Chapter 28
The sound of footsteps draws me from my thoughts.
I freeze and listen for its source, searching for the sound between the squeaks of the carousel.
Ahead to my right, from the bend in the dirt trail, moving toward me, just beneath the rustling of the trees, light and cautious, not wanting to be heard.
I catch a scent of tobacco. Russ Neuman? Eric said he was out fishing. Could he be back already? No, it’s not pipe smoke. It’s cigarette smoke.
I stiffen my spine and prepare to see his craggy visage turn the corner. But as I peer through the underbrush, instead of mud-stained jeans and untied construction boots, I see colorful Hokas and Patagonia hiking pants. My shoulders ease. It’s just another hiker.
Then a tree bends, and I glimpse his face.
It’s Vivek.
A white-filtered cigarette dangles from his long, thin fingers, and he inspects the foliage as he walks, oblivious to my presence.
He moves like a wraith, surrounded by a cloud of smoke, floating rather than striding.
I consider hiding behind the tree, but in my neon tank top, I stick out like a sore thumb. Plus, I’m tired of being afraid of him.
I stomp back along the makeshift path I created on the way in, steps heavy, so he knows I’m not hiding.
He spots me, and a conceited smile crawls across his face, embroidered with a hint of fear.
He runs his tanned fingers through his oily black hair and walks toward me, raising both hands in the air.
A thin stream of smoke twists from his fingers.
The birdsong drops to a murmur, as though they can sense the electricity in the air.
He takes a long drag, blows the smoke from his nose, and bows mockingly. “We meet again. Tell me, Charlotte, is this another one of your coincidences?” His voice is smooth and calming, like an enchanter.
I puff out my chest and cross my arms. “What are you doing here?”
He cashes his cigarette butt and snuffs it out with his shoe. “I was enjoying a peaceful stroll until I saw you.”
I search his eyes for deception, but they’re steady. “Well, don’t let me bother you. Keep strolling,” I say.
He inches toward me. The bruising under his eyes has yellowed. As he gets closer, I detect his scent: sandalwood with a hint of smoke. It makes my stomach roll. I can’t believe I was ever drawn to it.
I place my hand on the hunting knife on my hip, but then I think better of it. What am I going to do, stab Vivek? Instead, I reach down and grab a thick, dead tree branch from the mossy ground beneath me. I fight the shaking in my hand, trying to keep the branch steady.
He laughs, his capped teeth revealed like a wolf showing its fangs. “Come now, Charlotte, what are you planning to do with that stick? Beat me?”
I raise it in the air. “If I have to.”
He slows his pace but inches toward me, massive hands up in a peace gesture. Six yards. Five yards. Four yards. With each step, something cold slinks through my chest.
“What happened to us, Charlotte? You used to be my right-hand man. We used to be so close.”
Three yards.
“You assaulted me, Vivek. That’s what happened.”
“Assaulted you? Please. You know as well as I do you were interested.”
Two yards. My grip tightens.
“Only for a moment. And then I found out who you really are.”
“Or did I find out who you really are?” A lascivious grin tears across his mug. “Why don’t you just admit it?” he says. He leans over me, using his height to intimidate.
“Admit what, Vivek?”
“You’re obsessed with me.”
The absurdity of his statement disarms me for a moment, and I lower the tree branch. I roll my eyes and look away. “You’re delus—”
But before I can finish my sentence, he’s on me. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me toward him, pressing his lips to mine. I feel his tongue trying to slither into my closed lips, his sharp chin stabbing me. The stale tobacco scent overwhelms me.
For a moment, I’m so shocked I do nothing. Then his hips press into me, and a mix of terror and rage rips through me like a flood, my muscles charging with adrenaline. I rear back and shove him away from me.
He retreats, surprised by the force of my arms. But I can tell by his face that I’ve only excited him more.
He sneers and crouches into a stance like I’m an animal he’s preparing to trap.
I look around me, searching for an escape route, but I’m surrounded by trees and forest growth.
My chest drums with panic. The only way out is through.
I steady my footing to make sure I’m balanced.
He sneers. “That’s what I always liked about you, Charlotte. You’re feisty.”
He lunges toward me. I tighten my grip on the branch and as he reaches for me, I swing the branch at his head. He raises an arm to block it, but he’s too late. A dull thud, knocking him to the ground. He checks the side of his head for blood and sneers.
He starts to run, but I pounce and shove him into the dirt, rearing back and striking his kneecap with the branch.
He howls and grabs his knee. I strike him again and again, picturing everyone who’s wronged me in my life.
For a second, he grabs the stick, but I rip it from his hands and strike again.
I feel the branch vibrate against his muscle and tear at the flesh of his face, and something in me clicks.
It feels good.
A part of me enjoys watching his smug smile morph into a pained groan, pounding on him, savoring the thud of wood against bone until my arm tires and he screams for mercy.
I straighten up and drop the branch. My chest heaves with exhaustion. I assess him. Scratches run along his cheek, and a gash over his eye pours blood down his face. Cracks run through his knuckles from absorbing the blows.
He spits blood and groans and turns onto his back. As he speaks, I notice his perfect white teeth, stained red.
“You’re fucking insane, you know that?”
I look into his coal-black eyes. There’s no guilt, only frustration.
Even after this beating, he doesn’t regret what he did.
He regrets that he wasn’t prepared. I watch his eyes shift left then right, calculating, trying to determine where he went wrong.
He’ll do it again to another woman, only in the future he’ll be more prepared.
A voice inside speaks. There’s no one else here. It’s just the two of us. It was self-defense. My hands grip the knife, and I look at the vanishingly sharp edge of the blade. With one stroke, I could ensure he never harms another woman again.
Vivek sees the blade and the look in my eye. In a flash, his expression transforms from arrogant to contrite. He raises both his hands, pleading.
“Jesus, what are you going to do with that knife?” He crawls away from me along the ground. His eyes dart from my face to the blade, calculating if I’ll really do it.
“I don’t know yet,” I say, standing over him. As the words pour from my mouth, I realize I’m telling him the truth.
He lies on his back, hands frozen skyward like a baby learning how to roll. “I’m sorry, okay. I thought there was something between us. I’ll never do it again.”
He says the right words, his voice an octave higher, but I see the lie behind his eyes. He will do it again. My hand lifts the blade higher.
“I have a wife, please,” he pleads.
Something in the timbre of his voice yanks me back from oblivion. I picture Freida, the sweet woman who offered me coffee this morning. She’s done nothing wrong. She doesn’t deserve to bury her husband. What am I doing? This isn’t me.
A crunch in the distance interrupts my thoughts.
The sound of footsteps on leaves. The aroma of cherry tobacco smoke.
Boots and overalls. A pale, grim face. It’s Russ Neuman.
He spots me, knife in my hand, crouched over Vivek, and his eyes go wide, then flicker violently.
But he doesn’t intervene. He just watches.
I drop the weapon to my side, and I whisper to Vivek, “Go.”
He lifts himself off the ground with great effort and limps away from me. I watch his broken body staggering down the trail. Under his breath he whispers, “Crazy bitch.”
I wonder whether I made the right choice.