Blackmailing The Untouched

The Dark Night

The early days of September are usually when first-year and reoccurring students prepare for another school year to begin. However, the month of September has a different meaning to me because my mom passed away ten years ago to date in a car accident.

Last year, I'd stayed an extra week during my summer vacation to make sure Dad would be okay when I returned to school, taking a flight from NYC to Denver the morning after classes ended for the semester because I'd chosen to leave my Jeep at home while I was away studying.

But, this year is different.

This time I’m not planning to return to NYU after Summer vacation, and the deadline to enroll in classes is fast approaching since I was notified that I wouldn’t receive another extension like I got last year.

But there was more to it. The truth about my decision to depart from the university came after I'd drowned in an endless ocean of papers, tests, and books that I didn't understand. I'd fallen behind on three of my classes and had to study every minute of every day, it seemed, just so I could keep my head above water. Depression began to set in because I didn’t get enough sleep...ever. I didn’t have a social life, which wasn’t any different than being home exactly, but it still made for a lonely, sad experience.

I'd also missed home terribly. I didn’t feel like I belonged to the upper class of New York City. I didn’t fit in with all the girls with their fancy coats and their perfectly pressed clothes, and I wasn't interested in the sea of guys with their effortlessly cropped hair, and clean-cut, model-like features. I'd realized that NYC was not the place I was meant to be.

No. There is nothing there left for me.

Golden brown and red leaves litter the road that I drive on. It’s a back road that people take to avoid the bumper-to-bumper traffic that the overpass to the city is known for, but since I’d only just recently received my Driver’s license, I’m not familiar with it.

I'm jamming out to my playlist, palms slapping against the steering wheel, singing out loud to Dayseeker's "Sleeptalk" when I hear a disturbing sound that comes from the front of my vehicle. Within seconds, the jeep rolls to a slow stop beneath a lamp post, the light bulb shorting out in an eerie way.

The sound cuts off after another foreign sound comes from beneath the hood.

Great! This is just what I need.

Leaves crunch beneath my feet as I make my way to the front of the jeep. With an annoyed huff, I lift the hood, making sure to escape the big foul exhaust fumes that attempt to blast me in the face. The Smokey fumes immediately begin to attack my sense of smell; my nostrils burning from the powerful odor. A cough gets caught in my throat, so I step away and let the cool, fresh air clear my windpipe.

Once the feeling fades, I look at the parts contained by the hood. After the fumes evaporate into the night air, I try to study the engine to diagnose the problem. With no such luck, I take a moment to look over the other parts; I see the transmission, some coils, and what I think is where the dipstick is? I have no idea what the hell I’m looking at, let alone what to do to fix the problem, but I do know that engines are not supposed to be smoking like this.

Not wanting to admit defeat, I pull the hood up until it locks into place and take a step back to investigate further, looking around to watch as fallen leaves sweep by, hitching a ride by a strong gust of wind.

Shello Ave. has only a handful of houses that line the back road, but I see no vehicles in the driveways, and there are no lights on in any of the houses. But I spot a tall Tudor-style house sitting at the top of the winding road just off from this road, bright lights inviting and sticking out like a beacon.

Picking up my cellphone from the passenger seat of my Jeep, I call for some help. I dial my very close friend, Toby Marshall, who works at the police station with my father. There are several rings before Toby's soft, friendly voice tells me to leave a message after the beep, so I tell his voicemail that I don’t know where I am and that my damn jeep broke down, and I’m pretty freaked out. Before stabbing the END button on the phone, I quickly mutter out the street so that he can find me easily.

Once the night is silent again, I grab a zip-up hoody from the backseat and slip it on over my brown t-shirt, zipping it just below my bust. Next, I fish my keys from my pocket and attempt—and fail at reaching Toby again. This time, the call doesn't go through and the screen slowly fades to black.

Dead battery.

Desperate, I push the power button on the side of the phone to see if I can get it to turn back on, but the screen doesn't even light up, so it looks like I have no other choice but to make the walk up the road to the house on the hill in the hope there is a phone I can use inside to call someone at the station to come and end this horrible night.

Grasping the keypad on the keychain in my hand, I push the button with a picture of a padlock on it and wait for the Jeep's headlights to blink twice as the horn sounds off two quick honks, letting me know that the vehicle has been locked and then I begin the semi- long hike up the winding road to the house with the lights in the windows, all the while pushing urgently at the power button on the phone.

"Damn it!" I say out loud to no one as I continue walking up the dark road.

My father's voice plays in my head, "Make sure you always keep a spare cell phone battery in the car. You never know when you'll need a full charge."

Damnit.

It takes twenty minutes for me to reach the final stretch of the long walk, and I let out a huge sigh of relief when I step onto the smooth, black drive, noticing a dark-colored Chevy pickup truck parked in front of the garage door.

The house is a one-story Tudor style with dark navy window shutters and a slightly angled roof. There is a small feature of exposed brick near the huge glass door, which shouldn't blend well but, for some reason, does.

I walk the stone pathway to the porch, and a bright motion light seeks me out instantly like a laser beam, and I freeze in place, like a caught thief in the night.

My blood runs cold, but after a moment, I bring my hands up in front of my face, attempting to shield the blinding light from my eyes. I hear the door open, but I can't see beyond the bright beam to see the person who is now standing in the doorway.

"Can I help you?" Asks a deep, masculine voice. His tone is clipped, but the rasp sends a shudder down my spine.

I don’t think I can talk over the loud hammering of my heart in my chest, but I quickly manage to stutter out some words, "I'm sorry. My jeep broke down at the bottom of the road, and I don’t know where I am, and of course, my phone died, and I have no charger." I explain quickly, words spilling out of my mouth before I have a chance to save myself from the embarrassing jumble. I realize I’m rambling on into the blinding light, so I try my hardest to look past it to see if I can make out the man's face, but all I see is a blurry shadow.

After a second, the man's figure disappears inside the house for a small pause as the bright light vanishes, permitting a chance for me to blink a few times to regain my vision. When a tall, dark figure reappears, I focus heavily on it until the blurriness fades and the man comes into a slow, foggy focus.

And wow!

The first thing I notice is the blueness in his eyes, so bright and mesmerizing, with an icy gaze that surprisingly warms me straight to the core. Next, I notice thick blond hair and a perfectly structured face with sharp features, and I almost forget how to talk.

Woah.

He is the hottest guy I've ever seen.