by Karen Botha
It may seem innocuous, but this is starting to get creepy. I haven’t mentioned it to Kyle yet. I’ve not found the right moment with everything that’s been going on. And where I didn’t say anything at first, I don’t want him to think I’ve been keeping secrets. But, this is not my issue. No, my issue is this contact.
He left a drunken voicemail the other afternoon. It was difficult to make out what he was saying because his words were so slurred, but every now and again I picked out some venom.
“I know you still want me. I could see it in your eyes the other night. I’m giving you another chance. You’re such a loser in real life. People don’t know the real you.” This was followed by indistinguishable slurring, and then I catch, “You think you’re a winner, but that’s not who you are.” Fair enough. He’s clearly still bitter about how my career has taken off. I can’t do much about that, nor do I intend to.
What really catches my attention, though, and runs my blood cold is his next line of bullshit. “I remember you saying you’d run someone over if they pissed you off enough. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that’s what you did to Kyle. I can spread that over social media in a shot. The only reason I've kept quiet is because I’m being loyal to you, but you need to call me back Elliott and stop playing hard to get.”
Until the next part of his deranged tirade.
“I know where your boyfriend Kyle Beaumont lives. If you keep ignoring me you’re going to force me to take this into my own hands. You listen to me. I know everything about you, Elliott. It’s time.”
Even at this point my natural instinct was to scream, “Dick!” at the phone. I follow up with “Go fuck yourself, Noah.”
Then I realize that he knows Kyle’s full name. There is a possibility that he could genuinely know where he lives. While he’s not spending much time there at the moment, and even less now that we’re traveling, the knowledge that he’s been searching him out is unnerving.
And that’s when I put the call in to my lawyers. And this is why the congratulatory text from an unknown number is not such a celebration for me.
“What’s the text?” Kyle asks, cradling my face in his hands and planting a sweaty kiss on my sweaty lips.
“Ah nothing.” I put the phone back on the side.
He doesn’t believe me, because after all when is anything which anyone ever says is nothing, really ever nothing? And he’s perceptive. “What, El?”
“It’s Noah. He texted to say congratulations on my pole.”
“There is a double entendre there I could latch on to if I was feeling like a smart ass, but as it’s Noah we’re talking about I’ll give it a wide berth.”
His sense of humor lightens my mood and I could hug him tight. But it’s really not the time, nor the place. Instead I’m content with a smile.
“He’s been messaging me a lot. It started when we were on vacation...”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought he was just rattled because he’d seen us out and was trying to cause problems between us. I didn’t want to give him the chance.”
He glares at me. “I’m annoyed with you for not telling me, not because your weird ex is playing games with you. What happened to us sharing everything?” He shoves me and with some force, I end up smacking my hip against a compressor.
“Hey!” I shout, shoving him back.
He pushes me again, and that’s it. Our argument is over. We’re like two laughing teenagers misbehaving at school.
“Pack it in you two. Do your celebrating in private would you!” It’s James. “Kyle get over here and help with this.”
He gestures to the undercarriage of the car from where the sparks flew.
Kyle
I’m going back to the trailer tonight. It’s the pre-race night and I don’t want to be in Elliott’s way. But also, although I love Elliott I don’t want to cast myself out on the sideline of the team. It would be so easy to be in his pocket the whole time and not give myself the opportunity to make bonds with my colleagues. I want to be part of their family and so on the evening before tomorrow’s race, I’m spending it with them and giving him his head space to focus however he needs.
We’re around the fire eating, drinking water, and singing to Ryan’s guitar. It’s an evening not dissimilar to most others when we’re out on the road, but tonight, I’m thinking about how far life has moved forward in only a few short months. I remember Elliott coming and sitting down with me my first night, oh and what happened after...
It feels like a lifetime ago and yet the seasons have barely changed.
“Do you know Elliott’s ex, Noah?” I ask Jessie.
“No, not really. But I hear he’s a good racer too. I think he’s one of those fighting for the spare place they’re trialling for in the other team.”
I pause, letting the information sink in. “Is he here this weekend then?”
“I don’t know. Do you want me to find out?”
“Sure, if it’s no problem.”
“It’s just a quick call with Lynn the other PR. She’ll be up to speed on who is around and when.” She stares into the fire, watching as the flames flicker against a log in the last stages of the world in its current form. “Why do you ask?”
“He’s been texting Elliott. It’s nothing, but it just made me curious.”
She nods and needs no further explanation.
“I’m going to turn in; get an early night. Tomorrow is massive for me. I’d like to come out of the other side of it without some terrible accident.”
She laughs. “Good idea, I’d like you to come out of it without being involved in some terrible accident and that’s from both a personal and a professional perspective.”
“I guess there was a bit of PR needed managing to explain that one away.” I stand, straighten my shorts, and head off toward the shared trailer with a smile on my face.
All the noise is around the fire. As soon as you move away it grows cold in both temperature and atmosphere. Anyone not here is focusing on tomorrow.
That’s why, when I see a figure hanging around in the woods by the entrance, it’s not so much of a big deal. People gathering their thoughts spend time alone and run through all number of procedures to ensure their head is in the place they need it.
