by Melinda Minx
I break away from the creeper and start pushing through the crowd. I’m planning to escape to the bathroom, then hang out there long enough for the guy to find a new target. Once he’s off me, I’ll just let Lindsay know what’s up. Just in case.
I step into the bathroom, and the booming bass from the music is still audible. Unfortunately, the entire magic and “fun” of the night disappears with the music. I’m now just dizzy, lightheaded, and scared in a gross bathroom. The person I came here with is going to ditch me, and I’m badly wishing I was watching House Hunters and eating pizza right about now.
But I’ve had this happen before, and the “hide in the bathroom until he forgets about you” trick never fails me. I find it’s better than aggressively confronting a guy like that. Even if it would be fair to do, the risk is that I piss him off and then he really won’t leave me alone.
Time passes slowly and I get impatient, but I decide to wait a full ten minutes no matter what. When it’s finally time, I step back out into the club. The music no longer makes me want to dance; it just pounds into my head and makes me feel like I’m going to have a migraine.
I decide to just tell Lindsay I’m leaving and going straight back to the hotel.
I step out of the bathroom and look across the dance floor. I don’t see the creepy guy, but I don’t see Lindsay or the guy that she was with either. I spend a bit of time checking around, but then my phone vibrates.
It’s from Lindsay: Heeey Andreae im rebooting my system LOL my vagina that is haha sorry to bail on you just letting you know waht is up tho cya tomorrow!!
Great. I guess I can just leave straight away then. Lindsay bailing on me in Evergreen Cove is starting to become a bit of a trend, though I guess I did know going into this exactly why she wanted to go out. It’s not as if I should have expected her to hang out with me all night, though I did expect her to stick around for at least an hour.
I head toward the door, but then I spot him. The creep. He’s standing near the exit, and he’s looking left to right, searching.
My heart freezes in my chest, and I immediately look down and turn away. I head back toward the bathroom.
I could go tell one of the bouncers, but the guy hasn’t actually done anything. At best I’d get him kicked out of the club, but I want to leave, too, so then I risk him just waiting for me outside where no bouncers can protect me.
I disappear back into the hallway with the bathroom, and I see there’s a fire exit. I check the signs on the wall, and I don’t see any notices indicating that an alarm will sound if I open the door. It looks like a normal door. I push it open and peek outside.
If the door had opened into a dark alley, I’d have turned my ass around and bolted, but it’s just the back of the building. It’s well-lit, and there’s a road with other, smaller buildings just outside.
I sigh in relief and walk outside. I decide not to loop back onto the main road for a few blocks, just in case the creeper has stepped outside for some reason and is watching the main road.
I get onto the sidewalk and start walking toward the hotel. It’s way less crowded than the other roads, but there are still a few people walking around in the distance.
When I hit the first intersection, I hear someone shout from the side. “Hey, you fucking bitch!”
It’s his voice. I look up in terror, and I see him running toward me from half a block away.
I scream.
I’m frozen in fear, and I waste valuable seconds just staring in disbelief. The guy is charging at me like a frenzied bull. He’s definitely on something.
The logical part of my brain knows that running in the opposite direction of people is the worst thing I could do, but the animal part of my brain wants to run in the opposite direction of the 250-pound guy who is charging toward me.
The animal brain wins, and my legs take off across the intersection, running away from the main road. It’s a small town with a very dense central area—only a few blocks out and it quickly becomes nearly empty.
I realize my mistake immediately, as the lights die down and the foot traffic all but ceases. I risk a look back as I run, and I see that he’s gaining on me.
“You can’t run from me you fucking c—”
I pull my phone out and dial 911 with shaky hands as I run. “I called the police!” I shout back at him.
“I’ll kill you first!” he roars out.
I feel tears stinging my eyes, and it feels as if my heart is beating up in my throat.
I hear a tinny voice rattling in the distance from my phone, and I simply shout into it in one desperate plea, “Send someone please please please he’s going to kill me, he’s chasing—”
The phone slides out of my hand and hits the ground. I don’t stop for it. The police will come if they come—they can trace the phone—but if this guy wants to kill me, he can do it before they get here. I’m dead if I stop running.
8
Coal
Curly and I find a bar across from one of the glitzy clubs—one of the only glitzy clubs in Evergreen Cove.
“I’m so glad I’m married,” Curly says, looking at the long line of people.
There are women shivering in miniskirts, but it’s mostly men in big jackets hoping for a shot at getting in.
“Waiting in a line like that still just to buy some overpriced drinks for a chance at getting laid,” Curly says. “Fuck that.”
I don’t say anything. I never had to really try, and I never had trouble getting into those kind of clubs.
Curly laughs. “Fucking Navy SEALs, I just realized you probably don’t even know what I’m talking about. Look at you!”
He punches me lightly in the gut. “You still got fucking washboard abs. Once I got married, I just let it go. My wife likes having more to hold onto anyway.”
“Living in the woods keeps the fat off me,” I say. “But I still like a good drink.”
We’re standing outside the bar, and just before we go in, I see a strung-out guy exit the club and start pacing.
