by Jeremy Bates
“Thanks,” Amy said hesitantly.
“You on your way out?” Charlotte asked.
“Out?” Amy said.
“A night on the town. I mean, they’re not your everyday shoes, are they?”
Amy sniffed. “We’re meeting friends later.”
“Really?” Jenny said. “I thought—”
“Tony, you should totally come!” Amy added promptly. “It will be so fun!”
Tony cleared his throat. “I think we’re going to take it easy here tonight.”
“Well, where’s your drink then? We have so much to catch up on.”
“I should go catch up with Ben for a bit first. Char?”
“Oh no you don’t,” Amy said, touching Charlotte’s arm. “Tony can go say hi to the boys, but you’re staying right here with the girls. I heard you’re from New York City. I’ve never been, and I want to hear about everything I’ve been missing.”
#
Hanging out with Legally Blonde was as excruciatingly painful as Charlotte had known it would be. Amy didn’t ask a single question about New York. All she wanted to do was blab about Tony—specifically all the things they had done together when they’d dated. Charlotte listened stoically, even though after each story she wanted to ask Amy if she and Tony had been so good together, why’d he dump her?
During a lull in Amy’s insecure ramblings, Charlotte said, “You know, I should probably go and check in on Tony.”
“Tony’s a big boy, dear,” Amy said. “I’m sure he’s fine without you.”
“Actually, dear,” Charlotte replied, “we’re quite inseparable.”
Amy smiled tightly. “How long have you two, you know…?”
“Been dating?”
“I don’t know if a few weeks means you’re dating.”
“We’re not dating. We’re just fucking.”
Amy recoiled as if slapped. Then her eyes flashed daggers. “Watch it, you little tramp. You’re not going to last a month with Tony. He’s not into skanks.”
“I guess that’s why he dumped you.”
“You bitch!”
“Maybe it’s time you let your shoes do the walking straight on out of here.”
“Jenny is Ben’s girlfriend,” Amy snapped. “I have way more right to be here than you do.”
“You’re right. Excuse me while I go find the bed where Tony and I will be sleeping tonight.”
Amy tossed her champagne in Charlotte’s face.
“Bitch!” Charlotte said, wiping the champagne from her eyes, then from her shirt.
She looked up just as Amy shoved her hard in the chest. Charlotte cried out, wind-milled her arms, and splashed into the swimming pool. The freezing water almost stopped her heart. She kicked off from the bottom and crashed through the surface, gasping.
Amy was crouched on the pool’s coping, smiling nastily. “Hope you have something dry to sleep in, slut.”
#
“There’s no way I’m staying here, Tony,” Charlotte said. She was in the guest bathroom off the kitchen, attempting to dry her clothes with a blow dryer. Tony had offered her some of the clothes he’d packed, but she’d refused; she wasn’t going to let Amy see her trotting around in oversized men’s clothes.
Tony said, “I’ll tell her to leave.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“She will.”
“Forget it. She’ll probably sneak back here in the middle of the night and plunge a knife in my heart while I’m sleeping.”
“You want to drive the rest of the way to Charleston?”
“Why not? It’s only another two hours or so, right?”
“We’re already here.”
“She’s here.”
“I told you, Char, I’ll tell her to go.”
Charlotte turned off the blow dryer. Her clothes were still uncomfortably damp, not to mention they smelled like chlorine, but she would cope.
“We’re leaving, Tony,” she said, and left the bathroom.
Chapter 6
They were back on Interstate 26, the radio playing a song Charlotte had never heard before, the heaters blasting warm air from the vents.
Charlotte had finished venting about Amy, Tony had finished apologizing for the psycho bitch’s behavior, and now they were in what might be considered their first non-speaking fight. She wasn’t angry at him, of course; he hadn’t known Amy was going to be at Ben’s. She was just angry in general. First her ex threatens her life, then Tony’s ex pushes her in a freezing cold swimming pool. What was next tonight?
“It’s probably nothing,” Tony said, ending the silence that had stolen over them, “but do you know what kind of car your ex was driving?”
Charlotte frowned. “No, why?” She saw him looking in the rearview mirror and spun around in her seat. A red car was behind them, though it was too dark to see the driver.
“See the white van?” Tony said.
It was a hundred feet behind the red car. “So?”
“I think I saw it parked on Ben’s street.”
“You think?”
“I saw a white van when we were leaving. I don’t know if it’s the same one.”
She faced forward again. “It can’t be Luke.”
“Maybe he followed the taxi to my place?”
“And then followed us all the way to Colombia?”
“He drove all the way from New York to find you, didn’t he?”
It couldn’t be Luke, she thought. No way.
But what if it was?
“Pull over,” she said.
“Right here?”
“On the shoulder.”
“He’s not going to be so obvious to pull over behind us.”
“Well, if he drives by,” she said, “he can’t follow us anymore, can he?”
“Good point.” Tony flicked on the blinker and eased to the shoulder, slowing gradually. The red car zipped past on their left, followed a few seconds later by the white van.
Charlotte exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Knew it wasn’t him.”
