by Tim Downs
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
“No.” She still refused to make eye contact, though the man was sitting so close now that she could smell his breath. The skin on her neck began to tingle, and she despised the feeling.
“C’mon—nobody should drink alone.”
For the first time she turned and looked at him full on. When she did, the intensity of her emerald eyes made him draw back a little.
“Whoa! Did anybody ever tell you you’ve got gorgeous eyes?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Usually guys who want something.”
“Hey, all I want is a little friendly conversation.”
“Then you better talk to somebody else.” She turned back to the phone again and willed it to ring. Nick, please, help me out here.
“Now, don’t be like that. My name’s Dorian.” He extended his hand and flashed a too-friendly smile.
Alena looked at his hand and then glared at him as though he had offered her a rotting fish.
But he pressed on. “I noticed you when you first came in. You’re the one who lives up on the mountain, aren’t you?”
She didn’t answer at first, hoping he would eventually take the hint and go away—but he kept staring at the side of her head until she finally said, “That’s right. Now take your drink and go back where you came from.”
“I haven’t seen you down here before. What brings you to town?”
I like to meet losers in bars, she said to herself—but she said aloud, “I just came down to make a phone call.”
“You don’t have a phone up there?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“Because there’s no one I want to talk to—understand?”
The guy just won’t take a hint.
“What’s it like up there, anyway?”
“What’s it like? It’s the top of a mountain—it’s a lot like the bottom, only it comes to a point.”
“I mean, all the stories I’ve heard—I’ve always wanted to ask you about ’em.”
She glanced at him. “Stories?”
“Yeah, you know—all the crazy stuff people say goes on up there.”
She slowly turned on her barstool to face him. “Like what?”
“You know—witch stuff. Casting spells and evil spirits and all. You must’ve heard the stories. Some folks say you talk to animals.”
“Case in point,” she said under her breath.
“’Course, I don’t buy any of it.”
“You don’t?”
“Nah. I figure you’re just a woman who likes her privacy.”
“I was wondering when you’d figure that out.”
“I think people just don’t understand you, that’s all.”
“But you do?”
“Sure. Why not? We’ve got a lot in common, if you think about it. We’re both human beings, aren’t we? We both get lonely—we both need a little companionship from time to time. I mean, how long can you talk to a dumb mutt before you start to go a little bonkers?”
Alena just stared at the man, trying to hold her anger in check—but she could feel her temper slipping through her grip like a runaway leash. “I don’t talk to animals,” she said. “I talk with them—and believe me, they have a lot more interesting things to say than somebody like you. But you know what? You’re right—we do have something in common.” She held up her left hand and wiggled her ring finger in his face; then she grabbed his left wrist and hoisted his own hand into the air.
He was wearing a gold wedding band.
Alena grabbed her cell phone, spun around on her barstool, and headed for the door.
When she reached the street she stopped and raised her face to the sky. The rain was still falling steadily, and she let the raindrops splash against her face and run down her cheeks and neck. It felt good; it felt like a shower, and she needed one right now.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” a voice said behind her. “Let me explain.”
She turned. The man had followed her out into the street. She pivoted without a word and started up the street toward home.
“C’mon, slow down. Where are you going?”
“None of your business.”
“I just want to talk.”
She stopped and turned so suddenly that the man almost bumped into her from behind. She put one finger in his face and growled, “I’m only going to say this once: Go back to the bar. Stop following me. You’ve had your warning—I won’t tell you again.”
She started up the hill again. Behind her, she heard laughing.
“What are you gonna do, cast a spell on me? Man, you’re just as weird as everybody says!” He walked behind her as he spoke, following her up the street toward the edge of the woods.
“If you didn’t want company, what were you doing in a bar?
What happened, did you chicken out? Are you running home to your dogs now? What’s the matter, are men a little scarier than you thought?” She walked as quickly as she could, but he was taller than her and his stride was longer—she could tell by the sound of his voice that he was getting closer. She measured the distance to the edge of the woods; she wondered if she could get there before he caught up with her; she wondered if he would follow her into the woods—and what might happen if he did. She felt something dark and cold crawling up her insides and she did her best to shove it back down and just keep walking . . .
Until she felt his hand touch her shoulder.
She spun around and knocked his hand away, then raised one arm high into the air and snapped her fingers with a sound like the crack of a whip. The woods behind her seemed to suddenly come to life, and six dogs of various shapes and sizes came crashing out of the underbrush. Their leader, 250 pounds of sinew and black fur, galloped toward them like an enraged bear.
Alena calmly faced the man. “Men aren’t scary,” she said. “Now, dogs—they can be scary.” Her arms and hands began to move in a series of mysterious signals that each animal seemed to understand. The dogs divided and flowed around her legs like rushing water, scrambling toward their target, each one intent on its own assigned mission.
