Chapter 2: Not a Bad Night to Die

  The hardest part of going to the gym was mustering up the resolve to get your ass there. Once there, for most people things tended to fall into place. Such was the case for Evan as he dragged himself onto the treadmill. It might have seemed counterintuitive, trying to run while he was as lethargic as he was. But there was a method to the madness. He turned the machine on and started it low at a gentle five miles per hour. Just enough to break the ice that had accumulated in his muscles from his desk job. He gave himself two minutes no more, then he pressed the 10 MPH button on the machines console and immediately broke into a sprint.

  His heart rate picked up within seconds as he started running. Sweat already beading down his forehead and back. Yet strangely though he was exhausting himself physically, mentally he was coming alive. The rush of endorphins that flooded his brain as his heart rate shot up cleared the fog from his mind. His tired eyes that had been feeling like lead weights all day suddenly felt light and alert. And most importantly the invasive thoughts began to recede and for a few blissful moments his mind was quiet. It was just the whirring of the machine under his feet, the pounding of his heart in his chest, and his favorite anime playlist in his earbuds. He sprinted in short thirty to fourty-five second intervals before returning to a walk for about a minute. He repeated this until he had gotten to the twenty minute mark and hopped off with a healthy dose of adrenaline and endorphins coursing through his brain. Panting and covered in sweat he felt like a god.

  “Fuck yeah! Let’s fucking lift bro!”

  Making his way to the weight rack he snuck glances at the different girls hard at work in their own exercises. He knew it was a creeper thing to do, but god damn it, he was a straight male, and gym girls were hot! The way their toned figures looked so god damn tight in a set of black lululemons. The way the sweat added a bright shine to the surface of the skin. He knew it was rude, but god damn he’d by lying if he didn’t admit to himself that the eye candy was a nice little reward for dragging himself in.

  “It’s not like I have an actual shot with any of them anyway. I’m lucky if any of them will even so much as waive at me when I say hello.”

  In point of fact he did actually give a few of the girls a polite smile and waive. After two years of coming to this gym he’d become a familiar enough face to warrant at least a polite smile and nod back. But that was about as far as he got with most of the girls at the gym. With their headphones in and their guards up, there was very rarely ever an opening to actually strike up a conversation with any of them. He didn’t even know most of their names, though he’d seen them all regularly. So instead he had to have his own internal nomenclature based on their most distinctive features.

  There was Supermodel Tall with her dark hair and long toned legs, most frequently seen in a tight white crop top and incredibly flattering violet shorts and accompanied by a young man whom Evan had dubbed Short King. An ostensibly average looking dude with a chin strap beard, who was a little on the scrawny side despite how much he worked out. Evan had heard through the grapevine that the young man in question was actually Supermodel’s husband which Evan considered to be quite impressive. Supermodel was as tall as Short King was short. She literally towered over him, but the way the young man carried himself made it clear that he was not someone who could ever be made to feel small.

  “Lucky bastard. That guy is either really rich or he has Arnold Schwarzenegger level cahones to have wrangled a baddie like that. I’m willing to bet, he probably landed her because he was the one guy who had the nerve to ask her out when all the others were intimidated by her height and beauty.”

  The shorter man reached up and gave his wife quick peck on the lips. In full view of anyone who might be watching. “Yup, cahones, definitely cahones.”

  After Supermodel Tall, there was Pumpkin Butt. So named due to the bright orange shorts she often wore around Halloween time that gave her rather ample derriere a ‘distinct’ appearance to put it mildly.

  Frizzy Hair. Whose almost nest like hairstyle made the name self-explanatory.

  Leopard Print. Named for her preferred style of leggings.

  Corset Lady. Who caught his attention for the fact that she always worked out wearing a tight abdominal constricting corset. “Seriously, that has got to be restricting her breathing. How the hell can she workout in that?”

  Soccer Milf. He wasn’t sure if she actually had kids whom she drove to soccer practice or not but she definitely had that soccer mom vibe about her.

  Rich Milf. So named for her proclivity for designer branded workout clothes.

  Karen. This one was self-explanatory.

  And Resting Mean Girl Face. Whom he was deliberate about avoiding using the b-word to describe, since that was a label he didn’t want to slap on someone he didn’t actually know. Still if you looked at her you’d be hard pressed not to use that term. Her default resting face was set in a perpetual frown that made her look outwardly unfriendly.

