by S Doyle
A gate had stopped him from getting any closer, but that was okay. He didn’t need to be with her in the same room. That might be too much. Just to be close was special. Only now she was outside the gate, and she had passed him by mere feet.
There were others with her. They were bad. The angel had told him so. It’s why they kept her locked away behind the gate. His mission was to find a way to free her from them. To bring her to the light of the angel.
He should follow her now. The angel had meant for this moment to happen. This moment where she was free of the gate and he could get closer to her than a mile.
But not too close. Too close was too much.
Forty days and counting. For Reilly the number was significant. As a fall-away Catholic, much to her Pop’s chagrin, she could understand there had to be forty days of suffering before the main event. It was the first week in March and the American was now only forty days away.
She liked to count Monday through Wednesday as training days, but Odie had declared the event officially on as of the first practice round.
So really she only had thirty-seven days left. Thirty-seven days wasn’t nearly so Catholic as forty.
“Why am I nervous?” she asked rhetorically.
“Because you haven’t hit a ball in weeks and all the physical training and swing tweaking might have decreased your distance and your accuracy rather than improved them,” Kenny answered regardless.
Odie whacked him across the head from the backseat.
“Boy! Do you not have the sense God gave a grasshopper? Why would you say a thing like that for?”
“I believe in speaking the truth.”
“No, he believes it’s his duty as my older brother to torture me,” Reilly said over her shoulder. This morning, out of the blue, Odie had decreed it was time to put tech-nah-logy to the test.
He’d already prefaced the day’s events with the warning three weeks was nowhere near enough time to work on extending Reilly’s distance, but with the Ides of March upon them, it was time to move on to phase two: iron shots.
At this point, Reilly could see ridges in her abdomen where there hadn’t been any before. When she was locked into the Iron Maiden as she liked to call his apparatus, she no longer touched the plastic strips indicating her swing was as pure as it was ever going to be.
Odie never let her see the computer’s simulated numbers. Not that a computer could be completely accurate, anyway. Wind, surface, the quality of the ball, all of those things had to be factored in as well.
The only way to know how far she could hit it was to hit it.
Kenny drove them to a golf course on the island that wasn’t normally open during the week in winter. Luke, who was once again on the road, had called in a favor of the greens manager and had made arrangements for Reilly to work out on the driving range. Reilly wouldn’t have minded playing a round, but Odie was insistent she follow the very structured schedule he had in place. There were shots he was going to have to re-teach her and he didn’t want her natural game style interfering with that.
Kenny pulled into the lot and saw someone waiting for them at the entrance gate. He parked close and got out to fetch Reilly’s bag.
“You Pete?”
An older man in a heavy sweatshirt lifted his hand to them in acknowledgement. “Yep. Luke said to give you as much time as you needed.”
Reilly walked over with her hand outstretched and the man gave it a quick shake. “I appreciate this.”
“Sure, sure,” he said. “I have to tell you, though, I don’t think it’s going to make much of a difference. I mean call me crazy, but thinking you can play with the men…well, that’s just… crazy.”
Reilly smiled, not offended by the man’s remarks considering that despite his objections to her playing, he was still willing to help her out.
“I know. It’s going to be something to see if I can keep up. But I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. It is the American.”
“That it is,” he said with a note of reverence in his southern drawl. “Golf people down here take the tournament very seriously. Very seriously, indeed.”
“I do, too, sir. It’s why I’m here.”
He seemed to study her for a moment, his dark eyes almost obstructed by the wrinkled brown skin that covered his face. Whatever he saw in her eyes, he must have approved.
“All right then, little lady. You go on and hit the ball. The driving range is off to your right. I’ve filled a trunk full of balls for you behind the tee box. You should have as many as you can hit.”
“Okay. Let’s go,” Kenny directed them.
Odie had brought along with him two walkie-talkies he’d bought at a kid’s toy store. He thrust one at Kenny and told him how to work it and then he took his and started walking out toward the center of the driving range. Reilly watched as he passed each of the numbered markers lined up in front of her.
Fifty yards, one hundred, one hundred and fifty, two hundred, two hundred and fifty. She could see three hundred, but it was looking small to her eyes. Odie walked off a few more paces beyond the three-hundred marker, confident she couldn’t hit him, and waved his free arm.
Kenny brought the small walkie-talkie up to his face. “You read me, good buddy?”
Reilly rolled her eyes.
“What? I always wanted to say that.”
Static filled the air around Reilly as she took her driver and began to loosen up.
Then she heard Odie’s twang through the crackle.
“I’m ready when she is. I’ve marked off twenty yards in front of the three-hundred marker and a few beyond it. As soon as the ball lands I’ll let you know how far it went.”
The static disappeared as the connection was severed. Reilly continued to swing her club, twisting her body right to left and allowing the weight of the club to pull her arms behind her and then follow through.
