Agoraphobia and Ecstasy Ch. 11-20

I began to wonder what exactly this club had to do with anything, why Kevin would have a picture of a woman entering the club tacked to his bulletin board and why he was so interested in her. I also questioned what was in the other photos that were pinned behind this one. Maybe Neil would go back and try to sneak into the house? But then again, based on the way he'd acted when the older Mr. Myung had seen him in their backyard, I figure that would be a long shot, though if I called my PI maybe he'd do it.

Once again, I loosened the central air vent and snatched my USB drive, inserting it into my computer and opening the Tor browser. I had to figure out how Kevin was connected to the woman in the photo and the club, so I had to find as much information on the club as I could. I discovered it was co-owned by two men: Lester Gerald Unger, twenty-nine, hailing from Maumee, Ohio, and a William S. W. Pitcher, thirty-six, from Scranton, PA. Most of the information I found was rather boring. The business had been around for nearly thirty years, founded originally by a French-Canadian who'd immigrated to the U.S. in the 70s, but it had changed hands several times, and Lester and William had owned it for about seven or eight years.

I pulled up pictures of the two men, one quite clearly was a homosexual--there were several pictures of him with his partner in moderately compromising contexts, though nothing too risqué, and there was a photo album on a photography site that showed them happily exchanging vows in front of a tiny crowd near Niagara Falls in the background. He didn't seem the type to plot out a kidnapping, though I vowed to search more in depth on him later, so I turned my attention to Lester, the thin, younger bartender who was the type any woman would swoon for--muscular, handsome, appearing confident.

The dark web pulled up pictures of this man, hundreds of pictures, most of them in the club in dim light with disco balls and laser beams pointing everywhere. I could almost sense the atmosphere of the club through the photos, almost hear the music. The crowds were always huge, as if whoever took the photos took them at peak times for publicity purposes. However, there was something similar in almost every photo.

Lester, who after my searching I found was also called Siphon, was always staring at someone. In most of the photos all I could tell was that it was a woman with sandy hair. She had her back to the camera in almost every picture. So I started searching for this woman in the crowd. I had a sinking feeling it was the same woman from the photo on Kevin's wall. I knew there were a lot of women in the world who were curvy and blonde, and knowing the photo on Kevin's wall was too blurry to see her face, I knew there might be no way to connect them concretely, still I searched.

Photo after photo, for more than an hour I searched. The woman was very good at keeping her face away from the cameras, as if she were trying to do it on purpose, but then I spotted it, the red dress. I clicked on the photo and the link opened in a new tab, enlarging the photo to its original size. My heart nearly stopped. It was Daphne. Standing there in that club, in that red dress, a drink in her hand, a black clutch-type purse dangling from its thin strap off her shoulder, heels that made her easily five inches taller, leaning over the bar so that the back of her skirt nearly showed her entire world to the room, a foot lifted off the ground, flirting with the bartender named Siphon.

The look on her face told me she was really inebriated, and I could see his eyes were not on her face, if you catch my drift. That dress was unmistakably the exact same dress in the photo from Kevin's room, and the breasts were undoubtedly the same ones I'd stared into only days before--there was no doubt. I leaned back taking in this information and wondering what it could mean. Was Daphne a regular at that club? She had mentioned being with that man who'd disappeared, so it was obvious she had been at the club, but did this indicate that she was there all the time? And why was Lester Unger so fascinated with her?

The wheels in my head started turning. Why would Kevin have a photo of Daphne entering the club, and why would the bartender be so fixated on her? I had to do more digging concerning these two, but now I knew I had to visit that bar and ask real questions. And Daphne had a few to answer as well.

14

Oysters? He ordered oysters--gross. I knew there was something off about him. I laughed out loud, and he smiled at me, picking up one of the oyster shells and letting the meat drizzle off the shell into his mouth, swallowing it whole. I grimaced and stuck my fork into a bit of steak I'd sliced up. The restaurant had a good atmosphere, but I wished it didn't. No loud music to buffet our ears and block out conversation, no pesky waiters returning to interrupt awkward silences. It would have been a wonderful date, if I did that sort of thing.