Something about those eyes makes me look twice, though. When I turn my head to take a second glance, there’s no one there. I carry on walking up the steps into the trailer, but as I open the door I stop. Shivers run down my spine. Call it a sixth sense, but something isn’t right. Those eyes were not my imagination.
I spin around on my heel, study the space and it’s there in the bushes, that glint again. The shadow is back.
I bounce down, taking all the steps in one go, my long legs and emotional tension carrying me at breakneck speed through the woods. I’m thankful for the training Elliott and I have been doing around his lake because running on the uneven surface is no problem.
When I reach the space where the eyes glimmered in the shadows, it's devoid of any life. I stand very still. Listening. A twig breaks to my left and I take off, trusting my instincts to guide me in the right direction.
“Noah!” I knew I recognized those eyes.
I launch at him, grab him by the shirt and pin him to the tree. His legs kick, his arms flail and his mouth runs wild.
“Put me down. I’ll scream.”
“You’ll scream? You piece of shit. Go ahead and I’ll tell everyone what you’ve been up to you asshole.” I growl the words in his face, spittle hitting his cheek, his arms hanging down his side. He’s unable to wipe it clean.
The anger that rises up my torso turns to disgust at how pathetically easy he was to deal with.
“Elliott wants me, Kyle. You’re just in the way. It’s time to leave him alone and let him be with who he’s meant to be with.”
I clench my fist and smack him against the tree trunk again. “You left him. He would have anyone before you. Don’t you see that? You
can’t bully him into what you want just because you’ve finally realized what you’ve thrown in the gutter.”
And then I spot it, a gleam of silver in his hand.
Kyle
The stillness of the breeze sucks even the sound of my breathing into the nothingness in that moment. Even the trees don’t stir as if they are tense. It’s not only that it’s a still day; the air just doesn't move. My leafy canapé is bereft of noise as if every murmur and rustle was stolen by Noah and his glinting knife. The sky is empty, not just of birds, but of clouds. There is no weather at all. Even the twinkle of the stars isn’t so bright.
The knife is a dual blade with a wooden shaft. In the few seconds it takes me to register what he’s holding, I take in every detail of his fresh purchase for a specific job. One purchased with the precise intention of murder. Designed to inflict maximum damage to some poor creature, the handle on the hunting blade has ridges so Noah’s fingers don’t slip and cause him unintentional harm.
There’s no doubt about who was intended to be harmed by Noah today.
He laughs, a manic, high-pitched sound and I wait, watching the slow motion movement of his right arm bending at the elbow until the tip of the sharpened steel points at my abdomen.
“You think you have all the cards, don’t you mister big man, but what are you going to do about this?” He jabs the edge toward me.
My long arms are already stretched to their max, so his effort has no effect, except to give me what I’ve been waiting for. I drop my left hand from his lapels. He slips down the tree as I grab his offending wrist, bending it backwards at an angle until I feel the satisfying crunch of his delicate bones snapping. He bends forward and I capture the knife with my right hand.
As his fingers release he cries, “You broke my fucking wrist!” He shakes his arm, which is a big mistake as his hand hangs loose and flaps with the movement.
“You’re lucky that’s all I snapped,” I growl. But I’m not finished yet. I whip my right leg back, bringing power down from my hip. It catches, not yet fully healed from my accident. Pain sears down the outside of my thigh, but my weight is behind it connecting my foot between his legs with a gratifying thud. I stand back and sneer. His knees buckle and he crumples onto the ground, retching, screaming, and writhing in agony.
“You said you were going to scream. Now you’ve got a good reason.” I bend, shoving his weapon in his face. “Do you know what I could do with this knife? Do you have any idea at all the damage I could cause to you?”
“Please don’t...” he begs.
“Really? Do you think I would stoop to your level?”
I stand up. My legs weak from the withdrawing adrenaline, my arms shaking. I’m acting tough, but this freaked me out. It’s not that I can’t protect myself, but it’s more that I had to that has me quivering in shock. Time stands still, frozen as I reacquaint myself with the here and now, as if I were coming out of one of Elliott's meditation sessions.
Voices which I’d not heard until now draw nearer in the shadows.
“What’s going on?” It’s Jessie. She wraps an arm round my waist as I bend and throw up over the leaves discarded from the branches above. It’s only then that she spots Noah as others gather around him, eying me with caution, the knife still in my hand, the tip pointed toward the ground, my fist tightly wrapped around the wood handle.
“He attacked me,” Noah wails, his tone one of outrage.
“I did no such fucking thing you lying piece of no good shit.”
“Well. What’s he doing on the floor then?” James asks, as he bends over and inspects Noah’s shattered wrist.
“He just came at me out of nowhere.” His voice is whiny and I wrestle down the raging desire to stand tall and kick him in the gut. If I started, I don’t think I’d stop until every part of him was in smithereens.
