by Dean Murray
He walked around to the passenger side of the truck, carrying my backpack. He put it in the back seat as I climbed in the front. Max asked, “You’re packing pretty light. You’re not chickening out on me, are you?”
“You said we were only taking what we could carry on our backs - I’m not a pack mule!”
Max grinned at me, “No, you are definitely not a pack mule.”
We drove for about three hours without much conversation, just listening to the radio. We were nearly in North Carolina. Ten miles from the border, Max leaned over and kissed my forehead. “We’re almost there. Do you need to get anything before we leave civilization?”
“No, I’m ready.” We drove another thirty minutes into a National Forest to a visitor center with a really large parking lot. Max unloaded the horses, and, to my surprise, there were three. “Is someone joining us you forgot to tell me about?”
Max laughed, “I didn’t expect you to listen to me when I said we were only taking what we could carry on our backs, so I brought Ursula to carry all the camping gear and bags.”
My voice was louder than it needed to be, “You didn’t expect me to listen? What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Lauren. Since we’ve been together have you done anything I asked you to?”
I walked up to Max and wrapped both my arms around his waist and pulled him tightly to me, “That is what you love about me.”
Max wrapped both his arms around me and whispered in my ear, “I love everything about you.”
Within a half hour the horses were saddled, Ursula was packed, the truck and trailer were locked up tight, and we were headed to one of the trails. We rode up a relatively even trail for over an hour. Conversation was strained because Max was in front on his horse Christy, leading Ursula, and I was behind on Mischief. The near silence put my mind in overdrive. What were we going to do? Would we run out of things to talk about? What’s going to happen when we decide to camp? Max had been Mr. No-Pressure up until now, but would this be our first time together?
My mind wandered to Seth and Amanda. I hadn’t remembered to ask Seth what was going on with them, whether he decided to take that job over the summer or stay closer to home. I had seen Rachael at Paul’s funeral. She didn’t seem to be taking his death that hard. They had only gone out once. If he hadn’t been shot, I wondered what would have happened with them.
Of course, all these thoughts were spinning in my head all at once. Talking to Max was probably the only thing that would keep my mind from spinning out of control. The trail got a little wider ahead, so I moved up to ride beside him and asked, “So when do you have to go back to work?”
“My boss took me off the schedule. I can go back next week or I don’t ever have to go back.”
The surprise must have been evident because Max just smiled back at me, “What? Forever is too long to be with me?”
Caught off guard, I stammered for a second. “No…I mean…I thought you had to go..I mean…you can’t just walk away from a job?”
“Why not? Really, Lauren, it’s just a job.”
Max stopped and got down off his horse then walked over to me, “Come on – let’s walk for a little while.” I dismounted, and we walked for a few minutes before either of us said anything.
“Lauren, what’s wrong? It looks like you are a million miles away. Was this a bad idea so soon after Paul’s funeral?”
Surprised a bit that my silence would be interpreted this way, and pleased that he was initiating a conversation, “I was just thinking about us, how four months ago I was convinced you were just a figment of my imagination.”
“As long as you brought it up, I’m going to ask, and I need you to be honest - brutally honest if you have to.” Max looked so serious, I could feel the nervous pangs gripping me.
“I know physically you’re attracted to me,” he smiled a little mischievously, “but have you given any thought to our future?”
What is the right response here? I know Max is the only person, the only being I want to share my life with, but no matter how strongly I feel about him, it’s only been four months. My parents expect a longer courtship, my friends expect a longer courtship, I am too naïve to commit to anything, right? But as certain as I am that it hasn’t been long enough to formalize any long term plans, I am just as certain that I’ll never make plans with anyone but Max.
“Max, I already know my future is you. That’s the one thing I am absolutely sure of. We don’t need to plan our future; it’s just going to happen. Let’s just let it.”
“I know you believe that because you’re convinced I came to you in a dream, but what happens if you have another dream that tells you I’m not the one?”
Utter shock at the question left me motionless for a minute. I took Mischief’s reins and twisted them around a low hanging branch. I walked over to where Max stood and took his hand. Placing it over my heart, I wrapped the rest of my body around his and stood on my toes so I could whisper in his ear, “You feel that Max?”
He nodded and I noticed his eyes were shut, “My heart beats only for you. Do you feel it beating faster?” His touch anywhere on my body made my heart race. Standing this close to him with his hand over my heart made it pound so hard and fast it felt like it would fly right out of my chest. “What else do you want to know about my future?”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Max and I found an area midway up the mountain with a terrific view of the sunset. The pine scent and earthy feel helped me isolate the events of the last three weeks and lock them away. Max systematically began off-loading camping gear, but his first priority was to take care of the horses. He brushed them down, checked their hooves and talked to them. It was interesting to watch how he genuinely cared for each of the animals, ensuring they were set for the night before he ever considered his own comforts.
I, on the other hand, unsuccessfully tried to assemble our sleeping quarters. The picture on the box made it look easy: there were only six steps in the accompanying directions. Forty-five minutes into my efforts, the only thing I had really accomplished was separating the poles into piles and laying the tent out flat on the ground. What little time I had spent in the Girl Scouts a decade ago seemed to provide little help.
