviously never done before. It’s not that hard. We’ll just work on it, together, day by day. And I promise, I will never try to control you."

    As the both of us were sitting up on the bed, she turned towards me, and stated, "I think I can handle that." Then, she said underneath her next breath, "as long as I always have control." I should have said something then, but I was so excited that she was staying, I couldn’t do much more than embrace her, with my arms wrapped around her, with the long, dark, locks dangling from my arms. At that time, even though I thought I would always have the rag doll underneath my arms, I was, to my worse liking, completely wrong, because in essence, from the very beginning, to the finale, the situation had always been reversed.

III.

    Gina and I became even closer and closer over time. I decided to finally propose to her. She said yes, and we were bound together by a quaint and short ceremony in the evening, in Central Park. All of my friends and the guys from the precinct were there. My mother came into Manhattan, the one time out of maybe three for her.

    However, Gina didn’t invite anyone. She told me she didn’t have what she would consider many "good friends." I didn’t question it. She also told me that her parents couldn’t be there because they had always been upset with Gina for following her dreams and quit speaking to her.

    So, we just had a quiet, little wedding with people only I knew. But, anyone that was friends with me and met her just became taken with her anyway. So, it wasn’t a huge deal.

    That day, we moved in together. We had a pretty good little life together. And, eventually, days turned into weeks and weeks turned into a month, eventually. So, we decided to celebrate.

    We went to the Rainbow Room over looking all of Manhattan and had a great dinner. We went back home to Brooklyn, we ended up in bed, and then we were just sitting out on the terrace, with a blanket, talking, drinking beer, and smoking cigarettes. And, that’s when I asked her something—something I probably never should’ve asked.

    To actually ask her my question I had to go back inside and bring out this random shoebox I had found digging in the closet earlier that week. The articles, which had fallen out of it, were somewhat mysterious and questionable to me, especially one intriguing object—Gina’s license from six years earlier.

    This had become questionable because the picture on the license wasn’t her. The "girl" in the picture had stringy blonde hair, wore glasses, and had the identification of Melissa Robertson.

    When I brought the box out to ask her about it, she went weird on me. She turned everything back on me. She put me on a guilt trip for going through her stuff and totally avoided answering the question. That’s when I got really pissed off. I had a right to though, or so I thought. I mean she wouldn’t tell me about anything. I felt like I deserved to know! I mean I was her husband!

    So, I confronted her with all of these questions, anything and everything that had ever been weighing on my mind about her. I asked her about the driver’s license and why it read Minnesota, instead of New York. I asked her why whenever she cried she would always do it in the shower, when she thought I wasn’t paying any attention, when actually, I knew every time. And I also asked her why she didn’t have any photos--of anyone.

    This is when Gina got really pissed off at me. And, I guess to some degree she had a right. And, I guess I am kind of glad she did, because without that happening, the next few events would have never have taken place that night.

    She then left. I had no idea where she was going, so I decided to follow her. If I wasn’t going to get any answers from her directly, I figured I would use my ways.

    After I hopped into a taxi and followed her’s out of Brooklyn and into Manhattan, she took me to, of course, a small bar. As she communicated to her taxi driver to wait for her, I was waiting just around the corner snooping with a sharp eye. As she went into the bar, I decided to let my taxi go, and I followed, helplessly searching for some possible answers.

    As I stepped through the door, she was talking to some guy I had never seen before. He was short, dark in complexion, and had on a raggedy old suit that appeared to still be in fashion for those of us who were still living in the delusional little world of the 70’s.

    Anyway, something big happened because the next thing I knew she was throwing water in his face and running towards the doors. I turned around and hid my face in my long black wool jacket. She didn’t recognize me though. She just kept on running.

    Since Gina had left, I decided to do some investigating. When I went up to him and asked him what had happened, he asked me sternly, "who wants da' know?"

    I told him, "her husband," thinking that he would clue in on exactly who I was. He then responded with, "you ain’t heh husband. She godda' divorce from Rahbert, and then he died from a haht attack one yeah latah in his apatment—alone."

    As I was about to jet out of the door, he asked me, "A! What are youds? Some kind uva cop, uh somedin'?"

    I asked him, "why? Is she in trouble with the law or something?"

    He replied, "Yo! If you were uh cahp, you would know, right?"

