Two Past Midnight

By Byron Abrahams

Two Past Midnight is set in the fictional town of Oak Hills, Nebraska. It tells the story of Cassidy Voltaire and Landon Reese, stereotypical childhood sweethearts who grew up in the sheltered bosom of their small town surrounded by their friends, and very much in love.

On the night they graduate high school, Cassidy and Landon make a pact; to meet in a special clearing in the woods at two minutes past midnight in exactly ten years' time; to see if their dreams and aspirations have indeed come true, or if the lives they thought they would lead were nothing more than adolescent fairytales.

Fast-forward ten years, and Cassidy – now a successful lawyer practicing out of Washington D.C. is returning to Oak Hills for the first time in years. The occasion? Her 10 year high school reunion. But Cassidy isn’t looking forward to the trip. In fact, she’s dreading it, because she knows she’ll come face to face with Landon, a man she hasn’t seen in six years. And she’ll be forced to confront the tragic event that ripped the young lovers apart – seemingly forever.

Two Past Midnight gels perfectly with the contemporary romantic fiction genre. The dialogue is fast, and often acerbic. The characters are flawed, but likeable. And the story itself contains those ingredients essential to any romance... hope, and a belief in true love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Byron Abrahams
• Release date: Dec 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9780620555692

Byron Abrahams

I've been writing professionally for television for over 15 years. CEO of BlaqSheep Productions, a South African Scribe House - penning numerous award-winning TV shows, including; The Comedy Central Roast of AKA (the most viewed and downloaded roast in the history of CC Africa), Lockdown, Ses'Topla, Isphindiselo and Black Tax, for BET, among others. Two Past Midnight is my first novel, and the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Literally lifelong. I told my parents I would write a book when I was 7 (Don't say I never finish anything, mom!) My second novel, Vengeance Burns, is on it's way soon...

Book preview

Two Past Midnight

By Byron Abrahams

Copyright 2011 Byron Abrahams

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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…Two Past Midnight…

For Nicole, for Sam,

I am always us.

And for Doc,

who stuck with me,

every step of the way.

Smart Navigation:

Chapter Five

Chapter Ten

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-Five

…Prologue…

June 26th 2002

I can’t see! Where are you taking me?

You don’t recognize this place?

Recognize what? I can’t see a thing.

It’s just a little bit further.

I swear, Lan, if this is some kind of stunt…

It’s not. Come on.

Landon Reese held out his right hand. In the faint glow offered by the starlight, Cassidy Voltaire could barely make out his face. Just a hint of the hard line of his jaw, and the flash in his eyes that owed nothing to the shadow moon.

A deep breath, a smile, and she reached out, clasping his hand in hers. Landon smiled back. Careful to hold the picnic basket in his left hand high above the line of the bushes alongside the trail, he led her steadily downwards, slipping once or twice on the steep scree. Landon seemed sure of his path, and his footing, and Cassidy took comfort in that.

Once into the line of the trees, the shadows deepened, and Cassidy squeezed his hand just a little harder. Landon threw a glance over his shoulder, a cheeky smile playing on his lips.

I can’t believe you don’t remember, he said.

This is like the opening of every horror movie I’ve ever seen, said Cassidy, ignoring him.

You don’t watch horror movies.

Yeah, well… it would be exactly like that if I did.

Landon just chuckled, concentrating on leading them through the maze of trees that rose like sentinels on either side of the narrow dirt track. Cassidy breathed in, relishing the fresh smell of holly and wild grass.

Soon, they broke the confines of the trees and stepped out into a natural glade, like a tiny amphitheatre, with an audience of towering oaks. The moonlight seemed intensified, bathing the glade with light that seemed to sparkle.

Cassidy stopped.

She was still holding Landon’s hand, forcing him to come up short. He turned, that grin on his face again.

You remember, he said. It wasn’t a question.

God… Cassidy breathed, How long has it been?

Ten years… maybe more? Landon shrugged, We were kids.

I used to love this place, said Cassidy, I can’t believe I forgot about it.

You remember that tree? asked Landon, pointing to a gnarled old oak that seemed quite indistinguishable from the rest, You chased Jimmy Palmer with a rock when he called you a girl.