Max came up behind me and offered to assist. I returned a thankful smile and was pleasantly surprised how quickly he had it up, tied off and staked down. I unzipped the inside and stepped in. This would undoubtedly be one of the most significant nights of my life, and the first pangs of stage fright had me in their grip. I suddenly wanted a hot shower, a bubble bath with candles, anything to remove the mixture of horse and dirt stench I knew I exuded. Max must have noticed my apprehension because he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m going to get a fire going. I’m sure you’re nearly starving.”
I decided to make myself useful and gathered dried twigs and pine needles to use for kindling on the fire. As I walked up to our fire pit, Max confessed, “I didn’t want to count on the forest to have dry wood for us to use, so I improvised.” I looked into the center of the fire and nearly howled when I saw the Duraflame log already ablaze in the fire. I placed my armload of kindling in the fire, and he added some rather large wood logs over the top. In no time we had a very healthy fire going. The sun was just touching the horizon, and it looked like we had twenty to thirty minutes left of daylight. The further to the west the sun moved, the cooler it got. Max had two camping chairs setting upwind of the fire and a small camping stove with food already cooking.
As I went to take the chair next to his, I heard one of the horses whinny loudly and stamp its hooves. Max had tied them to a line that gave them a good bit of space to graze, but something had spooked the animal. He watched the horse that was tugging on its line, and the more resistance it felt, the more effort it seemed to put into pulling, and the louder its hooves sounded on the earth.
As both our gazes were fixed on the horse, we heard a wolf’s howl – loud and lon
g. The sound was very close; its proximity to us froze me to my chair. Max’s reaction was exactly opposite. This new noise coupled with the horse that was already trying to break free scared the other two horses. The stomping of hooves sounded like hammers pounding on a job site. Max stood up and spoke to the animals in an effort to calm them, but Ursula, the large bay that had carried all our supplies, showed no signs of being comforted. She continued to pull her lead, shaking her head until we both heard an audible snap and she was free. She took off at a gallop with her lead dragging behind her straight down the mountain the way we had come.
“Dammit! I’ve got to go get her. Can you stay with the fire?” I nodded and Max grabbed Christy’s bridle and was on her back, without aid of a saddle, galloping at full speed down the mountain after the renegade horse.
In less than a minute, the sound of hooves hitting earth faded in the distance, and I found myself alone by the fire. I looked at Mischief, the horse I had ridden today, and she too began stomping the earth much the way the first horse had. I left the warmth of the fire to go make sure she was secured to her stake. As I closed the distance, I heard the wolf’s howl again, still loud and now sounding even closer than the last time. The sound made my heart skip a beat and my danger sense screamed to life. I could feel the prickly feeling; I didn’t need to look at my arms to know that the hair on them stood at attention. As I paused to try to calm myself, Mischief yanked hard on her lead and shook her head. I took a step toward her, as she reared up onto her back legs and shook her head. With an audible snap, she was free and running in the opposite direction from the others.
I stood frozen for a second. Should I go after her? I would never be able to catch her. She was running as fast as the first horse. I whistled, trying to sound like Max, but she gave no hesitation. I could hear breathing, not like that of a human but of something much larger. Not turning my back on the site that Mischief had just bolted from, I started walking backward toward the fire. I willed my eyes to adjust to the near pitch black to see if I could make out any kind of a form.
I could still hear some sort of animal’s breathing. Not having spent much time in the great outdoors, I could only think the sound had to be a bear. It was loud, a steady rhythm breathing in and out. As I could feel my back approaching the warmth of the fire, I stole a glance over my shoulder and saw that I was only feet away from the fire still ablaze and bright. It didn’t need it, but I took three more large logs and put them on it to make sure it kept burning brightly. Animals instinctively do not like fire, so whatever I was hearing should stay away from it. It would also serve as a beacon to Max, so he could find his way back.
I reached in my backpack for my phone. I started to hit the power button to call someone and let them know what was going on, but who? Mom, Seth, Rachael? No, I couldn’t call any of them. They would be in a panic with absolutely nothing they could do and would feel helpless if I told them I was scared and alone in the middle of nowhere. Besides it only had half a charge when I shut it off. Wasting battery on a phone call would be a terrible idea.
My breathing became a little more regular, but the hair on my arms was still warning me not to let my guard down. I remember Max kept a hand gun in his truck. If he knew we were going into the mountains, it would stand to reason that he would have brought it along on the trip. I reached for his backpack and quickly dug through everything in search of his black plastic carrying case; I felt nothing and looked at the other miscellaneous bags, trying to think where he might have tucked it. As I was ripping through the last duffle bag, frantically searching, I heard a man clear his throat. I sprang up from the ground and screamed, not a little muffled scream from being startled, but the blood curdling scream of a frightened little girl.