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Ah, come on, man,” Curly says. “I know that look. You’re not in Afghanistan, just relax.”
“Look at this guy,” I say, nodding toward him.
“He’s high,” Curly says. “And probably drunk. Welcome to Friday night.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But look at the way he’s moving around, like he’s hunting.”
Curly sighs. “Forget it, man, let’s just go get blasted. You won’t even remember you saw him.”
The hunter and the soldier in me can’t let it go, though. I have a really bad feeling about him, and I can’t just ignore it.
“You can wait inside if you want,” I say. “I’ll come back over once I see what he’s up to.”
Curly rolls his eyes and says, “I’ll come with you, in case you do something dumb.”
As we start to cross the street, the guy walks away from the club and turns the corner.
“Looks like he’s scouting the perimeter,” Curly says.
I nod. Now Curly finally sees it, too. You can make a soldier into a lawyer, but he’ll always be a soldier at heart.
If I can catch this asshole red-handed—maybe he’s looking to mug someone—it would be better than fucking. How long has it been since I got my knuckles bloody? Too fucking long.
We reach the front of the club, walking at a brisk pace—but not running—as we don’t want to draw attention.
“You fucking bitch!” a slurred voice yells out.
I hear a woman scream. It’s a scream I’ve heard before, one I can’t get out of my mind, but this time she’s screaming in terror rather than pleasure.
Andrea.
I break into a sprint. More adrenaline surges through me with each beat of my heart, and I see the guy over a block away. He’s chasing after her. I can’t see Andrea from here, but I know it’s her.
I don’t know what the fuck he wants with her, but I’ll rip him apart limb from limb if he
so much as lays a finger on her.
I hear Curly’s footsteps behind me as I run, but they fade into the background. He’s too out of shape to keep up with me, but it’s not like I need him to take out some junky piece of shit.
I see Andrea turn left and disappear behind a small house. She must be trying to loop back around toward the main road, but now I’ve lost sight of her.
The junky turns the corner shortly after her.
No. Fuck no. I can’t lose them. I have to get to him before he gets to her, it’s all that matters.
I run faster—faster than I’ve ever run in my life. I tear around the corner, and what I see sends me into a berserker rage.
Andrea is on the ground.
The guy is on top of her.
He’s got one hand wrapped around her throat, and the other is going up her dress.
I roar and charge. I’m a SEAL again, and I just spotted someone who needs to die.
I’m only a few feet away from him when he finally looks up at me. I ram into him headfirst, and he flies off of Andrea’s body, then slides across the pavement.
I pin him to the ground with my knees, and before I even realize what’s happened, my fists are wet with his blood. I look down and see my bloodied fists slamming into the pulverized mass that was his face. Over and over and over. I hear bones crunching as I beat him to death.
“Winters! Fuck!” Curly’s panting voice is behind me.
Andrea is coughing.
Andrea.
I look down at the guy. No, at the corpse. He’s dead. I beat him to death, and I don’t even care.
“Andrea,” I say, my voice stunned. I get off the guy’s body and stumble over to her.
“Are you okay?” I ask, “Are you—”
She’s gasping for air, and her throat is red and raw. Her eyes are filled with tears, and the makeup is running down her face, but God, she’s okay. I got there in time. Just in time.
“Fuck!” Curly shouts. “You killed him, man.”
“The...the police,” Andrea says. “I called the police.”
I take Andrea by the hand, but when I realize it’s covered in blood, I pull away from her.
“You saved me…” she says. “He was going to kill me.”
Police sirens wail in the distance.
“Fuck,” Curly says. “You saved her...but you’re a SEAL.”
Andrea sits up and grabs me by the wrist. She looks me in the eye. “You saved me, Coal. How did you even...if it wasn’t for you, I’d be—”
The sirens tear around the corner, cutting off her voice. The blue and red lights illuminate the bloody pulp of the junky’s face.
It suddenly sets in for me what has happened. I’m not in Afghanistan. The guy deserved what he got, but I doubt the law will see it that way.
But then I look at Andrea, and I don’t really regret what I did. Even if they throw the book at me.
The police step out of the car.
“Don’t say a fucking thing,” Curly says. “Either of you! I’m representing you both. Don’t utter a word to the cops. Tell them you want your lawyer. That’s the only thing you say.”
“Put your hands on the ground!” one of the cops shouts out.
“He saved m—”
“Not a word!” Curly shouts to her. “Mouths shut. Both of you! No matter what.”
“On the fucking ground!” the cop shots.
I’m already on the ground, but I comply and put my hands over my head. I lay face down. They can do what they want with me. Andrea is safe, it’s over.
“You, too!” The cop points his gun at Curly.
Curly goes face down, and they cuff both of us. They throw us into the back of the car, and the last thing Curly shouts out to Andrea is, “Don’t say a thing!”
9
Andrea
My throat burns as they take Coal and his friend away. One of the police officers comes to sit down next to me as more cops and paramedics come up to look at the body. At the crime scene.
