Winter (Four Seasons #1) (8 page)

He doesn’t
know anything. I let out a shaky laugh and tamp down the panic.
“That’s okay. It’s just no one’s ever commented on it
before.”

“
See. I’m a
fool. You’re going to have to let me make it up to you by taking
you to the R rated movie I saw reviewed in Gore Fest
Magazine.”

I chew on my
lip and force down a bolt of panic. This really is starting to
sound like a date. “I don’t know. That sounds rather bloody. I’m
usually more of a comedy kind of girl. What score did the reviewer
of Gore Fest Magazine give this film?”

Noah pulls in
a long breath that makes it sound like he’s smoking. “Five out of
five decapitated heads.” I can hear car horns blaring on the other
end of the phone and then Noah starts swearing profusely. “Jeez,
what is it with you bloody New Yorkers trying to kill everyone when
they try and cross a road?”

“
Did you use
the crosswalk?”

“
No.”

“
That’s your
problem, then. Jay walkers get smushed in America.”

“
That’s just
another thing that I love about the US, y’know. The citizens of the
most powerful country in the world can’t cross a road safely
without being designated a specific area to do so. Can’t you people
be trusted to look both ways and just cross a bloody road like
everyone else?”

The image of
Noah standing on a street corner anywhere in New York and saying
something like that out loud is hilarious; he’s probably going to
get lynched if he breathes another word. I prop myself up by my
elbows on the kitchen counter and consider my options: go out with
the seemingly nice, hot guy from class, or stay in the apartment
alone, reading an instruction manual. The age-worn Super Eight
manual is actually really interesting, but still…

“
I’m not sure
about your choice of movie, but I’m not doing anything. I could be
persuaded.”

“
Great. Get
your ass down to the Beekman Theatre on 2
^nd
. I’ll grab our tickets and
some popcorn. You like chocolate?”

I smile
despite myself. “I like chocolate.” This might actually be fun, and
listening to Noah speak really is quite something, even over the
phone. “Hey Noah,” I say, reaching for my jacket. “What’s the movie
called?”

“
Way out of
Wyoming. About some psycho killer who murdered a bunch of girls.
Apparently it’s based on a true story. We can go and see something
else if you like, though? The new Adam Sandler movie looks good if
you’re into comedy. Do you have any preferences?”

My hand
tightens around the phone.
Sam O’Brady.
Jefferson Kyle. Adam Bright. Sam O’Brady. Jefferson Kyle. Adam
Bright.

“
Avery? Avery
Patterson?”

“
Uh…sorry,
Noah, I…” My throat is so dry I can’t swallow. “What did you
say?”

“
I asked if
you had any preferences? Adam Sandler?”

I fix my eyes
on the digital clock on the oven, forcing oxygen in and out of my
body. “No, I don’t care really. Just pick whatever. But not that
one. Not the Wyoming one.”

Noah
completely misses the way my voice cracks. He chuckles and says,
“Man, girls are such pussies” and then he hangs up the
phone.

I make my way
from the kitchen into the lounge where I’ve set up my laptop and
sit down in front of it, activating the wifi on my cell phone. Once
my laptop recognizes the wifi hotspot, I head straight to Youtube
and type in ‘Way Out Of Wyoming Trailer’. The comments at the top
of the page are bad. They all refer to how messed up the movie is,
and how it made someone’s mom, sister, girlfriend puke. Loud rock
music starts up and the trailer finally loads. For the next minute
and thirty seconds I stare at the screen and watch without blinking
once.

“
When teenage
girls started going missing across Wyoming, police officials never
suspected they were dealing with a serial killer. There was no
motive. No profile. No pattern. And for the killer’s victims, no
hope of escape.”