Siphon wore a pair of expensive ripped jeans, the kind you pay heaps of money for but they only last a few months because they were torn to begin with. His button-down Eddie Bauer shirt was hidden beneath a tailored sport coat, so he'd at least worn a jacket. Still, I felt a little overdressed in my mini dress, or underdressed based on the attire of other patrons of the establishment, but he never batted an eyelash. Instead, he insisted on continuously giving me compliment after overly dramatic compliment--to what end I wasn't sure. Maybe he hoped to be my score for the night? It was hard reading him. He was different outside the club.

We ate in companionable silence, our silverware clinking on our plates until our meals had been devoured. I found it difficult to avoid eye contact, as he stared me down like a lion hunting a rare piece of antelope ass. He asked me random questions, nothing too personal, but nothing that would be considered casual either. It wasn't horribly awkward, but it was less than comfortable.

When the check came, I offered to pay my half, but he took the folder from me and refused to let me see the amount, though when he was signing the receipt I did happen to see that he left our inept waitress who had forgotten to refill our drinks even one time a tip of nearly forty dollars. Ridiculous.

The art display was delightful, peaceful but quiet. But the drive back to my house wasn't quite as quiet. He played an album that took us both back to the days of high school, Internet Leaks by Weird Al. We sang along to the dumbest parts of every song and laughed--well, he laughed hysterically, and I joined him until his right hand fell on my knee and stayed there. His hand was warm, and his skin soft, but my mind told me to build the wall, not let him in.

I don't do relationships and there was a very good reason for that. If I even ventured into that arena with him I would regret it; I was certain. He was too good of a friend to allow myself to cross that line. Even the friends with benefits line was dangerously hovering near my thoughts, but I pushed it away too.

Siphon had been a perfect gentlemen--too perfect. God was he perfect. So fucking perfect. Like that first sip of coffee in the morning after you've slept like a baby all night. Like the sunrise over the ocean and the cool breeze when you know it's going to be a beautiful day. Like the very second the E hits and you start feeling the electricity vibrating through every cell in your body. God, I wanted to hit the E and just let him ravish me with his big strong hands.

What was I thinking?

After a long talk on the drive home, he parked in front of my house. I politely said goodnight, hoping to duck out of the car without any awkwardness in the form of a goodnight interaction following what was probably the most perfect date I'd ever been on. There was that word again, perfect. That was what my heart was telling me; he was--perfect for me. But I don't do relationships, and especially with this man.

My heart pounded in my chest like a tympany drum at the symphony demanding relief. It wasn't like me to sit there so ambivalent the way I was, with one hand gripping my clutch and the other resting on the door handle, waiting. He was speaking softly, telling me how much he enjoyed the evening, and I was in full panic mode. I desperately wanted him to kiss me, but in the exact moment I wanted to get out of that car and pretend the night had never happened, that he hadn't chipped away at my resolve.

I don't do relationships. I don't do relationships!

I kept rehearsing that mantra in my head over and over as he leaned closer, his hand firmly fixed on my bare knee as if he was physically incapable of making any more advance on me than to lean in for a kiss. And his eyes were locked on mine. They didn't say "I'm a horn-ball trying to get a score." They said something much different--much more personal.

Much too personal.

His eyes shut, and when his lips touched mine it was like a nuclear bomb sending shock waves through my entire body, stealing my breath, making me melt. I poured myself into that kiss like it was the end of the world; I couldn't stop myself. It was like everything else disappeared and it was just me and him, alone. Time stopped for a moment, and I was left with my head spinning like a two-dollar top from the dollar store.

When he pulled away I opened my mouth to speak but I couldn't. All I could do was sit there transfixed, until I heard a tapping on my window. He smiled and shook his head at me.

"A hook up after dinner? I thought you might invite me in..." Siphon sat back and removed his hand leaving an almost painful sensation where his hand used to be--my skin longing to maintain that contact with his. He had a smile plastered on his face which I could see was clearly masking the disappointment in his eyes--eyes that seemed to plead with me to relieve their ache.

I glanced over my shoulder at the window to see Mira standing there next to the car smiling, waving at me, and I sighed, wondering how the fuck she even found where I lived. Turning back to see the smile on his face now faded and the ache in his eyes stronger, I shrugged.

