Night Visitor — a short story

First came the cold moist feeling in my outstretched hand. This was followed by the warm wet feeling of licking. I groaned, pulled my hand back under the covers, and rolled over, not wanting to wake up.

But Brandy didn’t give up so easily. She stretched, bottom up with front legs extended towards the bed, and gave a loud squeaky yawn. Then she launched herself up on her hind legs, and propelled her body against the side of the bed with a big “whap!” She sneezed impatiently as I slowly sat up, rubbed my eyes and glanced at my alarm clock instinctively. “One a.m., Brandy? I whispered, “You want to go out NOW, girl?”

I don’t know why I acted so surprised. Ever since Mitch and I adopted Brandy six months ago she always had to go out at least once in the middle of the night, usually between the hours of twelve and two a.m., like clockwork. And since we lived in an apartment, without a fenced in yard or patio, it meant one of us getting up and taking her outside for the nightly walk.

It wasn’t that bad really. She was usually pretty quick about her business, and we took turns each night. The routine had become a habit, almost like sleepwalking. “Just think of it as training,” Mitch had teased, “for when we have a baby. We’ll need to be used to getting up in the middle of the night.”

I had made a face at him then, because even though we’d been married three years already, I felt no where near ready to have a baby, any more than I did 12 months ago when he first suggested it. So we got a dog instead. And now here I am getting up in the middle of the night to deal with pee. I knew Mitch had a big day ahead of him at work tomorrow, Monday. So tonight was my turn.

“Okay, okay,” I whispered, pulling on my sweats as Brandy danced around like a circus dog. Her foster mom said she was a mutt, but Mitch and I thought she must have some poodle in her. She didn’t look anything like one, but she sure was hyper! She was a small dog, about 25 pounds, cream colored like a Golden Retriever but with scruffy fur like a small Terrier breed. She was beautiful to me. In the short time she’d been with us, Brandy had in fact become my “baby.”

I slipped into my sneakers, attached Brandy’s leash and stumbled sleepily out the front door. I woke up as the crisp night air hit my face. While Brandy sniffed here and there, looking for the perfect spot, I glanced nervously around the complex. We lived in a safe area, a tiny apartment community nestled between two neighborhoods and one block from an elementary school. Still, being out in the middle of the night as a woman all alone, made me nervous.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself. “Forgot to lock the front door.” I had turned the corner and couldn’t see it anymore. That seemed to increase my anxiety. Whenever I talked about the “dangerous” nightly walks to Mitch, he called me paranoid. He assured me that I’d be fine, being gone for five minutes, especially with Brandy at my side. “Humph,” I had muttered, glancing at Brandy. “What’s she gonna do, lick my attacker into submission?” Mitch had laughed. “If you’re that worried, lock the door and carry your keys and cell phone with you.” In the meantime, we were saving up for a house—with a fenced in yard!

“Find the spot and let’s go,” I begged. Brandy crouched. When she was finished, she did her little doggie foot dance. ‘Why do dogs do that anyway?’ I wondered heading back quickly. Brandy stopped to sniff cigarette butts along the sidewalk. “Hurry girl, come on!” I pulled her back into the apartment.

As closed the door behind me and dropped the leash on the front hall table, I instinctively felt something was wrong. Someone else was here, in the room. In our small apartment it was just a few short steps from the front door to the living room. I froze, held my breath and saw a figure sitting on the couch! It was only split second before the person, a man, stood up and reached out for me. I was about to scream when he said, "Jenni, it’s me!”

The moon cast its light across the face of the man, my brother-in-law, Michael. “Oh my god” I breathed, “What the hell!? You gave me such a scare!” I sunk wearily into the couch where he had just been sitting. I now realized why Brandy didn’t bark at the stranger when we had come in. And why there had been cigarette butts just outside on the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you. I was driving by. I just dropped Jessica off at her parent’s house after the party at Cole’s, and I saw you walking Brandy outside.” I could see Michael’s face more clearly now. “It was a killer party,” he added with a sly grin and a sparkle in his eye.

Between the two brothers, Mitch and Michael, no one could decide who was more charming. And they were both good looking, in different ways. Both had sandy blond hair, a boyish face, broad shoulders and a trim build. Okay, Mitch’s hair was a little bit darker. His hazel eyes were magnetic, yet calming. And the way those eyes drew me to him was something I couldn’t fight, nor did I want to.

Mike had penetrating deep blue eyes, and a look that melted girls off their feet, at least I am told. Because between the two of them, Mitch was the “good catch” and Michael was the “one you couldn’t catch.” While Mitch was charming yet comforting, Michael was devilish and daring. While we enjoyed evenings of romantic dinners and dancing, Mike took to drinking and partying. On Sunday afternoons Mitch and I snuggled on the couch watching ESPN, while Mike preferred sleeping the day away after the previous late night’s antics. Mitch and I enjoyed every day things, like teasing each other playfully while grocery shopping. Mike preferred driving fast cars and lots of women.

