Precise (27 page)

“It’s just a plan. None of your business.” He gives me his own glare back, telling me the story is about to change pace. “Anyway, it’s all worked out on paper.

“I think you’re tossing a load of shit.”

“I am. That’s just the plan on
paper
.”

I want to ask more. So if on paper, that’s what’s going on, who is Brent actually in debt to and what the fuck is Cooper really up to? The only thing stupider of me at the moment would be to ask Cooper this.

“Great story,” I manage to say. “Now what about Ella?”

“She had a headache when that kid threw something at her head. I put her into bed to rest it off. Some old lady was screaming her head off. The rest of your fam were all over it. I thought I’d help her out and take her away from the chaos since I’d come along with Brent, when he mentioned he was going by, to borrow a drill from Liam —Brent wasn’t going to head home, so I couldn’t borrow his. It’s the least I can do to say thanks.”

Whoa. Coop and I now resemble two lost children in a busy shopping mall. We are just hectic and completely lost.

“What about me? What excuse are you gonna spin about raping me?” I give a fake laugh for effect, and say, “See, Coop, I remember it.”

“Sit back down.”

I didn’t realize he’d been sitting on his recliner, all the way still out on his porch. I have the urge to scream back “No” but my knees have begun shaking and he mustn’t see that. Okay, I need to sit. I step forward, creeping along the tiles as if they were wooden boards and one might be a secret one that’ll spring up and whack me over the head.

“Do you mean to say that I accidentally ingested the drugs? Maybe I even painted a sign on myself saying, ‘Come rape me.’”

“I guess I have some explaining to do.” He pauses, waits for me to sit, as if he needs my seal of approval to continue. “I’m sorry for trying to get you to do something you weren’t comfortable with. It was out of line, and I shouldn’t have run off like a little baby. I guess you’re thinking Brent is a bit of a hero now, for saving you from me. Past aside, I never got the chance to say how sorry I was. I truly mean that, even though I realize you’ll have a hard time believing me.”

“Wait, let me get this straight: now you’re denying that you did anything and you have the nerve to throw in a forced ‘sorry’, too?”

He jerks back. “Hang on. We’re not on the same—”

“It’s the same page all right.” I spit, gnarling through the rising pressure in my blood. “You’re just trying to deny that you drugged me so I’d forget you raped me in your mate’s bedroom at his party.”

My torso is upright. I’ve swung my legs to a different position. They sit in front of me, tense. It feels like Molten Man is back, only he
is
me and I’m tangled into the same being as him. My head is on fire. I will figure out how to do it and then king hit Cooper, if he threatens me.

“Please,” he begs. He has both hands and fingers outstretched in a defensive position. They say, “Stop. Please.”

When I concentrate on his eyes, I see a familiar emotion in his intense concentration. I recognize the feeling in my own words, which are now staggered as they emerge.

The wind roars in the distance. I’m not sure if it’s my mind hearing it because it’s still adrift and the wind sounds lost, too. Another part of my mind is back at Liam’s house, and the rest on the table at the Hills Shopping Center with Liam admitting his love for me.

I go to ask him something else, but my phone rings. I disregard it, feeling pretty good about myself that the tune is going off and I don’t care to silence it.

“Now, what drugs did you give my daughter? This is a pointless exercise, since you’ve lied your way through our conversation so far, but I’m getting answers from you one way or another.”

He addresses me face on. Knees bent at a perfect angle. Head held high. Shoulders rigid. “You seem to think I’m some criminal. Since we’re talking amongst friends: sure, I do some stuff I’m not going to get into, but I’ve never raped a girl, never drugged a girl. Nada.”

My phone goes off again, and this time I silence it. This so isn’t the time.

I grit my teeth, and growl, “You piece of low-life shit. You were in that room,
alone
, with my daughter. When I saw her, she was wasted, lethargic, sleepy. At my birthday party. Seem normal to you?”

“She was fine when I left her. Even ask Brent.”

I want to squeeze his neck. Pop out what he did at Liam’s place. Why he is denying raping me? Why, why, why?

The question rolls out, “What did you give her?”

“Nothing really. Just a couple of nighttime cold and flu tablets to make her drowsy, calmer. She was fine with me. Took her to a bedroom. I thought it was quieter there. Liam came in later to take over anyway, ‘cause I said it’d be better if I left, given the chaos.”

