Headlights? Were those headlights glowing behind the cluster of pine trees?
Then, clear as day, “Stop!”
Simone. That was Simone’s voice.
Why was she so close to the exit? It was 11 p.m.. She and Junie, her daughter, were usually in bed by 10.
I set the joint in the ashtray atop the railing and took off. No matter what I wanted, I couldn’t move like lightning down the icy flagstone path.
Her voice was louder as I approached the gravel road. With the stability of the stones beneath me, my careful steps morphed into a steady jog.
I still couldn’t make out every word, but there was someone else’s too. Someone was yelling at her. They were yelling at each other.
Was there an animal? Had someone reported it, and Simone was sent to check it out? Was that voice Axel’s?
That voice was deep enough. It could’ve been Axel. I couldn’t make it out with perfect clarity, but it was definitely a man’s voice.
If it was an animal, I needed to be prepared. Jogging still, I fingered the blade inside my hoodie pocket. I’d gotten into the habit of carrying a pocketknife over the last year. Although I had yet to confront a wild animal who wouldn’t back down when I yelled at them, it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
My heart pounded faster, harder, as I jogged down the gravel road. The shaking of my hands, the pounding in my chest, had me wondering if I was still asleep. Was this even real? I’d had worse dreams, stranger ones.
That question only got louder in my mind when I rounded the bend, closer to the gate, and my suspicion was confirmed. There were headlights.
Before them stood two figures. Nothing more than silhouettes. One had to be Simone. She was my best friend. I’d recognize her voice in a choir.
The other was a man. He was a few inches taller, nearly a foot broader, with a voice that boomed like thunder. I still couldn’t make out every word he was saying, until I caught Simone say, “…allowed to be here, David.”
David.
That was her ex-husband’s name. A man that made my ex look like a saint.
That monster washere.
He stood in front of the open gate.
The gate was open.
I was atop the hill, coming down to them, with at least a few more hundred feet to go. But I wasn’t fast enough, because he said something, and she said something, then she was up against the car. Only his silhouette was visible. He was yelling, but I couldn’t make out the words. It was an incoherent jumble, just as it always had been with Troy. Syllables mashed together, barely forming sentences, but they weren’t what mattered.
The tone did. The deep, husky growl. It wasn’t different from that of a wolf’s. In therapy, they told us not to look at men as predators, because when we did, we removed their accountability from their actions. They were not predators. They were people who chose to exploit their power, just as David was doing now.
Simone was invisible, hidden behind his frame, and she was silent.
Simone was never silent.
His fist raised, and it fell, and it raised, and it fell, and I screamed, “Stop!”
Only then did he turn.
Sooner. I should’ve spoken sooner.
“Leave her alone,” I said, winded, still half a dozen strides away. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’ve got to go.”
Releasing Simone, he spun around. She dropped to the ground like a bomb, a thundering thwack echoing through the cold winter night. “You people have my kid. And I’m not going anywhere until I see her?—”
“You’re leaving before I call the cops and they lock you up for another domestic violence charge, David,” I snapped.
The balls he had to mention Junie. After what he’d done to her, after the story Simone told at group tonight, I had to grit my teeth to keep from screaming.