The black monster was the first to reach the man, leaping and sailing through the air like an equestrian jumper. The man stood paralyzed with his mouth gaping open, unable to comprehend that an animal so large could propel itself so effortlessly into the air. In midflight the dog rotated its head ninety degrees to the left and opened its massive maw, taking the man by the throat as if it were nothing more than a rawhide chew. The black dog’s enormous momentum knocked the man clean off his feet and sent him crashing to the ground, where the dog stood panting and pinning the man’s throat to the pavement like a croquet wicket. Two of the other dogs performed the same task with each of the man’s hands, while two more attended to his feet; the final dog took up position between the man’s legs, staring intently at a vulnerable and suddenly accessible target. The man lay there, stunned and helpless, blinking up into the dripping darkness, spread-eagled like a starfish on a beach.
Everything was quiet except for the gentle sound of falling rain.
Alena walked over and looked down at him. “Comfy?” she asked.
He stared up at her. “Tell them to let go.”
“You think I can talk to animals? I thought you didn’t believe that nonsense.”
“Please.”
“Oh, so now it’s please.”
The man tried to twist his neck free, but when he did the black dog bore down and sank its teeth deeper into his flesh.
“Uh-uh,” Alena said. “You don’t want to do that. He won’t let go unless I tell him to. If you struggle he’ll take it as a challenge, and believe me—you won’t win. If you try to get away, he’ll clamp down on your carotids until your brain starts to fry—not that it would affect yours very much. The dogs that are holding your hands and your feet, they’ll do the same thing. And the one that’s staring at your crotch right now—you don’t want to know what he’ll do. So why d
on’t you just lie still, okay?”
She patted each of the dogs, then squatted beside the man’s head and looked down into his eyes. “You probably think my dogs are dangerous, but they’re not—they’re just obedient. Now, you—you’re dangerous. You know, in the whole animal kingdom there’s nothing more dangerous than a man with a wounded ego. You started out acting all nice to me tonight, but then you got your feelings hurt because I wasn’t buying any— then you got mean. Then you started following me, and who knows what shenanigans you might have tried if I didn’t have six sets of sharp canines ready to help me out. You made me feel something tonight that no woman should ever have to feel— and I didn’t like it. So I thought maybe you should see how it feels. Got it?”
He managed a nod.
She looked at him for a moment. “It’s Dorian, right? No wonder you’ve got problems—what were your folks thinking? I want to ask you something, Dorian, and I’d like an intelligent answer—not just more of your macho crap. Think you can manage that?”
“I guess so.”
“Why do men have a hard time making a commitment?”
“Huh?”
“You’re married, aren’t you? But you were hitting on me in that bar. Why? Is it just so you can tell yourself you landed some bimbo? Not that I’m a bimbo, mind you.”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“That’s not good enough, Dorian. I want an answer.”
“Well . . . it’s fun.”
“You can do better than that. Dig a little deeper.”
Dorian paused. “I guess if I can pick you up, that means I’ve still got it.”
“Got what?”
“You know . . . what it takes.”
Alena slowly shook her head, and rain dripped from the tips of her hair onto his face. “You’re pathetic, you know that? You’re married—why not go home to your wife? Let her tell you you’ve ‘got what it takes.’”
“I guess I like to hear it from somebody else sometimes.”
Alena looked at him. “I’m getting married on Saturday,” she said. “First time.”
“Congratulations.”
“Shut up. My fiancé was supposed to call me tonight, only he didn’t call—last night either. He promised he’d call me, but he didn’t. Why not?”
“How should I know?”
“You’re a man, aren’t you?”
“Maybe he was busy.”
“‘Sorry, hon, I can’t talk right now—just thought I’d call so you don’t worry.’ How long does that take?”
“I’m sure he had a reason. Can I go now?”
“You haven’t answered my question yet.”
“What question?”
“Why can’t men commit?”
“Look, I was only kidding around tonight. I’ve never cheated on my wife.”
“Right.”
“Never. I swear.”
“Then what’s the point, Dorian? Why the big come-on if you’re not really interested?”
“I guess I just like to know I could if I wanted to. Otherwise, I’m . . . trapped.”
Alena stood up. She snapped her fingers and made a kind of smoothing gesture with both hands; the dogs released their grips and took sitting positions. “Get out of here,” she said. “Tell your wife hello for me—and tell her I feel sorry for her.”
15
Alena, stop and think about this.”
“Give it up, Gunner. I’ve made up my mind and I’m going.”
Gunner watched as Alena tossed a canvas duffel bag into the floor well on the passenger side of her pickup. She slammed the door shut with a hollow metallic clank, then walked around to the back of the truck and dropped the rusting tailgate. Across the gravel driveway, Alena’s dogs lined up along the kennel fence and watched as their master charged back and forth between the double-wide trailer and the truck. The smaller breeds shoved their snouts through the chain links, sniffing at the air to try to sense some explanation for the unusual level of tension and activity.
“You don’t even know where you’re going,” Gunner said.
Alena disappeared into the trailer again. “Pine Summit,” she called from somewhere inside. “Isn’t that where Nick said he was headed?”
“Alena—get back out here and talk to me.”
Alena planted herself in the trailer doorway, locked both arms across her chest, and braced herself against his words.
