another step, into the black hole, and then it was just the three of us. But I thought of her face, her blue eyes wide above grimy fingers; I saw the flash of her pale legs as he dragged her down, how they kicked in terror—and I stumbled on, like in a dream. . . .
I rolled down the windows, wanting the wind. The images had not been this strong in years, and this time it was different, like someone wanted to hurt me. I thought of blue daisies that looked like open eyes, and then I was back in time, back in the dark, like it was happening now and not twenty-three years ago.
B lack water moved like tar in the darkness. I felt it in my sneakers and licking at my shins. I heard them ahead, a single high squeal and then only the creek—its murmur, a few faint splashes. I stopped and looked back at the square of light that was already so far away.
I wanted to go back, but that’s what cowards did, sissies. So I moved on and it got darker. I put my hands out like a blind man; rocks tripped me and the dark tried to pull me down, but in my head I could still see the girl. Then there was pale light far ahead, and I thought I saw them.
I tripped, went down hard. My hands sunk into muck and I felt slimy water splash onto my face. Something moved against my arm and I almost screamed. But I got up instead. Be strong, I told myself, then I put my hands out again and walked toward the distant light.
It was like being blind, but worse. So much worse . . .
A blind man would not have done what I did, and I said it under my breath as I pulled up at Vanessa’s house and turned off the truck.
“A blind man would not have done it.”
I ducked my head and peered through the windshield. Light burned in her house; it shone through the windows and cut into the dark like blades. Except for the windows that had been boarded up, I thought. They were dark and sightless.
Gouged out.
Blind.
T he girl screamed, a long, drawn out NO that was choked off; then I heard a man’s voice, low and urgent.
“Shut up, you dirty little slut. Shut up or . . .”
The rest was lost. A rough mumble.
Then I saw them, definitely saw them, dark figures pinned against a spill of weak light. Her legs scrabbled, kicked up water, and he was shaking her as he dragged her. Her head looked twisted under his arm. Her arms beat against his, but they were small arms. She screamed again and he hit her. One, two, three times, and she didn’t move again, just hung from his arms. She was helpless, and I knew then that there was no one else. Just me.
Suddenly, I tripped again, landed hard, face down in water that tasted like gasoline and mud. When I looked up, half-blinded by the water in my eyes, I could tell that he had heard. He was still . . . looking back. I huddled down, blood loud in my ears. I didn’t know how long he stood like that, but it felt like forever.
He would come back. He would find me and he would kill me.
But he didn’t. Eventually, he turned and kept walking. I almost went back then, but I held on to her smile and prayed to God like I never had in church. I didn’t know if he heard or not, but I went forward instead of back. I could still hear the sound of his fist against her face. One, two, three . . .
Don’t let her be dead.
I heard his steps very clearly, dragging through the water as if he was running, and the light grew from pitch-black to dark gray, until I could see my hands. The light was still far away, but I could see it. There was a storm drain, and I knew we must be far under the parking lot by now. I reached for the wall and found it, slimy concrete, like snot, under my fingers.
They stopped beneath the drain, overlit by that half-dead light. A concrete shelf rose above the creek like an altar, and he threw her down. He looked in my direction, but I knew he couldn’t see me. Yet he stared, as if he sensed me after all.