Gavin Byrne spent large swaths of his life in a state of almost pure hedonism, but even he had an extra gear that his sister sarcastically referred to as "Hurricane Gavin". That particular storm system formed either when an ocean of whiskey coalesced in his blood under particularly adventurous circumstances or when his rage or boredom were so overwhelming that there was nothing else to do but let himself be carried away, caught in the winds of his own destructive impulses. 

As he walked away from the car heading down South River Road away from him, he glanced back at it again. Realizing what he was doing, he leveled a string of curses at himself- even as he felt the color in his cheeks. What the fuck was wrong with him?

He walked steadily and slowly from the car, which had disappeared into the city of Chicago, but for the first time in his life he felt like he couldn't shift the tide pulling him backwards. Gavin tried to dismiss his thoughts as he usually did to better focus on the moment but, for the first time in years, he had trouble doing so. His thoughts danced just outside the edge of his perception, like predators gathered in the darkness outside a campfire. It was the feeling of a pebble in his shoe or something in his teeth; unable to be dislodged through willpower alone, it constantly reminded him of its presence. Fortunately, Gavin had some aces up his sleeve.

He swerved into the speakeasy, knowing it'd still be open from the night before. The place was nearly dead, which was expected in the pre-dawn hours, and there was only a bartender, a few half-awake patrons, and a radio quietly playing a song in the corner. Gavin approached the bar and tapped his fingers on it impatiently until the bartender shuffled over.

"Whiskey. Three of them. My friends are on their way."

"Sure, pal. Whatever you say."

Gavin picked up the first glass before it hit the bar, and he was soon onto the second one. The third whiskey was in his hand when the words of the song he was hearing became clear. It was a man singing, backed by a powerful big band- and there was a rhythm to the song that he'd been enjoying without really listening too closely. Then he heard the words drifting towards him from the bar. 

"Have you no idea that you're in deep?
I dreamt about you nearly every night this week.
How many secrets can you keep?
'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow
And I play it on repeat
Until I fall asleep
Spilling drinks on my settee."

The words chased him from the bar like a gas grenade. He immediately headed for the exit, smashing his glass against the floor in a barely conscious motion. The bartender's yells followed him, and the only trace of Gavin was a handful of twenties floating down to the floor in his wake. 

By the afternoon, he had drank his way through half the city. He was a practiced drinker, but he found himself stumbling and leaning against the wall of a building like a lightweight. Cursing himself again, he lurched into the alley and vomited into a trash can. After the second time, he was mostly dry heaving. With a hand over his eyes, he once again took a leaping reach to hold onto his thoughts and found them escape him yet again. Turning away from his confusion and trying to simply ignore it, he walked slowly into the first restaurant he could find. He drank three waters before the burning feeling left his throat and was halfway through a loaf of bread when he saw a red and silver Duesenberg gliding through the street outside. It wasn't the same car as the one in Montreal; it seemed far more basic. Still, he froze at the sight of it.

Did he even want to know what he was feeling? If whatever this was flowed between the two of them? Or maybe it was just his own derangement- something to be silently killed before it could disrupt things? 

Still... he had been sad to see her go. He'd promised she could be back in Detroit by dawn, but a part of him had wished she had stayed, regardless of the promise. Something had changed for him last night. He'd approached the edge of an abyss he hadn't known existed. He'd been blindly dancing on the edge of it for who knows how long... and last night... shit. Maybe he could have said something then, but he'd been so surprised by what had happened that he'd retreated from it like a wounded animal.

Perhaps his thoughts would make more sense again at night; for now, the sunshine was obliterating any sort of focus he had. 

His waitress came by to refill his water again, and he flung his consciousness at her desperately in hopes that she'd absorb it. A lithe body. Thin, but strong. A dancer?  Blonde hair, nearly white- a bob framing her face and the smile that lingered upon her face. A voice that was soft, but with a hint of playfulness. 

"My, my. A very thirsty boy."

The roguish grin flashed automatically as his blue eyes focused on her, ignoring the thoughts at the periphery of his mind- the feelings at the periphery of himself.

"You have no idea. In fact, I'd like to switch to whiskey. And whatever you recommend from the menu- if you're willing to take my future in your hands?

She laughed as she walked away from the tables. Gavin watched her hips as she left- and the way she was walking suggested that she was not ignorant of this fact.

He'd had a few whiskeys, and the world was once again glowing behind a veneer of warmth. Still, he caught himself repeatedly glancing at the phone in the corner, wondering what would happen if he called her. She'd told him to call. She'd said that she would come running. 

So why didn't he call, if he wanted to see her? Or talk to her?

It would feel like crawling. It wasn't, of course. He knew that- logically. But for a man who'd been flying for a decade, even walking felt like crawling. 

His eyes alighted on Evelyn once again as she returned with another whiskey. If something really had happened last night, then why was it so easy to lure this one? The same tactical view as ever... poking... prodding... testing a woman's defenses and finding her weak spots... he'd been playing Evelyn like a violin for the entire afternoon and early evening. And how should he be able to do that, if something really had happened last night? Perhaps he was just overtired. 

He polished off his drink, feeling pleasantly drunk, as he left a couple hundred dollar bills on the table for Evelyn. She returned, her eyes opening wide when she saw the money; she quickly pocketed it and moved closer to him, resting a hand on the arm of his navy blue suit before speaking.

"You know, I'm getting off soon..."

Gavin's voice was as smooth as silk sheets.