  This changed whenever he waived a hello at her though. She always smiled and waived hello back at him. They all did. Whenever they saw him, he would initiate a smile and friendly wave. A nicety which they politely returned before resuming their exercise. And that was the extent of the interaction. Not once did they ever take their headphones out to have a conversation with him. Not once did they ever give an opening for him to go over and talk. Just a smile and a waive, and he knew he was lucky to even get that much.

  “I mean can you blame them? Face it, you’re exactly the type of creep they’re on the lookout for when they workout. And in an environment full of shredded dudes with six-packs. Your flabby dad bod is less than mid.”

  He shook his head. Endorphins helped to quell the intrusive thoughts but there was no silencing them entirely.

  While the girls were by and large unapproachable, the guys were a different story. He’d made quite a few friends with the young men in the gym and in fact spotted three of them at the weight rack.

  “Yo, that my favorite trio of jacked weebs that I see?” he called out to them.

  “Evan!” Zeke, Braiden, and Ivan called out in unison as they each extended a hand out to dab him up. He pulled each of them in for a swift bro hug in turn.

  “How you been man? I haven’t seen you in a minute,” Braiden asked.

  “I’m alright man, I’m alright. Hangin in there.” It was a lie. But one of those lies you had to tell in order to fit in. Despite the cultural zeitgeist about therapy and mental healthy. The truth is when it came down to it, no one liked a downer. Everybody had their own problems, his were small in comparison regardless of how hard he personally felt they were.

  “Yo is that a new tattoo? Those are the the twin swords that one guy from Devil Slayer uses right?” Evan asked pointing to a tattoo depicting two-twin cleaver like swords against a backdrop of a rising sun.

  “Yeah man. Have you seen the latest season yet? Shits fire!” Braiden answered with an effusive enthusiasm that seemed to light up every corner of his face when he spoke.

  “Naw not yet man, not yet. Been busy.”

  “How about you Zeke what you been up to?” Evan asked to the burly young man who was by far the most jacked of the trio.

  “Not much man, just workin. Getting a lot of overtime shifts lately. Let me tell you man it is not fun working the powerlines during these cold snaps.”

  “I can imagine. How about you Ivan, you still on Eldritch Crown?”

  “Dude, I’m on my second new game plus round,” the long haired Ivan answered with a proud smile on his face.

  “Seriously? I still haven’t even finished my first playthrough.”

  “Dude you have got to finish. So many things open up in new game plus that you can’t experience in the first run.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. What are you guys hitting today?”

  “We’re doing a full body circuit,” Braiden answered, “you?”

  “Just pull day for me. I’ll leave you guys to it. I gotta get started too.”

  “See ya later Evan,” Braiden said.

  “Bye,” Zeke and Ivan said waving him off.

  He put his towel down on an empty bench then went and grabbed himself a pair of twenty-five pound dumbbells to get warmed up with. Getting into the proper stance, he started to curl.

  An hour later, Evan caught himself flexing in the mirror after putting the forty pound dumbbells back on the rack. His entire body felt flush with energy as the endorphins induced him into a natural high. His biceps hadn’t grown to that distinct boulder shape that was characteristic of hardcore gym rats yet, but compared to how fat and flabby his arms were two years ago the definition he sported now was miraculous. And that amazing pump feeling he got when he flexed after a set of curls.

  “I get what Arnold was talking about in that documentary now. There really is no feeling quite like the pump.”

  He clapped his hands together and said a prayer of thanks to the weights he just racked. It was wild to think of how strong he’d gotten in just two year. When he first started, just gripping the twenty-five pound bells was a challenge. Now he repped his way through the fourty pounders like it was nothing. Just as he was starting to make the ungodly mistake of being satisfied with himself, a loud slam sounded to snap him out of his reverie. He looked towards the source of the sound to see Zeke, panting and out breath, with a pair of monstrously huge eighty pound dumbbells at his feet. Braiden and Ivan were each at his side patting their friend on the shoulder in congratulations.

  “Right. No getting complacent. I still have a lifetime of being a fat fuck to recover from.”

  He looked at the clock. He’d made good time on his workout. Getting through a series of curls and rows in just over an hour. Still he felt like he could push a bit more. And it wasn’t as if he was in a rush to get home.

  “Let’s see if I’ve made any progress on the chin-ups.”

