Please Forget Me at the End of Dusk

The day I finished hoarding a hundred sleeping pills, I stood at the edge of the welcome crowd outside the Intercontinental Hotel,

wanting only to see Isabel James in her wedding dress from far away before I died.

The phone in my pocket buzzed all of a sudden, and out of the speaker came my own voice from five years ago:

"Today is Isabel's birthday. I'm going to propose to her."

The younger me laughed, bright and full of himself. "Five years from now, will I have married her? Will we have a kid?"

Right then the wedding car pulled up at the hotel doors, and Isabel stepped out in her gown, her arm looped through another man's.

Into the phone, I said hoarsely, "No. She's getting married today. I'm not the groom."

The line went quiet for a few seconds. "Why?"

"Because I cheated. I dumped her."

Before the voice on the other end could answer, Isabel had already picked me out through the crowd.

She caught up the hem of her gown and rushed through the people, her hand slapping across the side of my face.

"Maurice Dickerson, five years ago you cheated on me, you dumped me and walked out."

"So what are you crawling back here looking like this for?"

Before I could answer, the young man in the speaker shouted first. "You're lying!"

"I could die before I'd ever betray Isabel!"

The next second, the sound of a phone hitting the floor came through from the other end.

I knew he'd found out the truth about my cheating.

"Izzy?"

The man came over from the wedding car and took hold of Isabel's still-trembling wrist.

He wore a tailored suit, a boutonniere pinned at his chest the groom, Leon Fox.

My wooden crutch stopped beside his gleaming leather shoes, its tip caked with black mud.

"What's going on?"

He glanced first at the crowd watching around us, then stepped half a pace forward, putting himself between us.

Isabel's hand hung in the air, her fingertips trembling faintly.

I kept my face turned away, staring at her dress.

The chip diamonds along the hem were scattered with sunlight, exactly the way she'd once described it against my shoulder five years ago.

She'd finally gotten to wear the wedding dress she loved most.

It was just that the man standing beside her wasn't me.

A gust of wind blew over, and I caught the fish smell that never washed out of my jacket, and I stepped back without thinking.

Leon's eyes dropped to the empty right leg of my trousers.

"So this is Maurice?"

Isabel didn't answer.

The guests around us had already recognized me.

"Isn't that Isabel's old ex? Serves him right, ending up looking like that."

"That's him. Back when Isabel was so sick she was half dead, he ran off with some woman he was messing around with."

"Disappears for a few years and comes running back. Bet he saw she's got money now and wants to squeeze her for some."

Leon pulled out two hundred-dollar bills and held them out in front of me.

"Today's the day Isabel and I get married. I don't want an ugly scene."

"Take the money, go get yourself a meal, and don't come looking for her again."

He let go of his fingers.

One bill landed at the edge of the red carpet, the other blew into the mud.

Isabel stared hard at me, as if waiting for me to blow up.

The Maurice she'd known cared about his pride more than anything.

Anyone who dared humiliate me like this, I'd have grabbed him by the collar and driven a fist into his face.

But now I only leaned on my crutch and slowly bent down.

The moment my weight pressed down, the cheap prosthetic ground into the stump and hurt like hell.

It took me a good while to pick up both bills.

The muddy one I wiped clean on my sleeve, folded carefully, and tucked into the pocket against my chest.

"Thank you, Mr. Fox."

I paused, then lifted my head and pulled my mouth into something like a smile for Isabel.

"And thank you too, Mrs. Fox. Congratulations on your wedding."

The tension in Isabel's jaw loosened for an instant, as if she'd finally found a reason for my showing up.

Her face stayed cold, her eyes settling on my right leg.

"Maurice, where's your leg?"

I tugged at the trouser leg, covering the wooden prosthetic inside.

"Got hurt on the job."

"What kind of fall takes off half a leg?"

She took a step forward, meaning to lift the fabric.

I lurched back, the crutch scraping over the flagstone with a harsh screech.

"Don't touch me."

Isabel's hand froze in midair, her fingertips slowly curling in.