I love Mike as my brother-in-law, but he is a bit too dangerous for me. He liked to live his life “bungi jumping off a cliff” as he put it. He had been with more women and had more girlfriends in the short time that I had known him, than all the boyfriends I had ever had in my entire life. And he was younger than us­­—Mitch by five years, and me by two.

Maybe it was because we were both older, and also the first born in our families, but Mitch and I were constantly onto Mike about his habits, acting as his second set of parents. It wasn’t just the smoking, but also the girls, the drinking, and the partying. Mitch and I were the “responsible ones,” starting out with solid jobs in our careers, married for three years, and saving up for a house. Mike couldn’t keep a job for longer than nine months. He just kept saying he couldn’t figure out his life, but Mitch always said that was just an excuse.

“Well, I gotta get to sleep,” I yawned, getting to my feet. I started towards the bedroom when Mike stopped me. “Look,” he said, “I just want you to know that it’s gonna be okay.” “What . . . ?” I started to say, when Mike did something unexpected . . . he leaned over and hugged me. This was totally out of character for Mike. Although I knew he loved me as a sister-in-law, he was always all jokes and flirts. He always seemd to either entertain me, shock me or scare me. I felt that he had accepted me into the family, but he never before showed me any affection.

As he wrapped his arms around me, I felt a wave of warmth and comfort that I had never felt before in Mike’s presence. I relaxed and let him hold me. I took a deep breath and let the feeling of safety seep in. I felt waves of calm wash over me, and as I stood there a week’s worth of stress and emotional turmoil slowly emptied out of my body. It was as if Mike’s hug transferred his strength and confidence into the sea of fear and anxiety I felt just minutes before. I sighed deeply. I hugged him back.

Mike leaned away but looked me in the eye. “It’s all gonna be okay,” he repeated, and started to slowly walk me back to my bedroom, one arm still around my shoulder. We walked into the dark room where Brandy had curled up at the foot of the bed. Mitch was fast asleep. “Take care of him, okay? He glanced in Mitch’s direction. “Use the strength inside you, and you’ll be fine,” Mike said, helping me to the bed.

“Mmmm hmmm,” I nodded, slipping out of my shoes, crawling into bed, and pulling up the covers. By now I felt completely relaxed and at ease. Within minutes I was asleep.

“Hrrufff!” Brandy’s doggie dream woke me. I slowly turned over and squinted at my alarm clock instinctively. Two a.m. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Two a.m.?!

It was one week ago exactly, at two a.m. last Sunday night that the police had showed up at our door to tell us that Mike had been killed. Mitch had answered the door, ran back into the bedroom saying, “Jenni, wake up. Mike is dead. There’s been an accident. Mike is dead!”

It had been one week of grief-stricken anguish, tears, and rollercoaster emotions. We rushed to Mitch’s parent’s house where the family was slowly gathering. We all held each other, stumbled through the funeral, the gravesite ceremony, and the questions: Why? Why him? Why us? Why now?

It was one whole week of people coming in and out of the house. One week of Mitch and I, the two oldest children in our families, rushing to make arrangements and sparring his parents of any further pain. We called family friends for help; we read the police reports; we identified Mike’s sports car at the impoundment lot, where it stood totaled.

It has been one week since Mike and his on and off again girlfriend were coming home from a party at Cole’s. Mike had known Jessica since high school, for about 10 years now. No matter how many women he went out with, partied with, or slept with, after a few stints he seemed to always want Jessica. She had been in town visiting her parents during Christmas vacation. In a few days she was scheduled to return to law school. So Mike had convinced her, in his charming way, to go out partying with him for old time’s sake.

Friends said they’d left the party around one a.m. Mike’s car hit the embankment on the expressway. The pavement curved sharply at one point. Mike’s car went straight. Who knows what they were thinking or doing or talking about at the time. They died instantly.

As I sat there half-awake in my bed, with Mitch sleeping soundly beside me, I thought it was all a dream. Mike didn’t die. He was just here, in my apartment, in this room. He hugged me a told me everything would be okay. He told me to be strong. He gave me his strength . . . . and then the realization set in . . . no, THAT was the dream. Mike was never here. Mike is gone, really gone.

Or is he? Did Mike visit me tonight? Was he trying to tell me something? Mitch and I both start back at work in the morning. In just six hours we would both have to face the world, do our jobs, and function normally knowing Mike was gone, as if nothing had ever happened. How are we going to do it?

Hmmmmm . . . Mike?

Hey, Mike! I got the message. And I still feel your hug. I think we’ll be okay.

You know that Mitch and I always worried about you, always tried to look out for you. But now I feel that you’re out there, looking out for us. We never expected this, never wanted it to be this way. But I think I got your message. I feel better knowing that you’ll always be there for us.

And Mike, come visit me again soon, okay?

- end -