  Five minutes later, Evan was straining with all his might as he tried to pull himself up on the chin-up bar for his third rep. The veins in the side of his neck were practically bulging as he tried to activate his whole upper body to pull through. A common misconception about pull-ups and its easier cousin variation the chin-up was that it was all about arm strength. But chin-ups were a full body weight exercise. The challenge was to literally lift the entire weight of ones own body. Arm strength alone was not enough. One also had to engage their core and back muscles to pull through. Two years, Evan at two-hundred and sixty pounds coming off a largely sedentary gamer lifestyle wouldn’t have not only been unable to perform the exercise he was liable to have died in the attempt. The Evan of today coming in at a still hefty but significantly less than before two-hundred and twenty-seven pounds could actually pull off three. Though he had to jump to give himself some momentum to do so.

  “Progress is progress. Maybe I can’t do them well yet. But it wasn’t that long ago when I couldn’t do them at all.”

  Letting go of the bar he dropped to the floor and quietly gave himself a fist pump of victory. He caught himself before he could make a whoop and looked around sheepishly to make sure no one caught that. As he did so, he made eye contact with a familiar pair of girls at the squat rack one tall and blonde with gorgeous blue eyes and high cheekbones, and the other brunette and tightly built with piercing dark eyes that seemed to see right through you. He smiled back at them and waived as he approached. Most of the women in the gym were largely unapproachable with their headphones constantly in. Diana and Amalia on the other hand since they always worked out together actually had open ears. That gave Evan openings to say hi, which steadily progressed to quick small talk between machines, and eventually actual conversations.

  “Yo that my favorite pair of gym girls I spy?” he called out, flashing them one of his trademarked dimple smiles. Evan didn’t consider himself to be a particularly good looking guy, but he had often received compliments on his dimples when he smiled so he felt safe in using them as part of his social toolkit.

  “I should hope so,” Diana quipped back with mock haughtiness.

  “Haha, how are you guys? I haven’t seen the two of you in awhile.”

  “We’ve been travelling. Just got back from a girls trip in Vegas,” Diana answered. This was the general pattern whenever Evan talked to them. Diana was the one who carried the conversation for both of them and Amelia just sort of politely nodded along but every once in awhile would interject with an insightful comment. It was actually kind of frustrating, because she was the one Evan actually wanted to get to know better but like with most drop dead gorgeous women he could never seem to find the right opening to talk to her directly. Both women were beautiful, but Amalia stood out to him. Women as a general rule were difficult to approach in the gym, but Amalia had a full ice queen vibe about her. She didn’t just not talk to him, she didn’t talk to anyone in the gym except Diana. Ironically it was this very trait that had caused Evan to develop something of a crush on her. Somehow in his nerdy romantasy addled brain he’d gotten it into his head that he might be able to be the one who broke through her walls. It was silly he knew. Real life didn’t work like that. And the degree to which Amalia was out of his league was so vast that for him to even entertain the idea that he might have a shot was just downright pathetic. But still, it’s hard not to entertain hope, even when logic says there is none to be found.

  “Vegas? And you didn’t invite me? I thought we were friends Dana,” he said, gesticulating his hands in mock hurt.

  “Hah, it was a girls trip.”

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  “Ah pap pap, nope. Spare me your excuses, my feelings are already hurt. Friendship over. Good day to you ma’m.” He began marching off with cartoonish exaggeration. Both the girls giggled as he did so, queuing him to circle back around and flash them another dimpled smile before walking back.

  “So what was the occasion?”

  “No particular occasion. We have a friend whose a travel influencer and a hotel she was promoting offered to put her up and she brought us along.”

  “It’s wild to me that that’s actually a job in this day and age.”

  “I know right? I mean our friend is really smart, she’s working on a master’s degree in economics. She doesn’t need to scate by on her looks, but the internet rewards her looks more than anything else about her. So she decided to just take advantage of it and lean in.”

  “I take that to mean your friend is superlatively attractive?”

  “Oh she’s gorgeous. Like drop dead, runway model hollywood movie star gorgeous.”

  “Are you just talking about Amalia right now?” he quipped.

  Diana giggled. Amalia did not.

  “Ok that did not land. Mental note, she does not like jokes about her appearance even complimentary ones.”

  “No, no, this is our friend Stacy.”

  “If I refrain from making a reference about her mom, can I see her insta?”

  Diana looked at him confused.