Leon checked the time and pulled her back.

"The guests are all waiting. Don't ruin the timing over someone like this."

She didn't argue, turning to leave.

Just then the old phone in my pocket crackled with static.

The me from five years ago was breathing hard on the other end of the line.

"Maurice, what exactly did you do?"

A drawer slid open on the recording, followed by the rustle of paper.

"You saw it. One point two million"

His voice stopped short.

A moment later, the younger me seemed to understand something, his voice completely changed.

"So that woman was actually"

I quickly pressed my hand over the phone in my pocket.

But Isabel had already stopped walking.

She turned around, not a trace of warmth in her eyes.

"What one point two million?"

The static in the phone grew sharper and sharper, and the younger me was still shouting,

"Maurice, tell me what you mean!"

I pulled the phone out and smashed it against the stone pillar beside me with everything I had.

The screen shattered, black parts scattering across the ground.

The call cut off completely.

I stared at the wreck of the phone until the last thread of static died, and only then did I loosen my clenched hand.

"That recording was spliced together."

I lifted my head and let one corner of my mouth curl.

"There's plenty of stuff like that online. A few old clips and anyone can make one."

The last flicker of doubt on Isabel's face slowly faded.

"Why would you do all this?"

"Money." I patted the pocket holding the two hundred dollars.

"I won't pretend otherwise. After I wrecked my leg I couldn't find work, so I ran up some gambling debts."

"I heard you married well. I figured I'd dress up the past into a story and see if I could squeeze out a little more."

Isabel stared at me, nothing left in her eyes but disgust.

"Maurice, how did you rot into something like this? You make me sick."

I lowered my eyes. "You're right."

The hotel manager came out through the doors at a quick pace, his face uneasy.

"Mr. Fox, that man you had security check on. We have the results."

"He didn't show up for the first time today."

Leon turned his head. "Meaning what?"

The manager held the tablet out in front of Isabel and Leon.

In the footage, I appeared around the edges of the hotel three days running.

Sometimes standing in the parking lot, sometimes crouched by the staff entrance.

In the last clip, I was holding up an old phone, aimed at the nameplate on the bridal suite door.

The murmuring among the guests around us swelled at once.

"This isn't just about money, he's been stalking her, hasn't he?"

"He even filmed the suite. Who knows what he's after?"

Someone had already raised a phone, and Leon glanced over.

"Please, everyone, go back inside. I'll give you all an explanation for today."

A kitchen hand pushed his way up next to the manager.

"I know him. He picks up odd jobs down at the docks."

"A few days ago he begged me to get him some work. I only agreed because I felt sorry for him."

Leon's face went dark all the way through, and he raised a hand toward the guards.

"Search him."

Two guards blocked my path, one on each side.

I stepped back, the wooden crutch catching on the edge of the red carpet, and my body tipped.

A guard reached out and grabbed my shoulder.

The seam of my old jacket pocket had long since split,

and a floor plan of the hotel and a wedding schedule slid out.

The car's arrival, the reception, the start of the ceremony, every time circled in pen.

Next to the bridal suite there was even a fingernail dent pressed into the paper.

Those days, through the hotel's floor-to-ceiling glass,

I had checked again and again where Isabel would step out of the car and which door she would come out of.

The manager looked at the plan. "Should we call the police?"

Leon turned to Isabel, his tone softening.

"Izzy, this one is yours to decide."

Isabel bent down and picked up the schedule, her knuckles going white bit by bit.

Five years ago, she had lain in a hospital bed waiting for me, and I never came.

Five years later, she finally had a new life,

and I had shown up ahead of it, mapping out every minute of her day.

Before she could speak, I braced myself on the crutch and spoke first.

"No need to call the police on your big day. I only wanted to take a few photos."

Leon didn't follow where I was leading.

"Why were you filming the bridal suite?"

I met Isabel's cold stare and smiled like none of it mattered.

"She's a famous designer now, and she's about to marry into the Fox family."