"Well, not until I'm done with you."

The look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

The door to Evelyn's apartment had slammed so loud that the dogs in the building, still very much awake at 8pm, all began barking at the same time. One step inside the door was a man's suit jacket, navy blue. A woman's blouse hung haphazardly on the chair after two more steps. Further in, a man's dress shirt was cast aside on the floor. The trail of clothes seemed to thicken as it approached the bedroom, revealing two pairs of pants, a brassiere, and other hastily discarded articles of clothing.

The apartment was filled by a woman's screams of pleasure, followed by her cursing at her neighbors as she reached across the bed and cranked her radio as loud as it could go. 

Gavin, for the first time in a long while, was working with his eyes closed, trying to operate through tactile and auditory senses alone.

Raven hair.

His eyes snapped open to see Evelyn's naked back, with her short blonde hair above it.

He froze, and she twisted herself to a sitting position and looked up at him, biting her lip. Her eyes seemed brown, doe-like for a moment. He blinked and they were green again, looking up at him with desire. 

She lay herself back on the bed, gently sliding her hands from her hair down the length of her body, resting on her stomach. For a moment, Gavin saw the scars, before they vanished into the flat, smooth stomach of the woman laying before him- who reached up her hands and pulled him into her. 

Gavin, confused in bed with a woman for the first time since he was seventeen, gave in without a word and operated on his instincts.

The radio wasn't even able to cover the shaking of the bed, never mind the shouts of the woman inside it, as Gavin ran away from himself and into her.

Half an hour later, he stared up at the ceiling and stared, ignoring the dozing blonde head resting on his chest as the radio droned quietly in the corner. He didn't feel guilty. She had Will, too, after all. Tara had mentioned they had been heading down to Atlantic City together- although he hadn't found that out until after the fact. And now she had her fiance, returned from the dead. 

No, he didn't feel guilty. 

He just felt... empty. Unmoored.

Then he recognized the song the radio was playing- the same one from the speakeasy.

"So have you got the guts?
Been wondering if your heart's still open and
if so I wanna know what time it shuts
Simmer down and pucker up
I'm sorry to interrupt it's just I'm constantly
on the cusp of trying to kiss you
I don't know if you feel the same as I do
But we could be together, if you wanted to."

At some point, he stood up without thinking about it, ignoring Evelyn's murmured "sad to see you go" as he quickly dressed and made his way to the door. He opened it, glancing back at the woman on the bed, facing him while she reclined on her stomach, hands under her chin and her feet in the air behind her. 

He paused and looked at her for a few seconds before he spoke, only somewhat apogetically.

"Sorry... I need to leave."

She winked at him, beckoning him back.

"Why?"

He stared at her before answering honestly.

"I... don't know."

With a final subdued smile, he was gone.

The bottle of beer that smashed over Gavin's head could have been easily avoided if it weren't for the other three men holding him down. One thug had each arm and a third had his leg when he leaped and twisted in the air, planting his one free foot hard into the temple of the man holding his other leg. With two feet on the ground, Gavin bent and pushed himself backwards, driving the man holding his right arm hard against the bar. The impact was so powerful or shocking that the man loosened his grip momentarily, and Gavin was able to get a fist free and drive it into the face of the man holding his other arm, punching him in the nose. Free for a split second, Gavin danced away.

The man who'd smashed him with the first bottle charged at him with another; Gavin easily sidestepped him and broke his nose as he ran by. 

They'd grabbed him initially and gotten some good shots in; at this point, he forgot why. 

But now that he was free, they didn't have a chance. In a minute they were all rolling on the floor. They were businessmen. Actual business men. Gavin returned to the bar as the bartender stared at him. Finishing his whiskey- God knows how many he'd had- he stared back at the bartender.

"Hey... why'd those guys start fighting me?"

"What?"

"Why'd they come after me?"

"Uh... buddy you just punched one of them in the nose. It was right out of the blue. I didn't hear them say nothing to you."

Gavin nodded and tossed a few bills on the bar that the bartender quickly slipped into his pocket.

"Sorry about the mess."

Gavin walked unsteadily outside to see that the moon was high in the sky. Looking up and backwards, he stumbled, reaching out a hand against a lamppost to steady himself. Exhaling, he noticed a phonebooth a few hundred feet away and slowly made his way to it.

When he passed a dance hall, he wasn't surprised to hear what song they were playing; it concluded with a few final pulses.

Ever thought of calling, darling?
Do you want me crawling back to you?

Trying to keep the phone booth in the center of his swerving path, Gavin drunkenly swayed back and forth. After a few minutes of shuffling, he reached the booth and practically collapsed inside, leaning against the opposite wall for support. He stood there for a long time staring at the phone, the mist of his confusion increased even thicker from the whiskey. 

Slowly, he reached out and picked up the phone, raising it cautiously to his ear and clearing his throat. 

"Operator, how can I direct your call?"

Gavin closed his eyes for a moment and almost spoke. 

Then he exploded into a single action, punching the hand holding the phone through the glass window. 

He left the phone dangling behind him as he shuffled away- a drop of blood falling from his right hand every few paces.

Waking up felt like torture, as the headache sliced his skull in half. He was lying face down on a picnic table in the Chippewa Woods. He wiped the crusted drool from his cheek, wincing as he moved his hand- partially covered in dried blood. He slowly sat up and turned to face the river, staring out at it with bloodshot eyes.

What the fuck happened that night?

Did he even want to know?