"It's not a hook up," I spat. "And it wasn't a date." I grimaced, knowing it wasn't what he wanted to hear, but it was the only thing that came to mind, at least the only thing that was safe anyway. There were a lot of things that came to mind, things like "Take me now," and "I'll send her away," but I didn't dare say those. I knew exactly what the path of relationship looked like, and it was much better that we remain friends. At least as friends I would have no expectations and my heart wouldn't get crushed--and I wouldn't have to uproot my entire life and relocate again.

"See you tomorrow then?" he asked, shifting in his seat to look away from me, his body suddenly looking tense.

"Yeah."

I stood beside Mira watching him drive away, his taillights keeping me distracted until he turned off my street. It was a strange feeling watching him leave, like I wanted him to stay but at the same time I was terrified about what to do if he wanted more than just a friendship. My heart was already helplessly his, but he didn't have to know that. If he knew, it would give him the ability to really hurt me, and that wasn't a power I wanted anyone to have over me. Not even my best friend, so I forced my emotions down into the pit of my stomach and turned to see Mira waiting patiently.

"Who's he?" She held my phone out and smiled. Her perfectly pouty lips curved into a smirk as she smacked her lip gloss.

"A friend."

"You're dressed kind of fancy for a dinner with a friend."

I noticed her yoga pants and loose hoodie, a brand name splashed across its front, the hem of a yellow T-shirt popping out from beneath the waistband. "What do you want, Mira?"

Mira laughed and swatted her hand in the air. "Oh, I have a short flight after this. I'm headed back to Buffalo later. I just felt like we needed to...talk."

Inwardly I sighed, frustrated that she wouldn't leave well enough alone.

"Thank you for your concern, Mira, but I'm fine. Drive safe." I waved and started up my driveway, but when I heard nothing in return, I glanced back at Mira who was standing on the sidewalk looking dejected, like a puppy who had been scolded. I rolled my eyes, though the sun was fading already, and even if it hadn't been, I stood in the shadow of the large oak tree in my front yard. I was fairly certain Mira didn't see the eye roll. With a glance down the street to Jaymee's house--God knows I didn't want her seeing me ask the woman in--I motioned for Mira to follow. Her expression changed on a dime, and I felt like less of a horrible person.

She trailed up the driveway behind me, but I was already regretting it. Small talk was about as interesting to me as watching paint dry, and I'd never willingly chosen to watch paint dry, yet here I was inviting her in for a drink knowing full well I had no interest in what was on her mind. I had tried to push that part of my life out of my memory, and I didn't want the ghost of lifetime past haunting me.

Once inside, I showed her to the sitting room, turning lights on as we went. Instead of following me through the kitchen, she stopped at the island and gawked at the vase of flowers I'd set there only earlier that day. I chuckled to myself at their strange origin, but quickly pushed aside the thought and returned to the island and pulled up a bar stool for each of us.

"These are so pretty!" Mira leaned in and pressed her nose in the flowers one at a time, coming up with pollen on its tip. I handed her the hand towel draped over the faucet and pointed at her nose.

"You got some pollen on your nose."

"Oh, thanks," she chuckled, wiping at her face. "Did someone buy you these?"

Again, I laughed inwardly, and shook my head. "It's a long story."

"Was it that hot bartender guy? Are you seeing him?" She laid the hand towel on the counter and sat down beside me, resting her elbow on the bar.

"Oh, no. Nothing like that. Siphon and I are just friends."

"That kiss didn't look anything like friendship."

"No, Mira. I mean... he wants more, but I don't do relationships, so we're not really seeing each other. I promised to let him take me out in exchange for us talking in his apartment... You know?"

"What do you mean, 'you don't do relationships?' What about us?" Mira looked hurt, as if her past existence in my life had crossed over into my present where I vehemently denied my heart the ability to connect intimately with anyone for any reason and suddenly offended her.

"That's different. That was the old me."

I saw a look of regret flash across her features. "So the flowers?" she asked, splaying her hand across the counter only inches from mine. I could tell she wanted me to touch her fingers, but I resisted. I wasn't one to receive comfort from physical touch, at least not from someone I'd left behind on purpose. And at least not the innate sort that didn't make my insides quiver with erotic pleasure.