Scenes of
young girls being chased through woods strobe on the screen,
accompanied by the breathless, frantic sounds of someone running
for their life. At the end of the trailer, an image of a masked man
brandishing a rusty machete flashes up, and a high-pitched scream
rips over the brash guitar music, ending the clip on a dramatic
note. I slam the laptop closed and slump back, chewing on my
thumbnail, trying to figure out a way to stop my stomach from
rolling. They’ve made a movie out of it.
A
movie.
Everyone in the whole country is
going to be talking about it, especially since it looks like one of
the most gruesome things I’ve ever seen. That means that they’ll be
talking about my dad, too, if anyone catches sight of Mayor
Bright’s book. And they will. Because that’s just my
luck.

*****

Noah wasn’t
kidding when he said he’d grab us some snacks. I rock up just in
time to catch the box of milk duds he’s trying to balance on top of
the biggest bucket of popcorn ever.

“
Whoa, nice
catch!”

“
Thanks.” I
manage a smile and stuff the box into my pocket.

“
Hey, I saw
that!” Noah shakes his head, grinning. “I don’t know…been
acquaintances for all of five minutes and she’s already stealing my
confectionary.”

My smile grows
a fraction bigger. I silently hope he’ll think the redness of my
cheeks has a lot to do with the biting cold outside instead of
suspecting I had to fight tears the whole walk over through the
Upper East Side. Noah’s cheeks are a little rosy, themselves; he
probably isn’t going to notice. He’s wearing another beanie—I don’t
think I’ve ever seen him without one. He’s gone for a smarter
version of his casual dress: a thin black sweater over a button
down shirt, and stone washed jeans. The sweater looks like it’s
that really soft kind that feels amazing on your skin.

Noah cracks a
smirk. “I got us tickets. Are you okay? You look a little
dazed.”

Great. I’m a
nervous wreck from watching the trailer already, and now I’m
staring mindlessly at the guy I am on a ‘maybe’ date with. “Uh,
what? No, I ahh...I’m fine. Shall we go in?” It would have been
nice to think that the larger portion of my scrambled brain has to
do with how good Noah looks, which he really does, but
unfortunately I am still obsessing over Dad and Way Out Of Wyoming.
What if the movie directors caught wind of Mayor Bright’s
accusations while they were planning the film? Did they use my
dad’s name in it? Do they call the Wyoming Ripper Maxwell Breslin
in the newest box office hit? I force the ghost of a smile onto my
face, feeling hideous, and follow Noah into the movie theatre, only
half conscious of the fact that he’s going to be giving a lot away
with his choice of seating.

He picks out a
couple of seats three quarters of the way back from the screen—not
exactly far enough from the back row to suggest he wasn’t thinking
about sitting there. He lets me in first and sits down, offering me
the popcorn. “You wanna steal this, too, seeing as you’ve already
confiscated my Milk Duds?

“
I thought
they were
our
Milk
Duds?”

Noah’s face
changes a little, shadowed in the dim light of the theatre. “I like
the sound of that,” he says quietly.

I frown. “Like
the sound of what?”

“
Doesn’t
matter.” He smirks, shaking the popcorn under my nose until I take
some. “What are you doing for Christmas, Miss Patterson? Heading
back to…where are you from?”

“
Idaho,” I
lie.

“
Idaho…” Noah
narrows his eyes as he gazes off into the distance. “I know nothing
about Idaho.”

Neither do I,
so please don’t ask me about it
, I think. I
shove a handful of popcorn into my mouth and shrug. When I’ve
finished slowly chewing, the curtains have parted and the screen
flickers into life. “Whereabouts in Ireland are you from?” I
whisper.

His grey eyes
glint in the dark. He leans closer so I can hear him. “Belfast, but
I spent a lot of time in London when I was a kid.”

“
Oh. I didn’t
think the Irish liked the English very much?”

A slow smile
curls at the corner of his mouth. “Some of us don’t. Some of us
don’t care anymore. Me ma sent me there back towards the end of the
nineties to get an education. She didn’t want me growing up around
all those guns.”

I shoot him a
startled look. “Is there still a lot of gun crime in
Ireland?”

Noah nearly
blows coke out of his nose. He coughs so violently that the lady in
front of us turns to give us an irritated look.