Cassidy laughed, He climbed up where I couldn’t reach, she said, Refused to come down until after dark.

My dad laid into me about that one, said Landon.

Cassidy threw him a sharp glance, but Landon had already let go of her hand, making his way to the centre of the glade. He crouched down, setting the basket down on the grass, still slick with dew. He unpacked a blanket, which he swiftly spread out, followed by two wrapped sandwiches, glasses and a bottle of champagne.

Cassidy settled on the blanket, her long legs, laid bare by her cut off jeans, splayed out in front of her. She cocked her arms straight, leaning back to gaze up at the stars.

All Landon could do was look at her. The perfect form of her long neck, the colour of dulled ivory. The way her chestnut curls danced down around her shoulders. The strong set of her features, cast into relief by the light of the moon.

He shook his head, trying to clear it before he lost himself completely. He held out one of the sandwiches.

Hungry?

No, said Cassidy, I just want to sit here for a bit.

I could open the champagne.

No. Just… sit here with me. Just for a while.

Okay.

Landon scooted round behind her, creating a V with his legs, allowing her to lean back against his chest. It was the place Cassidy felt most comfortable, secure in the cocoon of his body. The star of the school’s swim team, Landon wasn’t overly-muscular. Rather, his body was lean, and hard, filled with the coiled energy of a tensed spring. He put one arm around her, bending his head to plant a soft kiss on the top of her head, and inhale the aroma of her hair.

I can’t believe it’s over, said Cassidy.

At last, said Landon.

Aren’t you going to miss it?

‘What? Classes? Boring teachers? The same old faces every single day?"

It wasn’t that bad.

No, he agreed, I guess not.

They didn’t talk for a while. The only sounds; the swishing of the leaves in the wind and the restless chirping of crickets in the undergrowth.

It’s all ahead of us, Cas, said Landon, at last, One lazy summer and then it’s college, saying goodbye to this town… Our lives are waiting for us out there.

I’m not sure I’m ready, she admitted.

You are. You’re brilliant.

You’re supposed to say that!

It’s true, he said, You’re going to love Georgetown, and everyone there’s gonna love you. You’ll become rich, successful, and you’ll forget all about that hick from your old hometown that you left behind way back when.

Don’t say that! Cassidy admonished him, spinning in the crook of his legs so she could face him.

She saw the usual humour in those grey eyes of his that she’d fallen in love with – long before she knew what love was. But there was something else in them, something new… a trace of fear that was completely unfamiliar. As far as she knew, Landon Reese had never been afraid of anything.

I’ll never forget you, she said, If anything, you’re the one who’s going to forget me. New York City, the capital of Bimbo!

I think that’s Los Angeles.

Whatever, offering a small smile, she stroked his cheek, We’ve been together for three years, Landon.

I think we’ve been together a lot longer than that, he said.

Probably. We just didn’t know it.

So, you promise? he asked.

I promise.

Why should I believe you?

Cassidy considered the question for a long moment, as though weighing the proper response. Landon waited, not daring to reveal just how nervous he really was.

It was true that he’d loved her far longer than the three years they’d gone out, officially, as a couple. But it never did well to reflect on just how long this girl had held him in her grasp. It was too much of a fantasy to live up to scrutiny. After all, you’re not supposed to find your soulmate when you’re six years old.

I have an idea, she said, Pass me that bottle.

Landon frowned, but did as she asked.

"Moét & Chandon, she said, examining the label, I’m impressed."

I reckoned it was a special night, said Landon.

It is.

Gripping the neck of the bottle, Cassidy hoisted herself up and trotted over to the east side of the glade. Curious, Landon followed her. Uncaring, or unaware of the mass of crushed moss, stones and mud, Cassidy dropped to her knees by the base of a tree. She started scrabbling in the dirt with her bare hands.

What the hell are you doing?

What does it look like?

A squirrel impression.

Shut up, and help me!

Smiling to himself, Landon knelt beside her, helping to gouge a shallow trench in the loose earth.

We bury this bottle, Cassidy explained, And ten years from now, we come back here and we dig it up again. Ten years… she grinned, Think of everything that’ll change by then. We’ll be different people. We’ll have stories to tell. What time is it?

