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Everything is going so smoothly, better than I could have imagined.
I arrive at Rosa’s apartment to find the street deserted except for a couple of bums digging through the trash at the end of the block. I pull the car up to the curb, cut the engine, and wait. It takes a good twenty minutes, but finally the homeless men turn the corner, and I make my move.
I pop the trunk and swing out into the warm night. I’ve removed my mask, but my black long-sleeved shirt and jeans are still too warm for the tropical climate. I’m sweating even before I lift Rosa out of the car. By the time I get us both up the steps and the apartment building’s sticky front door unlocked, beads of perspiration are rolling down my face.
One lands on Rosa’s cheek as I lay her on the stained couch in the lobby. She flinches before letting out a low moan.
Considering her size, she shouldn’t be conscious for another hour or two at least, but apparently Rosa has one hell of a metabolism and is already burning through the meds like a champ. She moans again and I launch into motion.
Heart pounding, I quickly wipe the sweat from her cheek with my sleeve, place her keys into her curled fingers, and head for the door. I force myself to walk to the car, knowing that running attracts attention. But I shouldn’t have worried. There is no one to see me run, and no one to watch as I get back into the car and pull away.
I make it through town without incident, shooting Danny a text that I’m on my way while stopped at a light near the central market.
His response comes through a second later. See you soon, doll.
Doll. The unexpected pet name makes me frown.
I’m a lot smaller than Danny, but after carrying another woman up a flight of stairs I’m not feeling delicate or doll-like. It bothers me for another reason, too. I’m not sure what it is, but I eventually dismiss the gnawing at the back of my brain, knowing I need to stay focused on more important things.
By the time I reach the gravel road and turn right, heading up into an isolated stretch of jungle not far from the airstrip where I brought Danny for target practice, I’m feeling pretty confident. If the second half of the night goes as smoothly as the first, we’ll be at the airport early enough to grab breakfast in the terminal before we board our flight to Samui, Thailand.
I’m confident, but not cocky.
I’ve never been cocky, even back before the attack, when I was an athlete who had never met a ball she couldn’t spike or a wave she couldn’t ride.
I’ve always known that I have my faults and weaknesses. I’ve always been honest with myself, and I believe that honesty made me better.
While my teammates in high school were busy blaming a lost game on someone else’s performance, I was watching video of the match and seeing where I could improve. When other surfers said they needed a different board or cleaner waves, I kept paddling back out until I found a way to work with whatever the ocean was giving me on a particular day.
I don’t suffer from hubris, that overabundance of pride that doomed so many Greek heroes to tragic fates. I don’t fly too close to the sun, I don’t believe I can take on a six-headed sea monster and come out on top.
So when I pull into the clearing, where the hole Danny and I dug in the forest floor is waiting, to see the rental car’s trunk open, the driver’s door ajar, and the headlights casting eerie shadows across the mouth of the pit, I don’t assume there is a reasonable explanation. I park near the trees, a good hundred feet from the other car and make as little noise as possible getting out. I can’t see if J.D. and Jeremy are in the trunk or the pit, but there is no sign of Danny anywhere nearby and the jungle is weirdly quiet.
I resist the urge to call his name, not wanting to let anyone know I’m here if they haven’t heard the car pull up.
Ears straining and my skin crawling with the certainty that something has gone horribly wrong, I reach into the backseat, open my backpack, and pull out the rifle. Danny wanted me to leave it buried in the woods behind the cabin, but I refused to get rid of it until after all our affairs were in order. Now, it gives me comfort to have a weapon, still assembled and ready to use.
Scanning the clearing, I don’t see anyone watching me, but I can’t know for sure. Still, it seems like a good idea to check the car. Hunching over at the waist, I creep slowly through the shadows, feeling exposed until I’m squatting down beside the open door.