"Yeah, well this bitch across the street and down a few houses really irks me. I mean she is really obnoxious, telling everyone in the neighborhood I'm a lesbian.--"

Mira interrupted me. "But you are bisexual."

"That's besides the point." I waved her comment off. "She tries to humiliate me in front of people I know, and being that my career is a psychologist, it's not really that cool, you know?" I watched Mira's eyes for some sort of recognition that she was following, but from what I could see she seemed distracted by whatever it was that was going through her head. I continued hoping to distract her. "So there is this garden competition in the neighborhood. Grow the best flowers or some shit and the HOA reps will come judge your garden. So she has this perfect flower garden, and I hate her, so I cut these out of her beds this morning before dawn on my run."

I started laughing hysterically at the idea that Jaymee would have been irate at seeing that, and she'd probably already canvassed the entire street looking for the culprit. She had this creepy vibe about her, like she could be a serial killer and no one would know it at all, probably buried bodies in her flower beds to use as fertilizer. I rolled my eyes at the thought and chuckled. Jaymee was the sort of woman everyone hated, and I had my reasons, that much was true. Besides the fact that her face reminded me of someone I knew, but I had never been able to place it. It annoyed me, but I didn't care to look at her long enough to try to figure it out.

"Her garden is ruined. I was going to burn them, but I just thought they were a very pleasant reminder of how I cost her the five-grand prize check." My gloating was mingled with a bit of hangover from that kiss. I could still feel Siphon's scratchy stubble on my lips. God I was going to need a score soon.

Mira laughed with me and I felt a little lighter for a moment, like we were back in high school and Nanette and I had forced her to go along with one of my schemes again. Like the time we toilet papered Leslie Vanderhorst's house. Mira had taken bologna along and put it all over their cars, and Nanette filled their automatic sprinklers with dish soap. Leslie's dad and brothers came out of the house screaming and brandishing guns, and the three of us, plus a few other friends who came along for the ride raced into the fairgrounds and hid amongst the horses in the stables.

That was when Mira and I first hooked up. "Remember that night in the stables?" I chuckled. "God you were so into me and I had no clue you were even like that."

Mira's eyes grew lusty. "Yeah, how could I forget. I gave you my virginity with a horse nipping at my ear while you went to town. And when Nan found out, she threatened to tell your mom."

The sudden memory of my sister struck me like a Mack truck, and I fumbled for my purse, pulling out my drugs. It was a knee-jerk reaction and one I wasn't proud of. Nanette was the reason I drank. She was the reason I did the drugs, the reason I didn't do relationships, the reason for everything. I had buried her so far in my memories and refused to think of her for so long the thought of her turned our laughter into an immediate pang of trauma-induced guilt and fear and my body screamed for a fix.

"You have moon rocks?" Mira twisted the cap off and looked inside before I could even respond. Licking a finger she stuck it down in the powder and then pressed it to her tongue. "Ugh!" she moaned. "I haven't done this since we were kids...with Nanette..." She still had a faint smile, though mine was completely gone by now.

"Yes." I reached out to snatch the bottle but there was a lack of coordination between us and the bottle dropped to the floor, spilling the entire contents. I was a bit angry to say the least, but Mira was so apologetic about it, even grabbing my broom from beside the fridge to clean up the mess.

"It's okay. I have E." I pulled out the small baggie and before she could cause another blunder, I downed two of the pills and laid two on the counter for her. I watched her reach for my tea kettle and put it on the burner and turn it on, then draw a glass of water from the tap and take the molly. Moved slowly, as if she were stalking a large predator she didn't want to spook.

"It's not your fault, you know?" Mira maneuvered around the bar and sat back down in front of me, resting her hand on my knee. Her fingers landed exactly where Siphon's had. My skin tingled with anticipation, the same burning it had felt when his hand was there.

Did I know it wasn't my fault? Did I really know?

"Nanette made her choices, Daph. And Vic--"

"Don't say his name!" I snapped. "Don't you dare say his name." I shoved the bar stool back and jumped up, refusing to listen to her spiel. I quickly grabbed two tumblers and a bottle of wine and uncorked the bottle, filling each glass and sliding one in front of Mira. "I'm ordering pizza. And you can hang out, but we are not discussing Nanette, and Vic--that asshole. Okay?"