This guy can keep a face straighter than a politician. How can he drug my daughter, threaten Brent and rape me without remorse?

Unless he didn’t do it.

It couldn’t have been Marco. I’m certain of that after remembering Marco was only ever nice to me.

I’ve done it again. I blink hard and curse myself.

It was Tim. I knew I should have stuck to my gut. That phone call, that lunch . . . I bet he’s been the one calling me now. Seeing if I’ve seen through his lies. As I pull out my phone to check, it begins ringing, and I’ve accidently answered it in my rush. “You little fuck! How dare you!” I screech.

“What? Huh? Kates, please, come back. Now!”

Nancy. What the?

“Kates?” It’s less than a second later. “Are you there? Come back to Liam’s
now
!”

“Nance, I didn’t know it was you. I’m busy so please, just give me some time and I’ll call you back.”

“It’s Ella.”

Nancy is still talking, but I can’t hear because
It’s Ella
is ringing in my ears as if I’ve just left a nightclub. Coop’s mouthing words like “
You”
and “
Okay”
but it’s weird, ‘cause he’s not talking. But maybe he is. Maybe Nancy is making sense too. I don’t process her words.

“Slow down,” I say.

It’s no use. My heart is in my mouth. It feel like it’s beating on my tongue, between my teeth, and I’m going to crush it if I swallow.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Nancy is saying when I begin to hear her. “I mean, she was okay and . . . just meet us at the Alfred Hospital. I’m in the ambulance with—”

My sense is back and it cuts Nancy off because I heard a noise I know is the front door. I know two big, healthy, young men against scrawny me is no match and I must go. I must race to Ella.

I was right.

Tim is here. How could I have been so careless? My head feels like stone; my knees are jelly.

How could I trust him?

I’m going to die on my thirtieth birthday.

My legs must have a motor propelling in my thighs because the rubber of my soles clap up, down, up, down as I bolt. I should recognize the voice growling through the front door. I do know it, but everything is too loud, my breath included, and I’m still not fast enough, so all I hear is, “ . . . bitch here?”

His foot shakes the walls at the same time I realize I was stupid, stupid, so stupid coming here. His foot stomps like a boulder landing on the tiles; my foot clinks like a marble. One of the living rooms spring to mind as I pass another room. I remember seeing a door. Then I can’t be sure. Then I think it’s just my imagination. But I’m already running and I know I just need to get my ass out of here.

But it doesn’t take me long to know I have almost no way out of this, even if I do escape.

The door is close. I think I can reach it, even though I’m still meters away.

The voice. Marco and Brent have both been cheated. What did such good guys do to deserve these lowlifes?

I grab at the handle.

His leaps are further apart than my quick steps. Loud means power. Power means he clears more area than I do. I gulp down more fear and slam the door shut behind me. Under my fingers, I feel a knob as my palms lean against the door, so I press it. The door rumbles.

A mutter. “
Fuck
.” I try to shush my breathing, my whole damn body really, but he’s already spoken and my body is like a nightclub and there’s a DJ inside pumping adrenaline through me.

There’s no hope of staying quiet enough to hear much.

My fingers tremble against each thud from the door slamming in its cradle. I back away from the door, the back of my foot catching on a stray object as I tumble onto a creased rug.

“What are you doing?” It’s Cooper’s voice now; he caught up to the door.

The man lowers his voice. He knows what’s going on. Not Cooper. The poor guy is at a Tupperware party.

A faint whisper says, “Need to chat.”

The door buckles again. I make a decision on the spot and run and tiptoe at the same time. I can’t turn on the lights. I think of how I love God and I pray I can make something go my way for once. When I’ve taken several running tiptoes, I think I hear the same voice but I can’t be sure. I pick up one word. “ . . . knows.”

“Why are you whispering?” Cooper. The Tupperware guy. “You’ve had some of the supplies, haven’t you? I tried to keep you calm at Liam’s. Your eyes—I can see—”

The guy must have said something but I can’t hear anything from him now. I see the end of this strange room, whatever it’s meant to be, and run, so that there’s distance between the door and me.

“Look, I’m sorry. I tried telling her I shouldn’t have pushed it so far. I tried explaining I didn’t rape her, even though she accused me. You believe me, right? What’s wrong with you anyway? You look like you’re trying to rip my door to shreds. Easy.”

Once I’m clear an open walkway welcomes me.

I hear a one-way conversation from Cooper. Most of the words coming out of his mouth are half-finished slurs. They are the sounds of a scared boy.

