by Jeff Strand
“Maybe not a great metaphor, but yeah, I am. You’ll see. Go sit on the couch.”
“Darren, you don’t have to do this.”
“I know! That’s the whole point! I don’t have to do this, I want to do this! And you’ll realize that you want to do it, too. I promise. Sit down.”
I sat down on the couch, which was a good idea because my knees were about to give way beneath me anyway.
“Don’t get up,” Darren said. “I’ll be back.”
He went into the woman’s bedroom. Ten seconds later he poked his head out. “Good boy,” he said. “Keep doing that.”
He disappeared again. I stayed where I was. Getting shot was not going to help my situation. I had to stretch this out as long as I could, figure out a way to get out of this. I was a smart guy…there had to be a solution.
The question was, could I come up with one in ten minutes?
A moment later, Darren poked his head out a second time. “You shifted,” he said.
“No, I didn’t.”
“I know. Just messing with you.”
As Darren left again, I glanced around the cabin, looking for anything that might be helpful. Nothing looked remotely beneficial to my plight. If only there was some way to get him to put down the gun, just for a second.
The woman stepped out of the bedroom. It clearly hurt her to walk, and her lips were trembling with fear, but she kept her head up, defiantly.
Darren followed her. “Sorry that she won’t be much of a challenge to catch,” he said. “I think I tied her too tight.”
“I’ll do it,” I told him. “I’ll cut her.”
Darren looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“We can cut her together. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I’d love that. And we’ll be doing a lot of it. But right now I think you’re just trying to screw with me, so we’re sticking with the game.” He jabbed the barrel of the gun into the woman’s back, hard. “Keep going.”
He walked her over to the front door. “Tell him your name,” Darren told her. “Prey is more fun when it isn’t anonymous.”
“Andrea,” she said, voice cracking.
“Andrea who?”
“Andrea Keener.”
“I’m sure Alex is pleased to meet you, Andrea Keener. Now, I’m going to give you a very short head start. Your first instinct is going to be to go for the van, but it’s all locked up and you’ll just be wasting your time. Open the door.”
Andrea opened the front door.
“On your mark…get set…go!”
He shoved Andrea out the door. Then he pointed the gun at me. “That’s enough of a head start, I think. Go get her, buddy!”
I sat there, paralyzed.
“Get moving!” said Darren. “Your ten minutes has started. I’m not really into hurting little girls, but I’ll sure do it.”
I forced myself to stand up. “I’ll kill you,” I told him.
“Fine. But kill her first.”
I glared at him, but that glare couldn’t come close to showing the extent of the hatred I felt for him at that moment. Hatchet in my hand, I ran out the front door.
Chapter Seventeen
Andrea was gone.
My first thought was that she’d ignored Darren’s advice and had gone for the van, but I quickly ran around the vehicle and she wasn’t there.
Shit! With all of these cacti, there were plenty of places to hide. I lowered the hatchet and listened carefully for the sound of footsteps.
There had to be a way out of this. Maybe draw Darren out of the cabin somehow, then surprise and subdue him.
I caught a glimpse of motion on the left side of the cabin, and took off running in that direction.
I didn’t know what I was going to do, but it certainly wouldn’t involve chopping off Andrea’s head and bringing it back to Darren as a trophy.
Had there been a window in the little girl’s room? I couldn’t remember.
Stop being ridiculous, I told myself. Even if there was a window, no way was I going to be able to break it, crawl through, untie the girl, and take her to safety.
I hurried after Andrea, moving as fast as I could without running into a cactus. I wanted to shout after her, to let her know that I wasn’t going to hurt her, but I couldn’t risk letting Darren hear that.
I didn’t have a watch. Had a minute elapsed yet?
I heard a cry of pain up ahead.
I picked up my pace, letting out a cry of my own as several cactus needles slashed across my shoulder.
How could I get Darren to come outside?
I could pretend that I’d killed Andrea, but he wouldn’t fall for that.
What if she pretended that she’d killed me?
What if Andrea screamed that she had won the game, and when Darren came out to investigate, I let him have it with the hatchet?
Holy shit, this could work!
I picked up my pace a little more. I just had to find her, catch her, and explain the plan.
I stopped running and listened.
No sign of her.
“Andrea!” I said in a loud whisper. “Andrea, listen to me!”
Nothing. I walked forward, keeping alert for any signs of movement.
“I can get us out of this. I just need your help. Andrea, can you hear me?”
She answered with a primal shriek as she came out of nowhere. She knocked me to the ground and I howled in pain as my arm smashed into a patch of cactus.
She showered me with punches. I used the hatchet to try to deflect them, but most of them struck my chest. I turned my head to the side as she tried to claw out my eyes.
I wrenched my cactus-pinned arm free and struck her in the jaw. The blow didn’t even faze her. She kept punching, harder and harder.
I bashed the flat side of the hatchet into her skull.
She dropped to the ground, sobbing with pain. I pushed myself up with my shredded arm and tried to keep my voice as calm as possible.
“Andrea, please…”
She dove at me again, fighting with an unrestrained fury that was terrifying. She shrieked with each punch, and it took every bit of my strength just to defend myself.