"I figured if I could get a few photos she wouldn't want made public, they'd be worth a good bit of money."

Isabel's face darkened. She looked at me for a long time, then something seemed to come back to her,

and she turned the schedule over. On the back was the address of her studio.

"Maurice, exactly how long have you been following me?"

"Half a year."

Half a year ago, I'd started saving up sleeping pills, one at a time.

Isabel's face went cold all the way through.

"In half a year, I moved twice."

"Where do I live now?"

I didn't know, of course.

I'd only watched her online, accepting awards, sitting for interviews,

smiling as she talked about her fianc.

"Where you live doesn't matter." I kept my eyes off hers.

"You always end up at the studio."

Isabel raised her hand and threw the schedule sheet in my face.

The paper caught my cheek and left a faint red line.

"Call the police."

Leon glanced toward the door, where a reporter had already lifted a phone,

and when the manager reached for his own to call, Leon stopped him with a raised hand.

"Get the footage and the statement first."

Leon turned to Isabel. She glanced at the door too, her fingertips slowly tightening.

"Make him record a video, then sign a statement."

"If he ever comes near you again, we hand everything to the police at once."

The manager brought paper and a pen and set the statement in front of me.

Leon opened the camera, the lens aimed straight at my face.

"Read it."

I looked at the words on the page and read them out, one line at a time:

"My name is Maurice Dickerson."

"Five years ago, while Isabel was seriously ill, I cheated on her and disappeared."

"Today I sneaked into the wedding to use the past to squeeze money out of her."

"The stalking and the secret photos before this were all me too."

"From now on I will not approach or contact Isabel. If I break this, the police can handle it."

Every line stiffened the root of my tongue, and my chest felt like a dull blade sawing through it, slow.

In the lens, the corner of my mouth never once dropped.

When the video was done, I signed my name and pressed my thumbprint beside it.

A guard motioned for me to empty my pockets.

I braced on the wooden crutch to stand steady and raised both arms.

"Search me."

He reached inside my jacket and pulled an old ring box from the lining against my chest.

The corners of the box had started peeling, but the ring inside had been wiped clean.

Isabel only looked once, and she knew it.

Five years ago, I'd pulled her past a shop window and asked what kind of ring she liked.

This was the one she'd pointed to.

Inside the band was a small engraved "Izzy."

Her breath stopped for an instant, then turned colder still.

"Is this another prop you got ready?"

I closed the lid. "Picked it up secondhand."

"If you're going to act, you might as well make it look real."

Isabel looked away. "Throw it out."

There was a kitchen scrap bin by the hotel's back door,

full of rotting vegetable leaves, animal guts, and dirty plastic bags.

I lifted the lid and dropped the ring box in.

It landed on fish scales, and the filthy water soaked through it fast.

Leon handed the video to an assistant to back up, then lifted his hand at the guards.

"Take him out. Don't stir up the front lobby."

Going down the steps, the wooden crutch snapped in the middle.

I couldn't switch hands in time, and I went down into the lawn,

a white pill bottle rolling out of my pocket.

The cap popped off and the pills scattered everywhere.

The guard couldn't pull his foot back fast enough, and his sole crushed a few.

"Don't step on them."

I lunged over and gathered the rest into my palm.

Leon glanced at the bottle, its label worn off.

"What's that?"

"Sleeping pills." I stuffed them back in.

"Night shifts at the docks. Can't sleep."

Isabel stood on the steps, looking at me covered in mud.

"Gambling, extortion, stalking, and now drug abuse."

"Maurice, from today on, whether you live or die has nothing to do with me."

My hand stopped for half a beat over the pills, then I dropped the last one back in the bottle.

"Fine." I screwed the cap on. "I'll remember that."

The guards took me by both arms and hauled me out the side door.

Through the hotel glass, I watched Isabel straighten her wedding dress again.

She didn't look back.

I dragged the broken crutch along and shifted into the shadow behind the wall,

twisted the bottle open, and poured half a year's worth of pills into my mouth.

