Once Upon a Road Trip (51 page)

“I promised myself I wouldn’t bother you,” he began, sounding every bit as mollified as she felt. “But I had to know how you were doing.”

“I’m doing okay.” She eased across the deck and stepped down into the grass, dew dampening her bare feet. “Just tired and ready to leave. I wish I’d just gone straight home after Alabama.” She found herself admitting more than she’d meant to.

“Is that Scott guy treating you alright?” Vince’s tone shifted to concern.

“Yes.” Angie reconsidered. “Kind of. We’re not getting along so well. And I think his mother would like to set me on fire, given the opportunity and no threat of legal repercussions—” Her attempt at a joking didn’t come out as convincing as she’d intended.

“You’re leaving soon though, right?”

“I have just a few more days,” she said, beginning an absent circling of the little willow tree in the middle of the lawn. “I should be back home by the fifth.”

“Good.” Vince sounded satisfied. “So, how soon should I start looking for plane tickets? Grady might tag along, but he knows to let us have time to talk if we need to.”

Angie paused mid-step, struck by his resolve. “You...you’re serious? You still want to visit Minnesota?”

“I want to see you again,” he said, voice lowering in earnest. “I miss you. A lot.”

“Vince—”

“Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but I’m not the same as I was before I met you.” He took in a steadying breath and went on. “I tried to leave you alone—I really did. I still will, if you tell me that’s what you want. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t even want to.” He hesitated. “And not in a crazy stalker kind of way. I mean—I’m not obsessed or anything like that.”

“I know.” Angie chuckled, hoping to defuse his anxiousness. Before she could work up another dissuading argument, she remembered the sense of loyalty she’d felt for him earlier in the day. It mingled with Vince’s potent sincerity and her elation over hearing his voice. Something in her faltered. “I miss you too.”

“Would it be okay if I keep checking on you?”

Angie wrapped her free arm around herself, slowing her pacing as a closer peel of thunder sounded overhead. Looking up, she watched lightning flicker behind the clouds. “I wouldn’t mind,” she said. “I just don’t want to take up a lot of your time. You don’t get enough sleep as it is.”

“I can’t think of a better way to spend my time.” His voice warmed. “Besides, sleep is for the weak.”

“Sleep is healthy,” she corrected. “And so is eating. You need to be doing more of both.”

Vince laughed. “If it makes you happy, I’ll work on it.” His humored tone sobered after a pause. “My mom asked today if I took any pictures while you were here, and I realized I didn’t. I really wish I had.”

A spark of recollection jumped to the front of her mind. “Are you at home right now?” she asked.

“Yeah, I just got in. Why?”

“Go to your desk and lift up your keyboard.”

Silence stretched out on the other end of the line, save for muffled hints of movement. “Oh wow,” Vince breathed, indicating he’d found the picture Angie had left behind for him. The wallet-sized senior photo featured her in an elegant, powder-blue gown, which had served as a surprise last impression for her high school yearbook. She’d agonized over whether or not to leave him the picture. Now, hearing the smile in his voice, she was glad she did.

“I wish I’d gave you something to remember me by.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Angie said. “I took a few pictures.”

“I’ll make up for it,” Vince said, proceeding to change the subject before she had a chance to protest. “What’s it like in D.C.?”

They continued with several minutes of effortless conversation before the encroaching thunderstorm arrived, chasing Angie back into the house. As he bid her goodnight, Vince promised to call again the following day. Angie caught herself hoping he meant every word he’d said.

Oh, God… I think I’m in trouble. If this is a bad idea, I need you to make it clear to me really soon.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Angeli was disoriented, that much she knew.

The forest around her was unfamiliar and lined with the long shadows of approaching dusk. The soft, loose soil beneath her feet was layered thick with decaying leaves that crackled in objection to her every movement. She was losing her footing, becoming more alarmed as she slid back toward the darkened ravine behind her.

On instinct she flailed her arms out, desperate to catch hold of one of the trees. Her left palm slapped a thick trunk only to have the bark break away in her clawed hand. Her right hand caught a more spindly tree, which shuddered under her weight as she jerked to a halt. With a violent
crack
the rotted roots gave way, bringing the towering shaft hurtling down on top of her.