    I just nodded my head and left. I knew what I had to do next. I was going to get back to the precinct as soon as I could. I needed to know everything about Gina’s past whether it killed me in the process.

IV.

    The doors were locked back at the precinct, and to my surprise, there was no one there. I had keys though, so I just let myself in, leaving the door unlocked. I went back to the computer, turned it on, and started pounding the keys with the letters that spelled out Gina’s name. There was nothing that came up. I was so pissed off. I just kept looking. I wouldn’t stop until I had something—something!

    And then I remembered—the name in the shoebox! I couldn’t remember it though. ‘Damn,’ I thought, ‘what was I going to do?’ I just kept on thinking. I kept on thinking and thinking and searching and searching until—I had it! Melissa Robertson! And the computer showed it to me. It showed me the file I had never wanted to see. Now that I think about it, I should have never have looked at all. I should have just turned the computer off and went back home.

    Gina was Melissa after all. She was Melissa Robertson with the blonde hair and glasses, hailing from Northbrook, Minnesota. And her parents died when she was 18, murdered, with arsenic. A year after that happened, Melissa was considered the prime suspect in the case, and that’s when she ran.

    After she ran, that’s when she came to New York. She changed her name, again, looks, and everything. She automatically married a guy named Robert Johnston. They were together a three years, separated, and then he died about two and a half years later by a heart attack, alone, in his apartment, in downtown, just like "John Travolta" said. He was a stockbroker on Wall Street. Gina had received the money from inheritance, and of course, was the prime suspect in that murder also. She had been on the run the whole time.

    Anyway, as I was trying to put all of the puzzle pieces together, I heard something. Someone was coming through the door. I couldn’t imagine who it would be. As I twirled my chair around, there was a gun pointed towards my face.

    It was Gina.

    "I figured you would be here. You just had to know, didn’t you? You just had to go and ruin our perfect life we had together."

    I couldn’t respond.

    "Shut up! You know, I did it all for you, don’t you?"

    I asked her what she meant.

    "Okay, so you are right. I killed my parents. But, they deserved it. They never loved me, just like no one ever loved me, just like you don’t anymore."

    I just said, "Gina, wait! Please, what’s wrong? Tell me baby." Those were the only words coming out of my mouth at the time. I guessed that maybe if I was sympathetic to her needs, she would tell me everything and not do anything irrational.

    So, anyway, I just kept on asking her to tell me what was wrong. She started crying and hyperventilating. She couldn’t control herself. I tried to stop her. And, then I thought, ‘ah, shit. I’m dead. I’m so wasted.’ And, then she stopped and said, "I loved you," with one single tear running down her soft, red cheeks, she said, " I always have."

    "I know baby. And I’ve always loved you, since the very first moment I saw you," I said.

    "No. But, don’t you get it? I killed Robert for you."

    I was confused.

    She kept talking and said, "I mean exactly what I said. I killed him. I poisoned him, just like it says on file."

    I had to ask, "what do you mean, you did it for me?"

    "I was married to Robert when I first saw you—in Central Park, on your horse, talking to some kids about being a cop. I fell in love with you then. I followed you everywhere. I found out everything about you. You were everything I had ever wanted, so I changed into that person you had always wanted. I divorced Robert, killed him to get his money, and then I planned that whole night when we first met."

    I couldn’t believe anything she said.

    "I know. I am a bad person. That’s why I am going to do what I should have done a long time ago."

    And then she pointed the gun up to her head. I saw, and I said, "that’s great Gina. Just go ahead and do that. Fuck up everything."

    "What?"

    I said, "you heard me." I was hoping that maybe if I could convince her that shooting herself would only leave me in pain, she wouldn’t do it.

    "But, I don’t understand. "

    "You heard me. I love you. I’ve loved you ever since the very first day I saw you." And I gotta' admit, I did mean a little of that, or maybe every last bit of it. But, I just couldn’t let her die. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. She pointed it up to her head anyway. She pulled the safety. And that’s when I came over and touched her face with my hand. Then I closed my eyes. That’s when she took my hand and gave me the gun. I threw it over to the side, and as I was about to hug her, she collapsed to her knees. Then she let out the most painful cries I had ever heard. And that’s when I had to do the inevitable—I cuffed her. About an hour later, that’s when the rest of the guys showed up. And now I’m here—alone.