The bottle was empty. I leaned back against the wall, and my shoulders eased down with it.

At last I didn't have to figure out how to get through tomorrow.

Just then, a sharp screech of brakes came from the hotel entrance.

A shuttle van smashed through the barrier post and came straight at Isabel.

"Move!"

She was wrapped in the heavy wedding gown, no time to react.

My mind hadn't caught up yet, but my body had already thrown itself at her,

knocking her clear of the van's path.

The next second, the fender scraped across my right hip and slammed me into the marble column.

A dull thud broke against my side.

I hit the ground, the empty right trouser leg snagged on the bumper and ripping open from the knee down,

the ruined leg I'd hidden for five years bared in front of everyone.

A few pills, not fully dissolved, spilled from the corner of my mouth in a froth of blood.

Isabel scrambled up off the ground, her face white.

"Call an ambulance."

By the time the ambulance arrived, my mind was already going dark.

The paramedic pried my mouth open, saw the pill residue inside, and his expression changed.

"What did he take? How much?"

"I... I don't know." Isabel pointed at the empty bottle. "He always had it on him."

"Pump his stomach. Prep for resuscitation."

As the stretcher passed her, Isabel took two steps after it without thinking.

Leon caught her wrist from behind.

"The ambulance will take him to the nearest hospital, and my assistant will ride along. I'll cover the treatment costs."

Isabel turned to look at him. "He just saved my life."

"Which is why I'll repay the debt for you." Leon dropped his voice.

"But right now you're the bride. This is our wedding. The guests, the media, everyone is waiting for you."

Isabel's eyes went back to the ambulance.

"The hospital will handle it." Leon tightened his grip on her wrist.

"What can you do if you go over there now, except make yourself a laughingstock?"

Isabel said nothing more.

Leon leaned in close, his voice pitched low enough for only the two of them.

"You'd really run out on your own wedding for some deadbeat who dumped you five years ago?"

The ambulance siren faded fast into the distance.

Leon arranged the torn veil back into place, and the wedding march started up again.

Isabel returned to the platform, and Leon opened the ring box and held the ring out to her.

"Izzy, put it on."

Isabel held out her hand.

The moment the ring dropped into her palm, her phone rang.

An unknown number.

She answered, and a rushed woman's voice came from the other end.

"Is this Ms. James? This is the ER at Mercy General Hospital."

"Mr. Dickerson went into respiratory failure during the stomach pumping. We're still trying to resuscitate him."

Isabel's fingertips trembled. "Is he still alive?"

"We've got a heartbeat back for now, but his condition is critical."

"You're the only contact listed. Please come as soon as you can."

Isabel lifted her head. Leon stood in her way.

"I'll have the driver take you over in a bit."

"The ceremony's almost done. The guests are still waiting."

Just then the hotel manager hurried up behind them, cradling a bloodstained cloth bundle.

"Ms. James, this was picked up at the accident site just now. It must have fallen off that man."

Isabel stopped and snatched it from him.

She opened the top fold. It was a tally sheet of pill counts.

"March, twenty-two pills."

"April, twenty-seven pills."

"May, twenty-one pills."

The last line, written down hard:

"One hundred pills."

Pressed against the back of the tally sheet was a photo of Isabel, the writing on it worn blurry from being rubbed over and over.

"Once I've watched her in the wedding gown, I can go."

Isabel's breathing broke. She kept turning the pages.

A yellowed bank transfer receipt slid out of the bundle.

Payer: Maurice Dickerson.

Payee: the City Heart Disease Charity Relief Fund.

Amount: One million two hundred thousand dollars.

Memo: earmarked relief for patient Isabel James.

The date on the receipt was the day before she'd been wheeled into surgery five years ago.

On the phone, the doctor's voice came through:

"Ms. James, please hurry. The patient could lose his vital signs at any moment."

The wedding ring Leon had prepared for her slipped from her palm to the floor,

rolling and rolling until it came to rest right on the bottom right corner of that yellowed receipt,

"Payer: Maurice Dickerson."