“
Oh, calm
yourself, woman, it’s the adverts!” he snaps, rolling his eyes.
“Did you just ask me if there’s a lot of gun crime in
Ireland?”

I blush under
the incredulous stare he’s giving me. “Yeah? I thought things were
peaceful there now.” I get the impression I should be feeling
pretty stupid.

“
Oh, boy.” He
takes a deep breath. “Yes, there’s a fair bit o’ gun crime,
especially where I’m from in Northern Ireland. Not as much now as
there used to be, though. I guess, in your defense, we’re not
making the news every night anymore. There was a lot of conflict
when I was growing up. The Loyalists and the Republicans, the
Protestants and the Catholics…every one had a finger on a trigger
in one way or another. My family thought I was better off out of
it.”

“
And you…what
are you?”

Noah’s eyes
narrow again. “What do you mean?”

“
Are you a
Loyalist or a Republican?”

“
Do I have to
be either?”

I tip my head
to one side, studying him. “Most people are something when they
grow up in an environment like that.”

“
I’m just me,”
he says lightly, but there’s a guarded look in his eye. “Me mother
and father are Catholic, though you won’t find me frequenting the
house of God on the weekends.”

I don’t get
chance to ask him anything else. The movie starts, and after a
warning glance from the woman in front of us we settle into silence
to watch the film. Noah laughs long and hard through the next hour
and half, and I manage a few splutters of my own, even through
everything else crowding my mind. We’ve polished off half the
popcorn and the Milk Duds by the time the credits roll, but my
stomach feels oddly hollow. Noah dumps the trash on the way out,
and we blink as we emerge into the lit foyer. The place is buzzing
with people queuing for tickets to the late night
showing.

“
These guys
all get to see the murder flick. You owe me,” Noah complains,
grabbing the sleeve of my jacket so he can guide me through the sea
of people, chattering and jostling each other to get ahead in line.
The cold is startling when he tugs me outside. It’s snowing again,
this time much heavier than the flurries the city has experienced
over the previous weeks. The traffic on 2
^nd
is bad as usual, the cab
drivers leaning on their horns despite the fact it never gets them
anywhere any quicker.

The curled
ends of Noah’s hair catch flakes of snow as they descended. The
rest land on his beanie, melting almost instantly. He becomes
suddenly shy, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “So, I’m
aware I touted this as a movie only deal, but I was wondering if
maybe you wanted to up the ante and grab some food as well? I know
a place close by where they have good live music?”

My stomach
growls right on cue, letting both me and Noah in on the fact that
I’m hardly full. I glance up and down the street, realizing that
we’re surrounded by normal people. People who probably haven’t
heard a thing about some new movie. They’re just out for dinner,
enjoying the holidays together. I’m suddenly incredibly jealous of
them with their simple, uncomplicated lives. I look back at Noah to
find him wearing a hopeful expression.

“
Come on,” he
said, smiling, “No turkey, I promise.”

“
No turkey,
huh? That
is
a big
promise.” I sigh. “You know what? All right. Let’s grab some
food.”

Noah doesn’t
do much to hide how pleased he is. He offers me his arm and I
hesitate a second before linking my own through it. There is a
small smile playing over his lips as we make our way down
2
^nd
Avenue, and I catch him look at me out the corner of his
eye.

We walk one
block over and cross onto 1
^st
, where Noah directs me to the
doors of a bar aptly named O’Flanagan’s. “You’re kidding,
right?”

He’s wearing
the biggest shit-eating grin ever. “Hey, I’m Irish okay. I get
homesick.” He guides me inside and we’re met with applause and
whoops from at least a hundred people all pressed tight inside the
bar. Their backs are to us, watching someone in the far corner
strumming an instrument by the bar. Goodness knows what all the
fuss is about but the place smells amazing. My stomach growls
again, making Noah chuckle. “Sit here, darlin’. I’ll grab us some
bar menus.” He points me over to the only empty booth in the place.
I shuck off my jacket and scarf, rubbing my hands together to try
and warm them.