“We’ll sit here for a minute, to make sure—”
Five hundred feet ahead of them the white van’s brake lights flashed.
“Holy shit!” Tony said.
Charlotte’s thoughts raced, trying to find an explanation for why the van might be stopping other than the explanation she knew to be true.
I’m going to kill you, Char.
“Back up,” she said in a voice too composed to be her own.
Tony said, “I’m not backing up on the highway.”
“Back up!” she repeated, the composure shattering into panic. “He’s reversing!”
“I’m not backing up—”
“What if he has a gun?”
“He has a gun?”
“Go!”
“Go where, Char?” Tony said, shouting now too. “It’s like a mile back to the turnoff. I’m not backing up for a mile.”
“He’s getting closer!”
“Fuck it,” Tony said. “I’ll outrun him.” He goosed the gas. The tires squealed. They shot forward.
As they rocketed past the van, Charlotte caught a shadowed glimpse of Luke behind the wheel.
“He’s coming,” Tony said, his eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror.
“Go faster,” she said.
“This isn’t a Corvette.”
Charlotte looked at the speedometer. The needle was creeping past sixty miles an hour.
“He’s gaining on us,” Tony said. “Shit—he’s going to ram us!”
A moment later there was a loud bang. The Ford jumped like it’d hit a speed bump. Charlotte lashed forward against her seatbelt.
She glanced wide-eyed at Tony. “Slow down!”
“You said go faster!”
“He’s going to run us off the road!”
“Shit—hold on!”
The van slammed them again. This time the Ford veered wildly to the right before Tony regained
control.
The van pulled even with them. The two vehicles went nose for nose for a few seconds. Then the van sideswiped them. Metal crunched.
They swung onto the shoulder. Charlotte cried out. Tony steered hard to the left, squeezing back onto the road.
Charlotte braced herself in her seat, a voice in her head screaming that she was going to die. The van would out-muscle them next time. They’d shoot off the road and crash into a tree. Given the speed they were traveling, there’d be nothing left of them but dismembered pieces.
Tony braked hard, and they screeched to a terrifying stop. He’d timed it just as Luke tried to sideswipe them again, and instead of colliding with the Ford, the van knifed through empty space to the shoulder. It swung back onto the road, then weaved a drunken S-pattern down the highway before spinning out of control, the smoking tires leaving curlicue skid marks on the macadam behind it.
It came to a rest a hundred yards away, facing them. One of the headlights had blown out, presumably when it had rear-ended them.
Luke accelerated toward them.
Tony stamped the gas.
“Tony!” Charlotte cried. “No!”
Tony’s face was fixed in a grim mask, and he didn’t reply.
The van’s single headlight grew into a blinding wall of white. Charlotte shut her eyes and waited for the imminent impact.
#
It never came. Tony swerved sharply to the right at the last moment, and the Ford nosed into a grassy culvert that lined the highway, where it skidded to a halt. For a few seconds Charlotte couldn’t move or think.
Tony groaned and touched his forehead, which he’d apparently hit against the window or steering wheel.
“Are you okay?” she asked him quickly, half expecting Luke to come racing into the culvert after them. “Can you drive?”
Nodding, he angled up the side of the culvert to the highway, which was empty in either direction for as far as they could see.
“Where the hell did he go?” Tony said.
“No idea,” she replied. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”
Tony accelerated.
Charlotte remained turned around in her seat, looking out the rear window—and spotted Luke emerge on the far side of the road.
“I see him!” she said, pointing. “He must have crashed too!”
“Serves the fucker right.”
Tony tooted the horn in farewell while Charlotte watched Luke watch them speed away into the night.
Chapter 7
Charlotte called 911 on her cell phone and asked to be patched through to Officer Dunn in Asheville. After she described to him what happened, he told her he would ask the Colombia police to comb the highway for Luke and his van. In the meantime, they were free to continue to Charleston, given there hadn’t been any serious injuries or deaths in the altercation. He ended the call by saying he would be in touch.
She told Tony, “The Colombia police are going to check the highway for Luke.”
Tony nodded. “And what about us? Don’t we need to give them statements or something?”
“Guess not right now. But if you think the damage to your car is over a grand, he suggested you fill out some forms at the police station in Charleston, for your insurance.”
“This fucking car’s not even worth a grand.” He looked at her. “Hey, you okay?”
She held her hands out before her. “I’m still shaking.”
“He’s gone. He can’t follow us anymore. Forget about him.”
“Forget about him? How do I forget about him, Tony? He just tried to run us off the freaking road.”
“You still think he’s a good guy?” Tony said, repeating what she’d told him back at the Lexington Avenue Brewery. “Don’t want him locked up?”
“I don’t know,” she replied after several moment’s reflection. “I want him to get help.”
“You gotta press charges when they catch him. You know that, right?”
“And get him sent back to prison?”
“You gotta do it, Char. You have to.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything more.