Two past midnight, said Landon, checking his watch.

Cassidy rolled her eyes, Can’t you just say midnight?

I could, but that’d take the fun out of it.

So, two minutes past midnight, June 26th 2012… We meet right back here.

If we remember, said Landon.

We will, Cassidy sounded certain, Because this is our night. Our graduation night. I promise… she leaned in, laying the softest, most fleeting kiss on his lips, We’ll remember it forever.

Landon tried to breathe. Locked into her eyes, he read the truth there – behind her words.

You mean…?

She nodded, That’s exactly what I mean.

But I always thought… he stammered a bit, You always said you weren’t ready.

I am now. I love you, Landon. Only you.

Deep inside, Landon felt something shift when she said that. Later, he’d agonize over what exactly had changed between them that night – apart from the physical.

They had the summer, and they made the most of it, but it was different. They’d lost and gained something too intangible to name, and too precious to forget.

He couldn’t place it, but it was there.

That was for later, though. That night, there was only the dancing silver of the moon in her eyes, the yielding softness of her lips, and the memory of a dream.

And for that moment, two minutes past midnight, it was enough.

…One…

June 23rd 2012…

There are moments that you wish could last forever. And there are moments that you wish were dead and gone. Cassidy didn’t know which this was – the moment she crested the sloping curve of I-80 and laid eyes on Oak Hills again. Whatever it was, the power of the moment struck her like a blow. The town was built for a postcard, nestled in a wooded valley, the tall spire of the largest of the town’s nine churches dominating the skyline.

It was bigger than she remembered, but deceptively so. Houses had sprung up around the outskirts, clawing outward at a rate that she knew would be tightly controlled by the town council. They’d all been designed to spec as well. Double-stand wooden manors, with landscaped lawns and the prerequisite picket fences. The only difference is what colour you painted the fence. White was not a necessity, but definitely encouraged.

The drive from the airport had taken two hours, and Cassidy suddenly realized that it was not nearly enough time to prepare. Keeping her eyes on the road, she flipped open her handbag on the seat beside her, digging through the numerous pockets for a fresh pack of cigarettes. When she found a box of Marlboro’s, she ripped open the plastic coating with her teeth. She used the rented car’s built-in lighter, and sent a plume of thick smoke out the window to disturb the perfectly still air.

The nicotine helped calm the flow of anxiety rising steadily inside her. For six years she’d been avoiding this drive, this road, this vacuum back to the past. Six years spent actively burying every emotion that tied her to the town and its people, because it was far too difficult to separate the good from the bad.

Six years… gone in an instant.

~*~

Driving through the streets once she hit town, Cassidy was amazed that a place could change so much, and so little, all at the same time. Mr Henderson’s hardware store was still there, but now boasted an electronic sign to replace the old hand-painted one, and was flanked by a store selling nouveau furniture where Tom’s Barber used to stand. The diner, run by a couple by the name of Harper in Cassidy’s day, had been supplanted by a fast food chain and become one of a million dotting the country. Cassidy doubted the pancakes would be anywhere near as good.

When she turned onto her old block, the number of changes decreased. But instead of settling over her like a warm, familiar blanket, she found the lack of progress sad and maddening.

There was old Mrs. Camden’s house on the corner. She’d had a fancy new remote-controlled gate installed, but the old maple tree still dominated the front garden. Cassidy had chipped her tooth falling out of that tree when she was eight. The mailbox out front of Mr Swan’s yard, shaped like, of all things, a swan, bore a new coat of paint and nothing else. And finally, her parents’ house.

Cassidy had grown up in a two-storey Old-Vic style house, painted white, with green shutters and gables, flanked by a white stud fence, holding back a garden overflowing with rose bushes. The house she pulled into just happened to be: a two-storey Old-Vic style house, painted white, with green shutters and gables, flanked by a white stud fence, holding back a garden overflowing with rose bushes.

Cassidy just sat in the driveway, the engine still idling, fighting the temptation to back out of there, tyres screeching, and hit the highway – all the way to the airport and from there back to Washington and the real world.

She fought the urge and turned off the car. She retrieved her luggage from the back seat, making sure to pop a breath mint before mounting the steps to the front door. It opened before she got there. Her mother stood in the doorway, smiling at her.