Gunner gave her a scornful look. “Are you planning to listen to me or not?”
“No, I’m planning to let you flap your jaws until you wear yourself out—then I’m planning to leave anyway.”
“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?”
“You’re the one who raised me.”
“Don’t blame your shortcomings on me. You were stubborn when I met you.”
“Then don’t expect me to change now.” She shot him a defiant look before disappearing into the trailer again; she returned a few moments later carrying a large plastic tub with a snap-on lid. On top of the tub were three folded white towels in tightly sealed plastic bags.
“Are you planning on camping?”
“Dog food,” she said. “I have to store the stuff in the trailer— it draws the raccoons in and they make the dogs go bonkers.”
“You’re taking the dogs?”
“Just three—that’s all I’ll need.”
“To do what?”
“To find Nick. Haven’t you been listening?”
“Alena, you’re just upset because Nick didn’t call again.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Sure I would—but I wouldn’t let my emotions do my thinking for me.”
“Neither would I.”
“You don’t even know where Nick is. Yes, he said he was going to Pine Summit, but that was the day before yesterday. Where is he now? He could be on his way back here right now for all you know—you could pass him on the highway and never even know it. Have you thought about that?”
“He’s not coming back,” she said.
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
She used her thigh to help hoist the heavy tub onto the tailgate and shoved it back onto the truck bed—then turned and looked at Gunner. “Last night I was at a bar down in Endor,” she said. “A guy tried to pick me up.”
“A bar? What in the world were you doing in a—”
“Stop being a pastor for a minute and just listen, okay? The guy was married, but he was hitting on me anyway. I asked him why, and you know what he told me? He said he does it just so he knows he can—otherwise, he feels trapped.”
Gunner blinked in confusion. “What does this have to do with you and Nick?”
“Is that why Nick doesn’t call me? Is that why he took off for Pennsylvania right before the wedding? Does Nick feel trapped—because he’s marrying me?”
Gunner sat down on the edge of the tailgate. “Alena, listen to me. There’s a big difference between your fiancé and a married man trying to pick up women in some bar.”
“They’re both men.”
“And that’s where the similarity ends.”
“I can see it in his eyes, Gunner. Every time the subject of marriage comes up, Nick’s start to glaze over.”
“Are we talking about marriage or a wedding?”
“What’s the difference?”
Gunner shook his head. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart—something no woman likes to hear. Men don’t want to get married—we just want to be married. The stupid invitations, the silly flowers, the rented shoes that never fit—we don’t care about any of it. It’s just the price we have to pay to get you.”
Alena looked at him doubtfully.
“You don’t believe me? In the whole time you’ve been planning this wedding, has Nick ever volunteered a single preference? Has he ever once said to you, ‘I really want this kind of cake,’ or ‘I just have to have that kind of music’?”
She barely managed a shrug.
“That’s because he d
oesn’t care.”
“See, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
“He doesn’t care about the details of the wedding, Alena— he cares about you, or he wouldn’t be marrying you.”
“Then why doesn’t he call?”
“I don’t know—but he’ll tell you when he gets back.”
Alena seemed to consider his words for a moment, then turned away and walked to the kennel, opened the gate, and waded in among the dogs. The dogs instantly swarmed around her, clamoring for her attention, whining and pawing at her legs, begging to be selected for whatever unknown assignment their master might have in mind. Alena stood in the middle of the pack and searched among them like a lighthouse on a choppy sea; when she snapped her fingers and made a familiar smoothing gesture with both hands, all the dogs immediately fell silent and sat.
Gunner had to smile; he never ceased to be amazed at Alena’s remarkable ability to command her animals without so much as a word—and how eerie it looked when she did. No wonder they call her a witch, he thought. Poor kid.
Now Alena pointed to three of the dogs and one by one traced a line with her finger toward the truck. Each dog obediently exited the kennel and resumed a sitting position near the tailgate: Dante, the enormous black neo-mastiff; Ruckus, the scrawny little Chinese crested with the wry jaw and jutting pink tongue; and Trygg, the three-legged cadaver dog with the blue tourmaline eyes.
Gunner looked at the three dogs in disbelief. “You’re still going?”
Alena swung the kennel gate shut again. “I told you I was.”
“Did you hear anything I said?”
“I heard you,” she said. “You said Nick still wants me. You said he might not like planning a wedding, but he still wants to marry me. You said he has a reason for not calling and he’s coming back soon.”
“Then why are you still going?”
“Because I need to hear Nick say it.”
“Then let him tell you himself when he gets back.”
Alena stepped up close to Gunner and lowered her voice to a whisper. “What if he’s not coming back, Gunner? What if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t come back tomorrow, or the next day—and that’s our wedding day. Am I supposed to stand up in front of that church all by myself and hope my fiancé decides to show up? What if he doesn’t? I couldn’t take that, Gunner—I just couldn’t. I need to look into Nick’s eyes and ask him why he didn’t call. I need to ask him why he really left. I need to know if he still wants me, and I can’t wait until our wedding day to find out.”