Angie yelped. It was the first sound she’d managed to form in her throat, aside from the panicky breathing that drowned out everything else. 

Throwing her full weight to one side, she lunged headlong into the hillside. The musty scent of rotting leaves overtook her. The breeze from the fallen tree raised the hairs of her arm as it slapped against ground and began a slide into the depths of the narrow valley. Wasting no time or momentum, she grappled with the earth. The cool soil shifted under her, peeling away from the hill in a sheet with the effect of a small avalanche.

Angie didn’t know how deep the ravine went, or what may lie at the bottom. Craning her neck to look behind her, she could only make out blurry shapes and shadows. Imminent danger was too thick for her to process how or why she’d ended up in this predicament. She splayed her limbs, praying one of them would encounter a sturdy object she might be able to cling to.

Her right hand caught something solid and her entire body wrenched to a stop. The surge of dirt and leaves continued around and under her for several moments, distracting her from comprehending that she hadn’t so much grabbed onto something, but had instead been caught. A strong, warm force flexed around her wrist and she jerked her face back up to see the hand it belonged to.

Her strained gaze followed upward and she was stunned to recognize Vincent’s face, set in a look of determination. With one arm latched around a tree trunk, his feet were planted against an upraised root. He’d extended himself fully in catching her in this state of suspension.

“Reach!” he instructed.

Angie grasped his forearm with her free hand and pulled her knees under her until she’d wedged the toes of her shoes into the ground. She unfolded her legs and stretched herself upward as he hoisted her up. He kept his anchoring arm in place and wrapped the other around her waist, pulling her back against him as he leaned into the tree.

Angie grasped a handful of his shirt and turned her face into his shoulder, catching her breath. Disjointed questions formed in her mind as she closed her eyes, willing the situation to make sense. Vince’s breath came short and sharp as he kissed her temple.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. His embrace tightened and he dropped his chin to nuzzle his smooth jaw against her cheek.   

Angie didn’t understand, but at least she was safe. Lifting her head she scanned Vince’s face, which was set with lines of concern. It occurred to her then that the light filtering through the surrounding trees was growing brighter. Dawn was approaching. Not that this minor revelation clarified anything. In the fog of her thoughts, she struggled to verbalize a question. She was interrupted by a sudden shift in his expression.

“Come with me.” He kept his voice low and urgent. His arm slid from around her waist to grasp her hand.

Then, he was moving. Sure-footed and calculating, he guided her along behind him as he followed the protruding root lines in a path running parallel with the ravine. She followed without hesitation.

The misty daylight that shone over the top of the hill continued to grow brighter. She faltered often, forcing Vince to brace himself and correct her balance. The crest of the hill to her left seemed much closer as the incline lessened. To her right, she could finally see that a dry creek bed made up the floor of the ravine — a sheer drop of ten or twelve feet from where it cut into the earth.

The erratic patterns of their labored breathing mingled with the soft thrashings of their feet through the long dead foliage. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, it occurred to her that these were the only sounds to be heard. If it was dawn, shouldn’t there be birds, or at the very least, the occasional scolding squirrel? Her confusion deepened. 

Vince came to an abrupt halt, and Angie ran into his back. Vince swayed forward while still managing to hold his ground. He tightened his hold and pulled her around to his side, releasing her then so she was braced against the low V of a thick tree trunk. She followed his attention to the top of the hill. The silhouette of a person was moving toward them — male, judging by the stature.

“Stay here. I’ll find you,” Vince said, turning away before she could protest.

“But why? Who—” Angie choked out, watching as he placed himself between her and the backlit figure that was now charging down the incline.

Vince shifted forward, stance widening as he lowered himself in preparation for the inevitable impact.

A dull
thud
resounded through the trees as the attacker careened into him. The grappled pair spun in mid-fall before hitting the ground, their heads barely missing the tree where Angie stood. Locked together they rolled down the incline, churning up debris and grunting in exertion.