Elliott
The guys are making so much noise tonight that’s it’s filtering all the way down to my Winnebago at the bottom of the park. It’s unusual. The night before a race is usually subdued, a time for reflection and mental preparation. But I’ve had my headphones on, trying to tune into my sleep soundtrack, and the volume of their yells still permeates through. And I've not been shy about increasing the volume. Far from me being all Zen and Buddha like, fury is starting to burn. Their lack of professionalism will impact on theirs and my performance tomorrow. Plus, my muscles are tight with frustration at not being able to tune into the place my mind needs to be in order to perform to my best. Anger bubbles in my stomach like a bubbling pot on a stove.
Any minute and that pot will boil over resulting in a hot mess all over that stove top.
I take a breath and refocus on the music, shutting out the outside world.
“Elliott.” Oh what the fuck? “Elliott, come out here.”
I rip off my over-sized headphones which weren’t working effectively anyway and slam them on the mattress as I bounce up and stalk toward the door.
“What?” I’m shouting, that pot having boiled over. How am I supposed to win races with all this crap going on?
My eyes rest on James standing on the ground below me, half facing the door, half facing the direction of the raucousness.
“You need to come. There’s been an... Kyle attacked Noah.”
The words take a second to sink in. “What do you mean?” Kyle isn’t the sort to attack anyone and what’s Noah doing here, anyway? It must be a different Noah, but why would...?
“Just come. We need to work out what to do.” James waves his hand, flagging me to accompany him as he starts to move away from me.
“I’ll just get some shoes.” I rush back inside and run my fingers through my hair as I slip my bare feet in my sneakers. I catch sight of my confused face in the full length mirror which hangs on the back of a door. This isn’t making any sense. I need to take a second.
But James has other ideas, he pokes his head around the door, “El, come on. No one cares what you look like.”
I turn away from my reflection without having had the chance to change my expression, grab a jacket and follow James. Something is bothering me. What have I missed? I run over the possibilities as I walk toward the commotion.
“Oh, hang on.” I turn and jog back to the camper.
“What’s wrong?” He stops, hands on hips, waiting.
“I forgot my phone.” I knew something had been bugging me. If Kyle attacked Noah, there was a reason. And my phone could be what is needed to help.
Kyle
Elliott charges up to where I’m pinned against the same tree that half an hour earlier I’d had Noah against.
“What the fuck is going on?” he shouts as he processes the scene.
“We had to keep the situation secure, Elliott,” Greg says.
I don’t say anything; there’s no need. Elliott knows me well enough to not require an explanation from me.
For his part, he roars, “Let him go!”
“We can’t Elliott, not until this is all sorted out.”
“Then let me sort this out for you now.” His voice is getting louder. I’ve never seen him this angry. He stalks over to where Noah is sitting, leaning against a tree stump with someone fixing a bandage around his wrist.
I chuckle as he kicks his foot against his leg. “If you don’t know him already, allow me to introduce you to Noah. He is my very ex, ex. Except that he doesn’t see it that way. He wants back in. He’s been bothering me since the start of the summer vacation when he met Kyle and me while we were out. I’d be willing to bet that if you do a run of fingerprints on that knife you have there,” -- he points toward the weapon that Jessie holds between her finger and thumb -- “you’ll find Noah’s prints.” He gives him another shove with his shoe before kneeling at the side of him. “Isn’t that right you fucking moron?” He spits the words into Noah’s eyes.
Noah’s gaze falls to his knees, where he gathers some reserves of guts. When he lifts his head again, his eyes connect with Elliott’s. He ho
lds his gaze while speaking, “Don’t lie Elliott. You and I have been seeing each other again behind Kyle’s back and he attacked me because he found out.”
Elliott launches at him and has time to wrap his fingers like a noose around Noah’s neck before the guys clamber onto him and wrestle him to the ground.
“Get off me, you fucking idiots.”
I observe as the whole episode plays out like it’s happening to someone else. I’m detached, watching actors in a movie play a part for my entertainment. I should be more involved, speak more, defend myself more at least. But I don’t. I stand, attached to that tree trunk and watch as Elliott defends my honor.
This may be simple to us, but Noah has his story straight, and he’s sticking to it.
We need to prove that our version of events is true. The group releases Elliott and he walks over to me for the first time. As he does, his eyes meet mine and we exchange a moment of understanding. He gets it, knows what’s gone on here and produces his cell from his pocket.
“Let me show you what’s been going on.” He scrolls through his calls. “If I was having any kind of relationship with Noah and if what he says is true, I wouldn’t have kept these on my phone records would I?”
He’s still scrolling trying to locate the calls in question.
Then he stops, his brow scrunched, eyes narrow. “Have you deleted the calls?” he whispers.
I shake my head, not daring myself to speak. Fuck!
Elliott
“OK, let me call my lawyer. I reported Noah to him because his behavior was growing increasingly threatening.” I exit my missed call log and into my contacts.
Everyone waits for an outcome, reciprocal staring being the name of the game. The phone rings and I wait. “Shit. Voicemail.” I leave a message and hang up, frustration starting to eat at my insides. How can this guy cause so much trouble for us when he’s getting medical attention? “We’ll have to wait for the call back, but this is just a misunderstanding. You can let Kyle go.”