“We want to get your account of what happened while it’s still fresh,” the cop says. “But if you’re still too rattled to talk, we can wait until—”
I nod. “I’m too rattled.” My voice is hoarse and raw; it hurts to speak.
“Okay,” he says. “We’ll have the EMTs look you over, and if you’re okay, we’d really like to get your statement as early as you’re able.”
I nod, but I remember what the lawyer said.
I particularly remember the panic in his voice when he said to Coal, “You’re a SEAL!”
Coal was defending me—he saved my fucking life—but how many times did he punch that guy? At least twenty times, right in the face. With the training he had, he could have easily restrained the guy until the police arrived. Instead, he literally beat him to death in a blind rage.
That must be why the lawyer told me not to say anything. Even though Coal saved me from being raped and killed, he could go to jail for it. For saving me.
The EMTs look me over, but determine I’m fine except for some bruising to my neck.
“We could have you stay in the hospital if you’d like…” the EMT says. “But only if you really want to. There’s not much we could do other than give you a safe place to rest.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
“We’ll need you to come to the station,” the cop says. “Detective Donovan wants to talk to you.”
“I want my lawyer,” I say.
He gives me a confused, but compassionate look. “Ma’am, you’re not suspected of anything...we just need your version of what happened.”
“I still want my lawyer,” I say. “I’m not talking to any police unless my lawyer is present.”
His compassion disappears, and he gives me a disdainful look. “Fine, who is your lawyer, you got his number?”
“He’s the guy you cuffed and took off. The one with the curly hair.”
Detective Donovan is on me as soon as I get into the station. He tries to pry information out of me, but I refuse to talk without the lawyer.
“Alright,” he says, throwing up his hands. “Williston, did we confirm that the guy we cuffed is actually a lawyer?”
“Yeah,” Williston says. “It checks out. He’s refusing to give his account of the events too—attorney-client privilege.”
“Jesus Christ,” Donovan says. “Get him in here.”
The curly-haired guy comes up and smiles at me. “I’m Vance Muller, but Coal just calls me Curly.”
“Alright, Muller,” Donovan says. “Can we please ask your client our questions now?”
“I’d like to speak to her alone first,” Curly says.
“Fine,” Donovan says, waving a hand at me. “Do it.”
They bring us to a room with a small table, and shut the door, leaving us alone inside.
“Is he okay?” I ask Curly. “Is Coal okay?”
“He’s fine,” Curly says. “He’s just glad you’re okay.”
“The thing you said,” I say. “That he’s a SEAL. Would they really hold that against him?”
Curly nods. “He’s been highly trained by taxpayer dollars to be a killing machine. It looks really bad if a SEAL goes off the rails like that and beats someone to death. They may want to throw the book at him—manslaughter—to make an example out of him.”
“But he saved me,” I say, my voice desperate.
“I know,” Curly says. “It’s looking like that guy was on PCP or one of those new synthetic drugs, and he probably really was going to kill you. Nonetheless, you’ll be forced to say what happened. I want to try to help you get your story clear and give Coal the best chance possible.”
“You want me to lie?”
“No,” Curly says. “Don’t lie. The guy’s mess of a face tells the true story. You can’t claim that Coal didn’t do what he did, and there’s no real justification for Coal having hit him so many times. You just want to drive home that you really were going to die, that the guy was strangling you—
you had probably a matter of seconds before you were dead.”
I nod. “You don’t have to give your account of what happened because you’re his lawyer? Wouldn’t it be stronger if we both said what happened?”
“No,” Curly says. “I’m not a SEAL, but I know better than you that Coal shouldn’t have done what he did. My account of things would only make it worse for him. Hell, it would be best if neither of us could say what happened. The only way they can really make an example out of him is if they bring it to trial and call you to the stand as a witness. Without that, they’d probably just have to dismiss it out of hand.”
“There’s no loophole to get me out of testifying?”
“Not unless you’re his wife.”
We lock eyes with each other. There’s a heavy silence in the air as we both think it through.
Curly looks at me with a serious expression. “I just officiated my buddy’s wedding less than a month ago. I’m still licensed to…”
“I’ll do it,” I say. “I owe him for saving me.”
“Wait a minute,” Curly says. “The only way this is going to work is if the judge buys that the marriage is real. If she suspects you’re faking it, she can hold the case under litigation for months. It’s the same kind of proof you’d need to prove a green card marriage is real: shared assets, cohabitation, the whole thing. If you guys just get divorced as soon as the judge drops the case, you could both go to jail for obstruction of justice.”
So it can’t just be an on-paper thing. We have to really sell it. I start to wonder where the line would be between fake and real with Coal. I haven’t been able to get him out of my head after one night, what will happen if I have to pretend to be his wife?
“I’ll still do it,” I say to Curly.
“Alright,” Curly says. “Now I just have to convince Coal, and we have to get this done fast. The police won’t hold off on questioning you for long. I’m going to draft up all the paperwork before I talk to him. As soon as he agrees – if he agrees – I’ll drag him in here and you both sign and say some bullshit vows and yadda yadda.”