The next room, a hallway, is lined with carpet. I turn to a bolt, the sound of my feet cushioned. It’s the first time I’ve toured the house and the best I can hope for is that God is actually cheering for me.

One thing doesn’t add up; it stands out amongst the rest of the mess. Most of the clues are arranged together, but one piece is twisted: the memory of Coop raping me. Hands all over me, lips to my neck, fingers so far up it made me wince. Sure seems like rape in my world. Why wasn’t that memory in the bedroom then?

My heart finally stops.

Whatever Cooper did to me downstairs, it was Tim who raped me
upstairs
.

Thump
. I glance down to see I’ve stepped onto the original tiled passageway to the front door. My second tread is mid-air. There is nothing to be salvaged. It will be just as loud.

I can’t hear any other voices. Yes, I’m definitely found out.

The front door is still wide open. There’s no movement back at the French doors, but I’ll only have a several second head start before he could cross the length of the house. I fly over the threshold, hook my wrist behind the door so that it drags with me.

The loose gravel under my feet makes my grip slippery. With fiercer determination, I pump my legs for purchase, and my frustration is similar to as if I was trying to run on sand.

I’m running faster than ever. I repeat
faster, harder, faster, harder
. My breath circles me as if I’m holding a seashell to my ear. The whooshes of my beating heart magnify.

I’m not sure why I am running. Why am I running?

Why won’t he stop?

My breath hitches, almost trips me up with knowledge.

This won’t happen again. He’s chasing because he won’t let me get away again.

As I pass the vacant spot where Tiffany’s car was, I see Liam’s car. It slows me down a fraction, but I have to have the keys ready to go before I make it to my vehicle. I dig my fingers in the slit where I think I stuffed them and wiggle until I feel something cold, hard.

Each breath feels slow, like flames are ripping up and down my esophagus. The back of my mouth is dry, my tongue a pad of sandpaper slapping the slimy edges of my teeth.

My legs slow. I exert the same kick through my muscles but they’re uncooperative. I draw deeper breaths until I feel bloated with oxygen. It needs to be enough to soak me with extra energy. I hate myself for not exercising more. A couple of days at the gym, a jog around my area. Anything to soothe the burning shooting up my calves and thighs.

Faster, harder, faster, harder
.

Oh please don’t trip up!

What will Tim do when he catches me? I’d think this is some kind of game, but I remember my rape. I thought the same thing then.

The thuds are so close now. I feel the tremor, like a rope is connecting us. The sound of crunching sickens me. I want to shiver into a shell.

This is it; this is how it will end. My pathetic attempt to run away. I don’t have a speck of hope, didn’t from the beginning.

Where is Liam when I need him? If I didn’t have him at any time I thought I needed the support, it would be okay. If only he could help me now. I was so worried about not involving him because of the lies I believed he told me that I led myself into real danger. I shouldn’t feel guilty for something I can’t have known, but I do because it was
him
.

He, who’s always stood by me.

I want him to show me how to make gnocchi. Teach me what to do so my daughter will let me play with the Elly
doll.

I hear the crunching again and I remember where I am. My neck almost wills itself to turn around but my mind bars it each time. Fear zaps me when I think about turning to see. Fear swallows me for every second that I don’t.

I almost slip and the adrenaline makes me cough up.
Must not fall.
He’d be no more than a meter behind me.

My legs are burning. I didn’t know I could be on fire and not collapse.

A shadow, just darker than the road around me, peaks in the side of my vision and so I duck to my left.

I must miss his hands by less than a millimeter.

Faster, harder, faster, harder
.

My pulse jerks a notch higher. The road, dense scrubland, the earthy colors of the neighbor’s house over the road all seem painted vividly compared to when I passed them driving here. I am fighting fear pathetically. It’s a lost battle.

No. There isn’t time to think
what if
. I have to keep going.

Why won’t he stop?

I can feel him; he’s just over my shoulder. Centimeters, if that. My heart skips as I glance back and see a hand, elbow then shoulder extend out. My foot is mid-stride, not even on the ground yet.

You have to escape.
It’s all I’ve allowed myself to believe.

I gasp in a breath, but a dark shadow looms, marking the end of my escape.

Pink. It’s the color of the flush in his cheeks.

Black. It is the color in the center of the large void that covers almost the entire sky blue iris of his eyes.

Brent is the last thing I see.