Angie’s mind caught up to the sudden violence. “NO!” She reached out, too late to snatch at Vince’s clothing or otherwise slow them down. She gripped the tree trunk with one arm and swung herself around it to track them.

Near the lip of the drop-off, Vince’s back slammed into a rotting stump, bringing them to a stunning halt. The assailant took immediate advantage, coming to his knees swinging. He’d landed several brutal punches before Angie went skidding after them and leaped onto the man’s back. Screaming in some mixture of rage and fear, she threw her weight to wrench him off Vince. Her back hit the ground, knocking all breath from her lungs as the attacker landed on top of her.

Dazed, she fought for air as the speckled forest canopy filled her vision. It was soon blotted out by the ominous figure who was already getting back up. His face turned toward her as he shook off her rubbery hold and stood. Shock surged through Angie’s uncooperative body.

It was Vince. She recognized every detail of his lean form in an instant. How could she have made such a mistake? She turned her head aside to identify the figure he’d been pummeling, and her bewilderment was compounded. The young man lying against the stump, who’d begun to rise, was also Vince.

She couldn’t be getting enough oxygen.

Angie’s wild gaze darted back and forth between the two. Their clothing was identical — black cargos and a faded beige t-shirt bearing the emblem of a coiled dragon. Their copper hair gleamed in the growing streams of daylight. The intense look of malice was mirrored in both sets of emerald eyes as they stood, squaring off once more.

As Angie recovered enough to sit up, the violence resumed without explanation. The Vince near the tree stump lunged first, landing a solid punch to the gut of the assailant closest to her. The latter doubled over, but managed to hook an arm around the first aggressor’s neck and drag him down. Then they were entangled again, in what Angie suspected was a death match. Neither one of them was holding anything back. By the time she’d drug herself to her feet, both of their faces were bloodied.  

Angie staggered, first forward and then back several steps. Her impulse to break up the embattled pair was stayed by one nagging thought:
This can’t be happening!

Yet, her pulse hammering away in her ears felt real. As did the familiar tingle of adrenaline, and her mounting sense of desperation.

“Stop! Please—” she began to scream. One of the badly beaten figures slammed his knee into the chest of the other as he got enough clearance to stand, and then took off running down into the lowest point of the ravine. The other Vince gave chase, compounding the refrain of scraping leaves and snapping twigs in their wake. As she watched, the pursuer snatched up a club-like piece of tree branch without breaking stride. Angie didn’t have the impression she could affect the outcome of this epic act of self-destruction, but she couldn’t watch it unfold.

One of them would die, she was sure of it. But which one? And was there a difference between them? Better still, why was this happening in the first place? As vivid as this all felt, her sense of reason seemed adrift. The identical opponents disappeared into the shadowy recesses of the valley, where she heard their struggle resume. 

At first, Angie had only a dim awareness that she was running. Not toward them, but away. The idea that they were killing each other, while bizarre, was more than she could handle. She plunged on through the forest, staggering between trees and bounding over rotted logs as fast as her faltering traction would allow. She fell often, her lungs burning with the strain. The spaces between trees grew larger, and the landscape gradually flattened. She had no idea how far she’d gone before her final tumble.

Angie slipped into listless apathy as her toe caught a protruding tree root and she pitched forward, her cheek planting first as she rolled. She came to a rest on her side atop a bed of moss. Her spun, and she closed her eyes against the dizziness. Her stomach threatened to heave.

When her senses gradually returned, her skin had chilled, making her aware of the perspiration gathering along her brow and down her neck to the small of her back. A light breeze alerted her to the damp streams tracing down her cheeks. She shivered. Anguish pressed a low cry from deep in her chest. Vince was gone. And however surreal the circumstances, the loss was devastating.

When Angie opened her eyes again, the arrangement of shadows around her had changed. She had either fallen asleep or lost all grasp on the passage of time. It took her several moments to realize her attention had been roused by the rustling of leaves from somewhere behind her. While her heart sped up in alarm, she resisted the desire to look for its cause. Holding still went against every fight-or-flight impulse she had, but it was necessary to identify the origin of the sound. It came again, steady in approach and too heavy to be a bird or rodent.