She grabbed my uninjured wrist and dug her fingernails into it, hard enough to gouge through the flesh.
I cried out and dropped the hatchet.
She grabbed for it and missed.
I delivered another blow to the jaw. I heard something crack, but she didn’t seem to feel this one any more than she’d felt the first. Her eyes were wild, crazed, almost feral. Even if we did get out of this, I wondered if she’d ever regain her sanity.
She grabbed for the hatchet again and got it.
I yelled “Shit!” as she swung it over her head, ready and willing to bring it down upon me. I frantically scrambled backward, colliding with another cactus.
The hatchet slammed into the ground in front of me.
I kicked at Andrea’s face but missed.
She yanked it out of the dirt and took another swing. This one also hit the ground, but was delivered with enough force that if she had hit my leg, I had no doubt she would have split it in two.
I kicked her in the face.
I got to my feet, in my panic and confusion using a cactus to brace myself. The needles ripped through my palm, breaking off as they did so.
Andrea got to her feet as well.
“Please,” I said, gasping for breath. “I can get us out of this.”
She looked at me. How long had she been tied to the bed? What horrors had Darren shared with her?
“Please…” I repeated, only now realizing that I had tears flowing down my cheeks. The cactus needles stung so badly that if I’d had the hatchet, I might have chopped off my hand to ease the pain.
“You can’t do shit,” she told me.
“I can! I’ve got a plan!”
“Me, too. Bring him your goddamn head!”
She let out another shriek and r
ushed at me. I turned and ran. Thank God it was my arm and not my leg that had been stabbed by the needles.
Now what the hell was I supposed to do?
I outran her easily. Maybe if I knocked on the door and begged for my life, Darren would take pity on me and end the game.
No. He’d shoot me in the face in disgust.
There had to be a way to reason with Andrea, to let her know that we were in this together.
How much time did I have left?
I kept running. The fence was just ahead.
I narrowly dodged the armlike stem of a large saguaro cactus.
My ankle twisted and I lost my balance, staggering into yet another cactus. I screamed at the pain and fell to the ground, jamming the needles in my palm even farther into my hand.
Suddenly, death didn’t sound so bad.
I heard Andrea approach. I did everything I could to force the absolute agony out of my mind and stood back up, as Andrea threw the hatchet at me.
It struck me in the face, handle first.
The pain literally blinded me. I could see nothing but blurry shapes and spots of light. I just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. Wake up in the morning. Or not at all. It didn’t matter.
I couldn’t see her clearly, but I could tell that Andrea was rushing toward me.
I threw a punch.
Technically, it was less of a punch than a slap. A slap with my needle-covered hand that got her right in the face. She stumbled backward, bellowing and digging at her eyes.
She struck something.
Screamed.
And fell to the ground.
As my vision cleared, I crawled toward her, gasping and sobbing and trying to remember to breathe. She lay there, facedown.
I rolled her over. Her eyes were closed, and a large piece of bloody cactus was embedded in her neck.
She didn’t move.
And I knew what I had to do.
It took me a few moments to find the hatchet, but I picked it up and dragged it over to her body.
I tried to envision Darren’s face on her head.
She whimpered.
Oh, Christ…
Andrea opened one eye. Her body trembled a bit. Blood trickled down the sides of her mouth.
“Don’t hurt me…” she said in a soft, pleading voice.
Not too far away, the little girl screamed.
My ten minutes were up.
Andrea gave me a positively heartbreaking look. “I don’t…I can’t die…my kids need me…I can’t die…”
“Mommy it hurts it hurts make him stop Mommy…!”
I yanked out the cactus that was lodged in her neck. Then I lifted the hatchet.
Please die before I do this, I mentally pleaded. Please be dead when the blade hits.
Andrea opened her other eye. I tried to avoid her stare as I lined up the blade with her neck.
The little girl screamed and screamed.
I slammed the hatchet down…but at the last second I lost my nerve. The blade struck her throat, nowhere near as hard as intended. It dug into the flesh enough to break the skin but not hard enough to kill her.
Andrea gargled blood.
“My hand!” the little girl shrieked. “Please stop please please please it hurts so bad!”
I gripped the handle of the hatchet tightly in both hands, as if suffering my own pain from the needles would lessen my guilt.
Andrea still stared at me.
I brought the hatchet down on her neck as hard as I could.
It went in deep.
I wrenched it out of her neck and blood splattered against my pants and shirt. Andrea’s eyes were still open. She had to be dead, but she was still staring at me.
“Stop it!” I screamed at her, slamming the hatchet down a second time. It still wasn’t enough to sever her head.
I slammed it down a third time. Then a fourth. Then a fifth.
The little girl cried and screamed and begged for Darren to make the pain stop.
I grabbed a handful of Andrea’s hair and lifted her head. Part of it was still attached to her body, but with a few seconds of effort I ripped it free. Then as I shouted a flurry of words that made no sense to anybody, especially me, I ran back to the cabin.