  “I was making a reference to that song Stacy’s mom,” he said quickly clarifying.

  “Ohh,” Diana said immediately making the connection.

  “Sorry sometimes my jokes don’t land.”

  “No, no, no, you’re fine. I was just thrown off for a sec that’s all.”

  “I’m seriously curious about this friend of yours though.”

  “Hang on,” she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

  “Thanks. Like normally I wouldn’t care, but if she can finesse free hotel rooms in Vegas in a world where like one in three girls is an aspiring instagram model I can’t help but imagine that she must be exceptionally…” she showed him the screen, “hooollly mother of christ! Damn.”

  “I know right?” Diana said, every bit of her tone and body language was sympathetic towards Evan. Her posture seemed to say, ‘yup that is a perfectly valid reaction to what you are seeing right now.’

  If Diana was the archetypical blonde bombshell. Stacy was a thermonuclear device. Her long blonde hair curled perfectly falling in that natural wavy pattern that you typically see on Hollywood A-listers. Piercing hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle in the noonday sun. And her figure. Evan considered himself a relatively verbose fellow. He hated expressions like, ‘words fail me’ and ‘she defies description.’ But in this rare instance he found himself deciding to allow it. Not because he couldn’t find the words mind you, but he knew that if he attempted to do so, and tried to take in the details of her curves and the way they seemed to flow seamlessly as if to deliberately draw the eye along a certain path across her body, he’d find himself in desperate need to excuse himself to the bathroom. And he wanted to at least finish this conversation before giving in to his addictions again.

  “You had to open with a bikini pic? I almost had a heart attack.”

  “This was just the first picture on her profile. It was one she took by the pool at the hotel.”

  “Yeah I saw, was that one of those, uh what are they called? Those types of pools that look like they drop off a cliffside?”

  “An infinity pool, yeah, we actually swam in it. The view of the Strip was gorgeous.”

  “Jesus. How fancy was this hotel?”

  “Pretty freaking fancy.”

  “All that, just for being insanely pretty. Life is not fair.”

  “I would argue that its more fair now than ever before,” Amalia cut in.

  His eyes widened when she spoke, “She’s talking. Ok, don’t waste this. Keep the conversation going. This is your chance to make just the right impression. Don’t fuck this up.”

  “How so?” Evan inquired.

  “Brands using the imagery of beautiful women to promote venues and products is nothing new. Hollywood has been doing that since the invention of the movie star. However, the old system required you to have a bunch of insider connections that frequently put young women in vulnerable positions where they could be exploited. Social media has democratized a woman’s ability to profit from her looks. Stacy runs her influencer career like a business that she is president and CEO of. She only takes the sponsorships she wants to take. And no one can make her do anything she’s not comfortable with.”

  “Hmm,” he nodded for a moment trying to give the impressions that he was pausing to consider her words. Internally though he was freaking out. Somehow Amalia’s tone seemed to have a sharp edge to it that ran a jolt of nervousness down his spine that he was desperately trying to conceal.

  “Fuck, she sounds pissed. I ran my mouth without considering my receiving audience and now I look like a douchebag. Ok, there’s no chance I can impress her right now. I’ll acquiesce with grace then change the subject so that I can leave on a good note.”

  “I didn’t think about it that way. You bring up a good point.”

  She nodded and didn’t offer anything more. Evan could sense he was starting to wear out his allotted amount of social grace with the girls and knew he had to wrap it up quickly before they started getting annoyed at him for pulling them away from their workout.

  “So you guys have anymore big trips planned?”

  “I don’t, but Amalia has a trip to Paris coming up.”

  “Really?”

  Amalia nodded, “my boyfriends taking us to celebrate our one year anniversary.”

  He blinked. Immediately, he willed his face to stay passive, trying to keep his face neutral and his posture firm. Internally though, his heart had just fractured as if someone had dropped a sledgehammer on it from the top of a skyscraper.

  “That’s awesome, congratulations. What’s your boyfriend do?”

  “He works in fintech. I don’t really understand what his job is but he makes a lot of money doing it.”

  “Damn, good for you. That’s really really cool.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Alright, well I’ve distracted you guys from your workout long enough, and I gotta get going. I’ll take my leave. See you guys later.”

  “Bye,” they said in unison.