The man didn’t even flinch. It was the same older gentleman I’d seen at the mall and again at the jail. He turned his head slightly as if he were studying me. “Oh my gosh, am I glad to see you!” I moved a few steps in his direction; any human contact at this minute was welcomed. Without waiting for an answer from him, “There is some sort of big animal over there,” I pointed at the trees where I had heard the labored breathing.
As I pointed, the man made no effort to look in that direction; he only continued to look in my direction with mild curiosity. He said nothing. He was wearing old, worn blue jeans – not the kind that you buy that look worn, but pants that looked as though they had been through hell. His t-shirt had some sort of writing on it, the color faded from whatever the shirt had once advertised. He wore flip flops. His choice of footwear was inappropriate for someone so far up the mountain. The whole way there had been barely foot trails through the thick forest and vines full of sticky bushes.
As I studied him, he looked almost unnatural, un-nerving was a better description. He was built very large, well over six feet tall. His arms were hanging at his side, his mocha skin colored from the sun; but there were no age lines at all on his face. He looked to be in his mid thirties. He stared at me with interest, but, again, said nothing; his expression was neither welcoming nor a warning, but his eyes never left mine.
“Are you from around here?”
His reaction was a simple nod, still absent any facial expression that would put me at ease.
I held out my hand, “I’m Lauren.” The stranger looked at my outstretched hand but made no move to take it in his. I eased my hand away from him and put it in my pocket as if this weren’t very rude of him to ignore the formality.
“Do you have a name?” I asked as I began to wonder if he were mute.
The same response as before, a slight nod but nothing audible; the stranger continued to watch me. It gave me the creeps, and my mind filled with questions, none of which I wanted to ask him. I couldn’t stand the silence from this stranger.
“My boyfriend and I are camping for a couple weeks up here. One of our horses got spooked, so he went after her. I stayed here with the fire. He should be back anytime.” For the first time I smelled the food that Max had started before his abrupt departure; it smelled wonderful. I asked him, “Are you hungry?”
To this question the stranger looked over my shoulder at the camping stove then back to me. He nodded that yes he was hungry. I turned my back on him briefly to check on the dinner cooking. It was steak and potatoes. I stirred the food briefly, scraped off the potatoes that had gotten scorched, and put a decent sized helping on a plate for my unexpected visitor. I reached for a fork and extended my arm with the food for him. He shook his head. The stranger had now been here for five minutes and had not said a word. When he refused the food, I didn’t know what to think.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were hungry.” The aroma from the food was wonderful, and if this whack job didn’t want any, I was going to be rude and eat in front of him because I was starving. He neither nodded his agreement or disagreement with my statement; he did not move closer or farther away from me. I sat in one of the vacant camping chairs and ate the food I had offered him. Although I avoided his eyes, I could feel them on me the entire time I ate, and silently I was praying Max would come galloping back into the campsite any second. When the plate was completely bare, I looked back at the man.
“Do you need something? There is some dinner left on the camp stove. Are you cold? Are you here because of the heat from the fire? Do you even talk?” The only response I received was again a small affirmative nod.
My mind was racing, wondering which question was he answering yes to. I listened again for the sound of hooves but heard nothing. Max hadn’t been gone that long, but how far would he have gone? I was alone in the middle of nowhere, with a peculiar stranger who scared me. For the first time he took a step in my direction, and I could feel the adrenaline shoot through my body as if it had been injected with a syringe. My blood was racing through my veins, my hands began to shake, every hair follicle on my body was standing up straight.
The stranger took another step closer, and I let out a gasp. His face morphed in front of me, it was the sam
e older man I’d seen at the mall and the jail in the cabbie hat. He placed both his hands on my arms and stared deep into my eyes as if he were searching for something. I didn’t break his stare, but my shakes erupted into near convulsions. The man gripped my arms more firmly and finally spoke directly into my ear.
“You must choose, do you wish to have a damned life or a quick death?”
The stranger did not move his mouth from my ear nor loosen his steel grip on my arms when I attempted to struggle away from him. This time, rather than a whimper, I screamed as loud and long as I could. If Max were anywhere on the mountain, he would have heard me.
The stranger’s grip on me tightened as he hissed, “Choose now, young one, or I will choose for you.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
There was nothing, darkness, my heart felt empty. Was I dead? Was I alive? Where was I? I couldn’t feel my arms or legs. I could see nothing and hear nothing but my thoughts. Was this death? The only thing that seemed to work was my mind. What was the last thing I could remember? A stranger coming to me, offering me death or a cursed life: what kind of choice was that? And what choice had I made?
It was as if my mind were somehow disconnected from my body. I wasn’t in any pain, but I couldn’t feel anything. The electrical impulses that I had always taken for granted to move my body at will were absent. I concentrated on feeling my fingertips and couldn’t. I tried with all my willpower to move a finger, again – nothing.
I tried to make my eyes open and something inside told me they were open, but I could only see darkness. There was no light anywhere. There were no sound vibrations for my ears to hear. This must be death.
But if I were dead, where was the white light, the city of gold, the pearly gates? Where were my grandparents? Where was Paul? Death couldn’t possibly be nothingness, could it? All the stories had always promised death was its own reward. How could this feeling be a reward?