Kenny set down a bucket of balls. “These balls are crap. Maybe we should go with our tour balls.”
“They’ll do,” Reilly told him. A good ball could make some difference, but the rest was on her club and her.
“Still, it can’t hurt.”
Reilly stopped swinging. Kenny pulled a sleeve of balls from his coat pocket, took out one and placed it on the raised tee. Something about his deliberateness was off.
“You’re as nervous as I am.”
“I’m not nervous,” he countered. “If you ask me your game was fine, better than fine, before all this. I think all you had to do was show up and play your game and you would have done yourself and your sport proud.”
“Translated… you think I’m setting myself up for a fall.”
They knew each other too well for Kenny to backpedal.
“I think you can’t wake up one morning and suddenly hit the ball twenty yards farther, no. I think whatever you do here today will be enough.”
“Not if there’s no difference. Not enough to compete. I know I don’t have a shot at winning, Kenny. I don’t even think I’ll make it to the weekend, but damn it, I don’t want to be a spectacle out there. Some human-interest story the commentators flash to during the breaks in the action. I want to compete.”
He nodded and looked out to where Odie was waiting.
“It’s been a while since you’ve had to do that. Talk about working out a muscle that’s been dormant. Maybe it’s the only one that matters.”
Reilly’s eyes narrowed. “If I find out that’s true and I did a million sit-ups for nothing, then someone is going to pay.”
“I didn’t make you do the damn sit-ups. Pierce should pay.”
“He’s too good-looking to pay.”
She paused and then smiled. Kenny smiled back.
“Make Luke pay.”
“I’ll make Luke pay,” she said simultaneously.
“Okay, why don’t you go hit the ball and see how far it can go?”
Reilly walked to the tee and addressed the ball. She took some time to settle her feet, let her spik
es dig a little into the ground. She wore tight spandex jogging pants and a top which gave her free range of motion while holding in the heat.
Like she’d done a million times before, she took a deep breath in then slowly let it out as a way to calm herself before the first swing of the day. It didn’t matter if she was on practice range with no one watching or in a major tournament with swarms of people hanging over a rope barrier, the adrenaline she felt every time she stepped up to the ball was always the same.
The pure thrill of knowing she was about to do something she did better than most people on the planet was always there. This was her place in the world. This was where she belonged.
On the tee box.
The ball resting in the gentle slope. The weight of the driver in her hands.
It was time to transfer all the energy in her body to the energy in the stick and set a small round object in flight.
Reilly breathed again. She could almost taste the dew rising from the deep green blades of Savannah grass. Moist was a flavor. It combined with the spice of fear churning in her body.
This was good, she decided. It was the first time in a long time she had no idea how this was all going to turn out.
She steadied her feet. Set her hips. And as she’d done every day of her life since the first time Pop had put a golf club in her hands, she let it rip.
“Fore!” Kenny shouted to no one as he watched the ball sail right.
Reilly cringed as she watched it fall short and into the woods. She reached her hand out for another ball.
Static came over the line on the walkie-talkie attached to Kenny’s belt.
“Shake it off,” Odie told her.
Good idea. She lined her body up again and this time focused on the natural motion of her swing.
She swung and hit.
Reilly felt the difference in the impact. The speed in which the club had descended had almost forced her hips out of position, but she’d managed to hang on. She lifted her head in the air searching for a speck of white she knew would be her ball.
She found it. High in the air and moving faster and farther than she’d ever seen it go before.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed, afraid her eyes were deceiving her. The ball started to drop from its miraculous height. It hit the soft earth and bounced grudgingly until it landed in the short grass… directly in front of the three-hundred-yard marker.
Silence reigned as Reilly and Kenny both tried to come to grips with what had happened. The walkie-talkie crackled to life again and it was as if Odie was standing between them.
“Two hundred and ninety-nine yards… and two feet.”
“Holy shit,” Kenny whispered. Then he whipped his head around to stare at Reilly. “Can you do it again?”
Reilly held out her hand and Kenny tossed her another tee and ball. Once again the ball took off into the air with a speed she’d never seen before.
“Mary, mother of …” Kenny stopped as the ball dropped and they waited for the outcome. “Three hundred yards and one inch.”
Reilly threw her arms up in the air and shouted. The driver fell from her hands and she jumped over it on her way to leap into Kenny’s arms. He twirled her about and lifted her high in the air, before he set her back to earth.
“Shit, you know what this means? You know what this means?”
No, she thought. She didn’t know what the hell it meant. That was frightening, too.
“You’re not going to just show up. You’re not going to be the human-interest story. You’re going to compete!”
“I’m going to compete,” she repeated. “I’m going to compete.”
“Compete hell!” Kenny shouted. “Go win.”
Win. The word resonated in her head and settled in her heart. It was a word she knew so well for so long, but somewhere along the way it had lost its meaning.
Win.