#
At a little past 10 p.m. Charlotte and Tony were driving through Charleston’s French Quarter, searching for a hotel. They passed a number of lively restaurants and warehouse buildings before finding a boutique inn that had a vacancy. They checked in under Tony’s name, then went to their room on the second floor. Tony raided the minibar for beer and snacks. Charlotte wanted neither. It might not be very late, but she was emotionally drained.
While Tony flicked on the TV, she lay facedown on the bed, fully clothed, and was asleep in seconds.
Chapter 8
Amy woke in the middle of the night in a dimly lit room she didn’t recognize—until she saw the trashy Amazonian women posters taped to the walls. She sat up on the green sofa and felt sick to her stomach. God, why had she drunk so much? She couldn’t even recall what time she’d passed out. Steve and John had left by then, she remembered that much. She and Jenny and Ben had remained out by the swimming pool while she ranted about Tony and his slut and—oh, no. She’d puked, hadn’t she? Yes, by the fence.
Amy groaned with embarrassment and rubbed her temples. She spotted her pumps on the floor a few feet away. Her embarrassment increased tenfold. Who did that bitch think she was, calling her out for dressing up? True, she had worn the skirt and the pumps for Tony—but, jeez, what the fuck? You don’t go pointing that out. At least she’d gotten the bitch back by pushing her in the pool.
Giggling to herself, Amy stood. The room spun, and she fell back on her butt to the sofa. She stood a second time and remained on her feet. She made her way to the guest bathroom off the kitchen. She peed, glanced at her tired face in the mirror, then stepped back into the kitchen, where she practically ran over Ben. At least she’d thought it was Ben at first—but she’d never seen the guy standing before her in her life.
“Who the fuck are you?” she said, backing up into a counter.
He moved quickly, squeezing her cheeks between his thumb and fingers and pinning her head to a cupboard. “There was a girl here earlier,” he said, his mouth inches from her face, his breath hot and reeking of booze. “Her name was Charlotte.”
Amy’s eyes widened with fear. “Yes,” she croaked, forcing the word from between her puckered lips. “She…here,” she added, though it sounded like, Ee ear.
“Where’d they go?”
“Charleston.”
“Why?”
“Play. Watch play.”
“What was the name of it?”
“Please, let…go.”
He squeezed harder. “What was the name of the fucking play?”
“Frank’stein.”
“Frankenstein?”
She nodded.
“Where are they staying?”
She shook her head.
He stared at her for a long moment, and his eyes terrified her. She’d never seen anything like them, anything so hard and cold.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Let me go!” Et ee oh!
He reached for something on the counter and swung it at her face.
A burst of white filled her vision. She didn’t feel any pain and wondered what had happened even as she collapsed to the floor. She was still wondering what happened when she died a few seconds later with a paring knife protruding from her right eye.
Chapter 9
Charlotte had haunting dreams all night. During the current one she was at the house party where she and Luke had first met. Luke, however, was sitting on a sofa across the room, chatting with Amy, who was tickling her finger over his chest and trying to kiss him. Charlotte watched them from the corner of her eye and burned with jealously. Finally she confronted them, accusing Luke of being unfaithful. He laughed at her, then dragged her to a swimming pool out back, even though there had never been one at the house in real life. He shoved her in the water, jumped in after her, and submerged her head, drowning her.
>
Charlotte jerked away, gasping for air.
She nearly swooned with relief when she realized she wasn’t really dying. Then she remembered with dread Luke attacking her and Tony in the brewery, trying to run them off the road. Once again she felt sorry for him, for what he was going through, but that pity soon vanished. He had problems, yes, but that gave him no right to take them out on her—least of all try to kill her. Tony was right. She would have to press charges, send him back to prison. She had no other choice. She needed him out of her life.
She looked around the dimly lit hotel room but didn’t see Tony. She glanced at the digital clock—7:12 a.m.—then called Tony’s name, thinking he might be in the bathroom. There was no reply. She was just getting worried when she spotted a note on the bedside table.
He’d gone for food.
Charlotte got out of bed, opened the blinds to let in the bright morning light, and checked her phone for any missed calls. There were none. The police hadn’t called while she’d been sleeping—which, she knew, meant Luke was still out there somewhere.
#
Tony returned twenty minutes later with MacDonald’s, and it was the best breakfast Charlotte had eaten in recent memory, considering she hadn’t had a bite since lunch the day before. After she showered and made herself up, she felt almost normal again. Reluctantly she pulled on her crumpled underwear and clothes, which still smelled faintly of chlorine, and exited the bathroom.
“Don’t you ever change?” Tony joked. He was lying on the bed, surrounded by junk food wrappers and playing a video game on his phone.
“Get up, geek-boy,” she said, collecting her handbag from the armchair. “It’s time to take the girlfriend shopping.”
“Girlfriend?” he said, grinning. “Is that what you are now?”
“After almost dying together, I figured it was time to up the relationship status.”
“Girlfriend,” he repeated, as if testing out the word. “Does this mean you’re going to start leaving a toothbrush at my place?”
“I already do.”
“Well then,” he said, hoping off the bed, “girlfriend and boyfriend it is.”
