Love.
Marlo is more important than any of this.
On my left, a long wall of lush, beautiful landscaping appears, the outer shell of yet another massive gated community.
“Here we go,” my undead passenger announces as I slow the vehicle, approaching our turn. “You don’t care if this guard dies.”
This entrance is the only break along an enormous, mile-long wall, a small divot where the well-manicured palms give way to a security booth and an enormous metal gate. I cruise up to the booth and come to a full stop, then roll down my window.
Standing to greet us, the guard lets out a loud snort and rubs the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are bright red and her skin pale, which seems odd until I notice the balled-up tissues covering her desk and a half-chugged bottle of bright orange DayQuil. A firearm is holstered on the woman’s belt and a large pit bull lies curled up at her feet, disinterested.
“Who are you here to see?” she asks, her voice muted by congestion.
Eddie leans over the middle seat and offers a friendly wave. “You should shoot yourself in the face,” he calls out, grinning wide.
The woman unclips her weapon. She pulls her gun from its holster.
A terrible realization crosses my mind, but as Eddie commanded, I’m not concerned for the security guard’s life or safety, I’m just deeply annoyed that I might get blood and brain splattered across my shirt.
The woman slowly lifts her gun, then stops.
What the fuck?
She furrows her brow, snorting again before clearing her throat. “Both of you, get out of the truck,” the woman demands.
Eddie’s smile falters. “What?”
“Out,” she presses, stepping back and pointing her weapon directly at him with one hand. She wipes her nose with the other.
“You’re sick,” Eddie mumbles, then repeats the words with a mixture of panic and rage. “Oh fuck, you’re sick!”
“Out of the truck! Now!” the security guard screams, swiveling her weapon toward me.
Eddie punches my chest—at least, I think that’s what’s happening. He doesn’t lift his hand back up, however, and it suddenly occurs to me that Eddie is pushing me back against the driver’s seat. It’s a maneuver so unexpected that—for a brief moment—I can’t even translate what it means, unwilling to accept the utterly bizarre answer sitting right in front of me.
He’s trying to protect me.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Eddie shrieks. “Go!”
The second Eddie utters this command everything snaps back into place like a race car slipping into gear, every mental lane wide open. The entirety of my subconscious mind shudders and lurches as it’s untethered from the one thing that was holding me back, a decree that has now been overwritten with a panicked, wide-ranging brush.
Don’t try to escapeis no longer my primary objective. I need toget the fuck out of here.
The circumstances aren’t perfect—what with a gun in my face and all—but they’re what I’ve got.
“Don’t shoot me!” I scream, throwing off my seat belt and flinging open the door. “I’m being kidnapped!”
Before Eddie or the security guard has any idea what’shappening, I’ve cupped my hands over my ears and slipped from the vehicle.
I run. My feet pound against the pavement as night wraps itself around me and I barrel into the empty street, struggling to put as much distance between myself and Eddie as I possibly can. I’m too racked with adrenaline to know exactly where I’m headed just yet, simply understanding that I need to be somewhere else—anywhereelse. Despite my best efforts to cover my ears, however, I can still hear Eddie’s passenger-side door slam shut as he leaps out after me.
“Goddamn it!” he bellows, beset with rage. “Sto—”
Before Eddie can make his command, something cuts him short and transforms his voice into a startled yelp. It’s such an unexpected shift that I can’t help glancing back for a quick look.
The security guard’s pit bull violently shakes and tugs Eddie’s arm, its jaws locked around him as it snarls and growls. This attack is extremely satisfying to witness, but Eddie’s reaction isn’t quite what I expected.
He should be screaming, should be howling in pain as he struggles to extract himself from the canine’s mighty grip. Instead, Eddie just looks annoyed. He drags the dog along, not at all slowed by the creature hanging from his wrist.