Welcome home, sweetheart.

Hi, mom.

Elizabeth (Call me Liz) Voltaire was still a striking woman. Her hair, the same chestnut brown as Cassidy’s own, was pulled back into a ponytail fit for a teenager. Just a couple of inches shorter than her daughter, it was easy for her to wrap her arms around Cassidy’s neck and pull her into a tight embrace.

We missed you.

I missed you too.

Cassidy returned her mother’s smile as they drew back. It seemed none of the glamour had gone out of it in the year since she’d visited Cassidy in Washington. Every visit, Cassidy made sure to check that her mom’s smile was never just a little forced, a little strained. It never was.

Cassidy was always grateful for that. Grateful, and a little jealous. Because it seemed that every time she studied her own reflection in the mirror, her glamour had drained away, a drip at a time, while she slumbered in that land between sleep and awake. But then, Cassidy had always known that her mother was stronger than her. Or maybe it just seemed that way, because her mother had gotten the life she’d always wanted.

Come inside.

Slipping the strap of her bag off Cassidy’s shoulder, Liz led her into the house. Cassidy followed slowly, closing the door behind her. Once again, her mental inventory list engaged as she made her way into the only home she’d known until she was eighteen.

The carpet had been stripped in the parlor, and the wooden floors underneath sanded down, and then buffed to a warm lustrous shine. There were more pictures on the walls, and Cassidy took her time examining these. Family portraits mostly, sent from cousins, nephews and nieces all across the country – the world even. That was cousin Margaret with her two daughters in France. The furniture in the living room was new.

Teak, said Cassidy, running a hand over the smooth finish, Expensive.

You only get the best when you buy from a Reese, said Liz.

Cassidy felt her heart jump several beats at the mention of the name Reese, but she forced herself to ignore it. Fought the almost primal urge to dwell on what the name meant to her.

Where’s dad? she asked.

In his den, where else? her mother rolled her eyes, You can go say hello while I put your stuff in your room.

Okay.

Cassidy marched on past the stairs and down a short hallway. The door to her father’s den was open. Here, again, there was a change. His desk was still there, as well as the leather recliner, but the desk now boasted a slim line PC, and the wall was almost erased by a massive LCD flat screen TV. Her father was in his chair, eyeglasses perched on his nose, reading the paper.

Hey stranger, she said, leaning against the doorframe.

Jean Voltaire was out of his chair faster than she would have deemed possible. He crushed her in a fierce hug, several notches stronger than her mother’s, and almost lifted her off her feet.

Baby girl! My baby girl!

Cassidy laughed, playfully punching him on the arm.

Dad, let me go! I’ll choke!

He promptly did as she asked, but still clasped her by the shoulders, holding her at arm’s length so he could study her.

We missed you, he said, his French accent still thick despite the fact that his family had moved to America when he was ten. That was stubbornness for you.

So I’ve heard, Cassidy replied.

You should come home more, he admonished her.

I’m home now.

Yes, you are.

Cassidy’s looks came from both her parents. Relatives had always joked that she got the best of both worlds, and it was true. She’d inherited her father’s Latin features, and swarthy complexion, coupled with her mother’s piercing green eyes. It was a compelling, and attractive mix.

I have a gift for you! her father skipped around the desk and started prodding through his drawers.

Dad, that’s really not necessary, she tried to protest.

Her father ignored her, Your mother found it, buried in some old box. You haven’t been home in so long, and we knew it would take something like this to get you back here, so… it just seemed appropriate.

He removed a flat, rectangular box from the drawer, laying it flat on the desk. It was tied with a purple ribbon. Cassidy slipped the bow free, and opened the box.

She forgot to breathe.

Her hands trembled slightly as she removed the beautifully framed photograph. It was a typical print, from standard stock, though the colours had held up well. The image was still clear. Too clear by half, as far as Cassidy was concerned. Just a glimpse, and the memories came hurtling back.

"Come on, dad! This is such a cliché!"

"One picture! Is that too much for a father to ask on his daughter’s graduation?"

"She’s right, Mr. Voltaire. We’d all rather forget we were ever in high school."

"You know, Landon, you don’t