  Later in the locker room, Evan found himself sitting on a bench head hung downcast supported by his hands. His elbows dug sharply into his knees as if straining from the weight of holding his head up. “I knew I was being delusional. I knew that for all practical purposes that the odds that someone like Amalia would consider someone like me eligible were practically nonexistent. I knew. And even still. Still I fell into the trap of allowing myself to have hope. Why do I keep doing this to myself. When am I ever going to learn?”

  Somehow he mustered up the strength to push himself up from the bench and go to the locker room mirror. He took off his shirt and examined himself in the mirror. He had lost a considerable amount of weight from where he was at just two years ago. Everyone who knew him complimented and congratulated him on the fact. And it was true to certain extent. With a shirt on he did in fact looked like he’d lost a lot of weight. Underneath though he knew the truth. His gut had shrunk by a lot but it was still there. He still had a belly that jiggled, his chest had gotten a bit tighter but they were still a pair of flabby man boobs. His arms were the most noticeable change. He actually had a set of biceps and triceps that were visible now. Not enough to be impressive, but there was enough to be worth flexing over. He had made progress. This was a fact. But still, what was also a fact was that despite two years of disciplined and consistent training, in the end he was still countless miles away from being properly trim and fit.

  “Two years, and all I have to show for it as that I’m just marginally less of a disgusting fat fuck than I was before. In the end nothings really changed.”

  “Of course, nothings really changed. What did you think you could just start lifting weights and suddenly you’d be swimming in pussy?”

  “Shut up I’m not in the mood right now.” He knew it was a mistake to address the dark voice in his head directly. But he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed it to stop.

  “When are you finally going to realize? It doesn’t matter how hard you try. It doesn’t matter how much weight you lose. It doesn’t matter how self-conscious you become about your social interactions with people. You’re still the same chubby nerd who got axed from every pee wee and little league team your dad tried to put you on, and who girls called creepy all throughout high school and college. The only talent you ever had was running dungeons and dragons and you fucked that up too.”

  “Shut up,” he didn’t say the words out loud but he could feel his throat constricting as tears started welling up behind his eyes.

  “You give the people in your life your heart and soul thinking that would be enough to keep them from leaving you when they find out just how broken you are.”

  “Shut up,” He muttered.

  “It’s never enough though is it? Putting everything you can in to make yourself look like you’re good enough for people. Every call you take. Every text you answer. Every time you showed up to help someone out thinking that you were making an investment into a friendship that would last. And the fucked up part is that, for a little while, it works. The friends you make seem to think the world of you. For a little while at least. Until the first time they watch you breakdown and spiral. And pretty soon they start finding excuses not to hangout. Text messages are returned more slowly. And then they stop responding all together.”

  “Please…stop…I’m begging you please just stop.”

  “When are you going to finally realize? There is no hope for someone like you. You were born a loser. And that is where you will stay.”

  “JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!”

  His scream echoed through the whole locker room. The couple of other men who were in there stopped and all looked at him with concern plain on their faces. Evan went beet red with embarrassment as all eyes turned on him.

  “Hey,” said an middle-aged man, “you alright buddy?”

  “Fine,” he answered in a too quick tone that said he was anything but fine. He quickly pulled his shirt on then dashed to his locker. His fingers fumbled with his combination lock as he fought desperately to keep it together long enough to extricate himself from the room.

  “You sure?” the middle-aged man continued, “cause you don’t look fine pal.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but really its alright, I just need to get home that’s all,” he managed to get his locker open after two failed attempts.

  “Ok, you good to drive?”

  “Yup, totally. Anyway, thank you. Gotta go.” He gathered up his things and all but ran for the exit. He power walked his way across the gym floor, not stopping to make eye contact with anyone on his way out.

  The cold night air in the parking lot snapped at his face which was still sticky with the leftover residue of sweat and still flushed pink with embarrassment from his outburst in the locker room. He looked around for his car. He was having trouble remembering exactly where he parked. And unfortunately his car was not the type of vehicle that stood out from a crowd. His black Honda Accord that he thought looked really cool when he bought it, turned out to be one of the most popular selling models of all time. Meaning that on average in any given lot he parked in there were at least three other cars of the same model and color. A fact he was reminded of when he walked up to the first black Honda Accord he saw, wondered in frustration at why his key fob wasn’t responding, only for him to peer inside the vehicle’s window and realize that it wasn’t his car.

  “God freaking dammit. I don’t have time for this. Where the fuck is my car?”