She picked up her driver and took another ball and tee from Kenny. More crackle sounded from the walkie-talkie.
“If you two child-dren are done playing around could we pul-leeze get back to work?”
Reilly had no problem complying with orders. She reared back and let the club go, secure in her swing. She watched the ball reach for the sky and fall just beyond the three-hundred-yard marker.
Just like the next one did. And the next one. And the one after that.
She was so beautiful. So beautiful it almost hurt to watch her. The way she swung the club with such synchronicity of motion. A pure athlete. He’d always had a thing for pure athletes.
Her brother turned his way and so he took a step back into the woods. He wasn’t alone out here. There were others watching her work.
So perfect. So beautiful. It made sense she belonged to him. It would be easier if she didn’t play, but he didn’t feel she was taking his signs seriously. It wouldn’t stop him. It was just another obstacle. He’d already succeeded in manipulating another obstacle to his advantage. What was one more?
Still, it would be so much easier if she didn’t play. If she left behind her entourage, he could talk to her one on one. Convince her what they had was special.
Maybe one more try to scare her off. One more signal to let her know he would love her forever.
He lowered the binoculars he’d used to get closer to her, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her name floating away on the breeze.
“Reilly.”
20
“Hey, Tessa, it’s me. I know you’re not going to pick up. But I had to call and say again I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you write me off.” Kenny sighed. “I guess that’s it. Things are going good down here. Really good. Reilly is taking it to a whole new level. I don’t know how to say I’m proud of her without sounding like an idiot. But I am. I know it’s unlikely you would come, but I thought maybe I could get a ticket for you. You could come down and see the tournament live. You used to love to watch me play when you came out to Stanford to visit.”
Of course, that was back when she used to love him. Back when it was something he’d taken for granted.
“Anyway, let me know if you’re interested. My thing with Erica is over. Not that you care and not that you coming here has to mean anything. You could come as a friend. A pal. Something. I guess I can’t handle the idea that we could be something for twenty years and then nothing. I don’t want to be nothing with you.”
Kenny pulled the cell from his ear and ended the connection. He leaned on the rail of the veranda and looked out over the marshland. A bunch of tiny little tributaries all winding their way toward the same river.
A few small boats drifted along the surface. One lazy guy was stretched out in his boat. A pole in hand, letting it dangle in the water, he clearly had no intention of catching anything but a nap. Kenny hated anyone who looked so relaxed when he was tied up in knots.
Turning away from the window he tried not to think about her. He hoped Tessa would listen to the message. He hoped she would come. Then it occurred to him if she did come, he was actually going to have to call Erica to let her know things were over. He was pretty sure she’d figured it out, they hadn’t spoken in weeks, but a man couldn’t be too careful about such things.
The rest was in Tessa’s hands.
So not that bedroom. The brother was in that bedroom. He drifted along in the water past the house and slowly, lazily, as if he was birdwatching, he raised his binoculars again.
The one to the right? Or to the left?
The right. It looked bigger and she would have the best room in the house.
A pulse of water shifted the boat, as a speedboat blew by him, but he kept his gaze steady on the window.
He considered the security and decided there might be a home alarm, but it shouldn’t matter. It’s not as if he planned to get caught.
In her dreams she was on the beach back in Florida and the waves were spraying at her feet. The hiss of the water as it crashed along the sand resonated. Strange, she loved that sound but in
her dream it worried her.
Frightened her.
Not liking the dream, she forced herself back to consciousness. Something was wrong. The spraying sound from her dream was still there. Louder. Real. In her room.
Reilly opened her eyes and saw a figure standing across from her bed facing the wall. It was a fear every woman lived with. That someday the odd bump in the night would be an actual intruder. He was in her room, not moving toward her, which didn’t make sense, but he was real.
As real as the sound of the spraying.
She tried to suck air into her lungs so she could scream for help, but her throat wouldn’t work and her lungs seemed to be frozen in ice. She didn’t want to move and startle him, but she had to imagine he would come for her.
There were men in the house. Luke was traveling again and wasn’t expected back until early tomorrow, but Pierce, Odie, and Kenny were all home. All she had to do was scream and they would come running.
What was he doing? What was that noise?
The questions helped her to work through the paralysis of fear. She could feel the air coming back into her lungs. She waited another beat until she was sure she would be able to make a loud enough noise to bring the house down.
But when she tried to push the air past the restriction of her lungs and beating heart, all that came out was a pitiful whimper.
“He…”
The intruder whipped around. Reilly scrambled against the headboard kicking her legs free of the sheets. He stood motionless as if he was as surprised as she was. He wore all black from head to toe and over his head he wore a mask with goggles. She could see an object in his hand but the shape of it didn’t register.
“Hel…” she tried again and cringed at how pathetically weak she sounded.
“Get out!”
This time he looked to the French doors.
She saw his escape and encouraged him to take it. “Get the fuck out of my room!”