Darren was sitting in a wooden chair just outside the front door. He had the little girl with him, but smiled and set down the straight razor as he saw me approach. Her arms and legs were covered with streaks of red.
“Let her go!” I screamed, lifting up Andrea’s head. Blood from her neck ran down my already bloody arm.
“I can’t just let her run around, not with all the cactus,” Darren said. “But I’ll lock her in the bedroom where she can’t get hurt. We’ll take her back to her parents tonight.”
I stood there, gasping, vision shifting in and out of focus as I waited for Darren to return. He pushed the chair out of the way and walked toward me, slowly applauding. The gun protruded from his pocket.
“Great job, Alex. You did go into overtime, but it looks like she put up quite a fight.” He gestured to Andrea’s head. “You can drop that if you want. Unless you like the way it feels in your hand.”
I let her slick hair slide through my fingers. Her head fell to the ground.
“How did it feel?” Darren asked.
My entire body was shaking. “You’ve ruined my life.”
“No I haven’t. I’ve changed it. How did it feel? It felt good, didn’t it?”
“The only way in the fucking world that it would have felt good is if that fucking hatchet had gone through your fucking neck.”
“Ooooh, murder brings out your potty mouth, huh?”
“I did what you told me to. I won the game. Let me take the girl home.”
“You just need some time…”
“I don’t need any time! I need you to get the fuck out my life, you psychopathic motherfucker!”
Darren actually looked hurt. “It’ll feel good once you get over the initial shock.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what you think you’re trying to accomplish here, but you’re trying to convert the wrong guy.”
“We could be partners.”
“No way.”
“We wouldn’t take any shit from anybody.”
“No.”
“C’mon, Alex, think about it! We could do what we wanted! Nobody would mess with us!” He was sounding almost whiny. “You and me! We could catch them together, bring them back here, take turns! Think how creative we could be working as a team! Think how much fun we could have!”
“You can shoot me in the head if you want,” I told him, surprised by how steady my voice was. “But let me make this absolutely clear: I will never kill for you again.”
“Not for me, with me!”
“Not at all!”
For a moment I believed that Darren was actually going to burst into tears. “I thought…I thought I saw something in you, Alex. The same thing I have.”
“You were wrong.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I guess I was.”
“So let me take the girl home.”
Darren seemed to become suddenly aware that he had the gun on him. He slowly removed it from his pocket, looked at it as if unsure what it even was, and then pointed it at me and pulled the trigger.
I went down, screaming and clutching my upper leg.
He slowly walked into the cabin, defeated.
I just lay on the ground, eyes squeezed shut. When I opened them, I was staring at Andrea’s upside-down head.
A minute later Darren came back out of the cabin. He crouched down next to me, waved a cell phone in front of my face, then stood up and hurled it into the air. The cell phone sailed far into the backyard.
“I’m really disappointed, Alex,” he said, eyes glistening. “I can’t make you into something you’re not, I guess. You won’t be seeing me again. Have a good life. Give Melanie my best.”
He walked out of my line of sight. I heard him swing open the front gate, get i
n the van, and drive away.
Then I began to drag myself along the ground, struggling desperately to maintain consciousness.
PART THREE
* * *
ENEMIES
Chapter Eighteen
“Tracy Anne, you stop that right now!”
My daughter turned to look at me, grinned her adorable grin, and then proceeded to fling another handful of sand at the little shit who’d knocked over her castle. He deserved it, of course, but as a responsible parent it was my duty to keep this feisty almost-four-year-old from hurting the boys. I went over to the sandbox, scooped her up, and perched her on my shoulders.
“Donkey ride! Donkey ride!” she shouted, squealing with laughter.
Neither Melanie nor I were completely sure where Tracy had gotten the phrase “donkey ride” from. The only thing certain was that Melanie thought it was a lot funnier than I did, mostly because Melanie never played the role of the donkey.
I walked through the park, thinking that it wouldn’t be too much longer before Tracy became too old to ride on my shoulders without breaking noteworthy bones. But for now I would continue to be a good daddy and give her donkey rides whenever she wanted, low ceilings notwithstanding. After all, she was the greatest, most beautiful daughter who had ever been born in the entire history of the world.
And I had the greatest, most beautiful wife in the entire history of the world, too. I was quite a lucky guy. Everybody else had to be jealous.
There’s a kind of love where you want to know everything about a person, where every smile, frown, or tear is a glorious mystery to be solved. Where every freckle is an object of fascination. Where you’d rather spend two hours sitting at a bus stop with this person than a week on a Caribbean cruise alone. It’s an infatuation, and it can’t help but fade with time.
Then there’s the kind of love that’s a true bond, where this person is your rock, where you can’t imagine living apart, where you know that no matter how bad things get, no matter how long that dark night of the soul lasts, you can depend on this person to keep you sane.
Melanie was my rock.
The year after I killed Andrea was a bad one. Melanie and I hadn’t been together long, and there was absolutely no reason she shouldn’t move on to easier relationships. This was a time of parties, of new and varied boyfriends, of enjoying the last time in life before truly adult responsibilities take over. Not a time to be giving up all of that to help me through my trauma.