  He tapped furiously on the lock button of his key fob trying to get his car to make a sound from wherever in the lot he had parked and started walking around until something beeped. “Fuck, god dammit, fuck. I can’t think straight. I need to get out. Where is it?”

  In the corner of the lot he spotted a flash of orange accompanied by a beep. He rushed to it like it was a homing beacon. Once he was upon his vehicle he wasted no time getting into the drivers seat and pressing the ignition button, only remembering to buckle his seat belt when the annoying ring of the seatbelt sensor reminded him. He pulled out of the parking lot and immediately drove off. It was only once he was on the road that he realized he had no idea where he was going. Subconsciously, he had already started on the path towards home. He knew he should go home. He was tired from lack of sleep, and covered in dry sweat from a hard workout. The logical thing to do was to go home, shower and sleep. But images of his father’s menacing presence overrode any say in the matter that logic might have had. The thought of going home and facing his dad again sent a shock of crippling fear running up his arms and down his spine and he felt another urge to scream coming on.

  Quickly he pulled off the road into a nearby parking lot and managed to hold on just long enough to find a shadowy corner to park in. Then, he screamed. He screamed even as his throat went raw. He screamed even as tears blurred his vision and stung his dried out eyes. Even though his head pounded hard punishment inside his skull, and the blood vessels on the side of his neck felt like they were about to burst, he kept screaming.

  He didn’t know how long he screamt for, or when he finally started to lose energy to do so, but eventually the feeling subsided and he fell into a torporous trance. When his screaming had stopped and all that was left was ragged breathing he pulled the driver side visor down and flipped open the vanity mirror. A pair of light flipped on as he did so giving Evan a clear view of his reddened face, puffy eyes, and nostrils running with snot. He looked like he felt and oddly enough, there was something liberating in that. For a few private moments he could take the mask off and stop pretending like he was ok.

  “I hate you,” he said to the face in the mirror. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I…HATE…YOU!”

  A sudden ring on his phone snapped him out of his self-loathing. He unlocked the screen to find a text from his mother.

  ‘Sweetie where are you? It’s getting late.’ His mother had written.

  He looked around, taking a moment to take his surroundings in properly as he came back to himself. He was in the parking lot of the Lakeview Manor, a popular wedding venue in his town. During the day the Lakeview Manor was a gorgeous victorian style manor house built on the edge of the bluff with a stunning view of Lake Schenkitity. From what Evan knew of the place it was built by some rich guy in the early 1900’s and had since been repurposed as a popular venue for engagement parties and weddings. At night though, the conical turrets loomed in the dark cloudless sky like a witch's hat. Some people might have called the effect creepy, but he found the long shadows the manor’s towers cast in the moonlight oddly comforting. Like they were kindly giving him a place to hide while he dealt with his shame.

  “I need some air.”

  After taking a moment to blow his nose and wipe his eyes with a roll of tissues that he kept in the car, he stepped out into the cold night air again. Fortunately he had his hoodie on and it kept him warm enough to bare with it. He pulled his hood up and skulked over to the cocktail area of the manor. He imagined he probably looked really suspicious right now, but he didn’t care. Maybe if he was lucky, a security guard might think he was a trespasser and shoot him.

  He reached the sitting area on the east side of the manor that served as the venue’s cocktail garden during the day. The garden was walled in by fancy granite block walls that were about waist high. Just high enough to stop anyone accidentally falling over the edge without obstructing the view of the lake. Which was important considering how pretty much all of the manor’s appeal as a venue was tied into the view. It was literally in the name afterall. With no one else around he decided he could do with a view of the lake himself and took himself over to the wall to soak it in.

  Most nights, the surface of the lake would have been too dark to make anything out. There were street lamps from the nearby bridge that allowed crossing over the lake, and the headlights of dozens of passing cars. But none of that was enough to illuminate the water and surrounding woods below. And of course, all the local light pollution meant no stars to reflect romantically in the waters surface either.

  Tonight he was lucky though. It was a full moon, and that was enough to cut through the dark to show him the lakes rippling surface below. Even without any stars, the tiny ripples of the lake seemed to glisten with the moonlight giving them a twinkle on their own. An imitation of a starry sky just for him. He looked down at the lake below, and contemplated whether the roughly twenty foot drop would be enough to end him.

  “It’s not a bad night to die,” he whispered to himself.

  “No, no it is not,” came a sudden voice piercing through the dark.