Forever Man (2 page)

“What? Oh my God, you are such an asshole!”

He took a few cautious steps forward. “You honestly thought we came up here to look at the stars? That maybe I’d spent all this money and would get nothing in return?”

“All we did was go to a dance together,” Natalie said. “Coming up here wasn’t an invitation for you to—to—”

With a frustrated cry, she grabbed her necklace and gave it a yank. The chain broke, and she threw the necklace at him. “Screw you and your presents. Just go. Leave me alone. I can find my own way home.”

Jimmy continued toward her, his large frame silhouetted by the cold, blue moonlight. Now Natalie matched each step with a cautious step backward. Twigs snapped under her feet. She almost tripped on a root.

When he reached the necklace, Jimmy stooped to picked it up. The thin metal chain dangled from his hand. He stared at it for several seconds, then his gaze found her. He didn’t say a word.

Natalie started to wonder if Jimmy was more than angry. Maybe he was a little crazy. Her insides did an unpleasant roll into her pelvis. Sweat trickled down her spine like ice melting down a windowpane.

Girl chased through woods by psycho boyfriend. Didn’t this shit only happen in the movies?

“Neither of us are leaving,” Jimmy said, shoving the necklace into his pocket. “Not until we work this out.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “It’s ‘neither of us
is
leaving,’ you idiot!”

Jimmy’s face twisted into a snarl. He charged after her.

Natalie turned and fled, panic pushing her to run faster. She’d almost reached the curve in the trail when she slipped on a patch of damp autumn leaves. Her feet flew out from under her and she landed hard on her side, her breath exploding from her lungs. Momentum carried her forward. She rolled and rolled and then collided, back first, into a tree. For a moment she lay stunned, trying to draw a breath. Then she felt something wet trickling across her stomach. Looking down—well, sideways—she saw a stick protruding from her abdomen, near the edge of her waist. It was thin, no wider than two of her fingers, the sharp tip extending about four inches beyond a tear in her shirt. Blood seeped from the small wound, coated the bark. Her blood. She tried rolling forward, but the stick pulled at her. She cried out. The world spun as pain wracked her body.

“Jesus, Nat.”

Lifting her eyes, she saw Jimmy standing over her, his face pale. “Get help,” she said weakly. “My mom. My dad. Anybody. Just go.”

He bit his lip. “I can’t…at least, not yet.”

His words stunned her. “Look at me, Jimmy! I’m stuck to a
fucking tree
!”

“I’ll get you out, but only after we get our facts straight.”

The ground started to tilt. Would he really let her die out here? Glaring at him, she said, “Fine. I’ll agree to whatever you say. Just go get—”

An ululating howl punctured the night, followed by the sound of breaking wood.

Jimmy frowned, glaring into the forest. Branches cracked like rifle shots as something crashed toward them.

“Damn, that sounds big.” His eyes found hers. “Change of plans,” he said, digging into his pocket. “You’re on your own.” Fishing out the necklace, he tossed it at her. “I hear if you play dead, a bear won’t maul you too badly.”

Panic gripped her. “Wait! You can’t do this!
You can’t leave me here
!”

He gave an embarrassed shrug, then started back up the trail.

Something issued a horrid, otherworldly scream—it sounded like two different animals howling at the same time—and out of the woods burst a dark shape. It headed straight for Jimmy.

He hadn’t gotten far when it hit him. His shrill cries cut through the night air. There was a wet, tearing sound that reminded Natalie of deer hunting with her dad: it was the sound of someone dressing a kill.

“Oh god,” Natalie whimpered, turning her head away from the carnage. “Oh god oh god.”

She had to get off this branch. Her fingers clawed at the dirt, scrambling until they found a wiry root sticking up from the ground. She wrapped her hands around it, gritted her teeth against what was to come, hesitated, swallowed hard, and pulled.

Her scream soared high above the treetops. The branch slowly scraped through her abdomen. Rough bark lifted from the wood like tiny knives and carved bloody grooves into her flesh. Trembling, tears running down her face, she jerked forward again. The wood pulled, snagged on something deep inside her o
h god it HURTS
and she threw her head back, sobbing, yanking, yanking…and slid free of the branch.

Up the trail. A zipper of sharp snaps. Bones breaking. Jimmy’s screams turned to shrieks and then silence.

Run, she thought. Get away.

Natalie wedged one hand against the ground and pressed the other over her wounded side. She’d gotten her legs under her when she heard a guttural hiss. Warm, fetid air washed over her face. Her eyes flew up. There, crouched down before her—

—Natalie opened her mouth to scream. A large, taloned hand clamped over her face. Razor sharp nails punctured her sweaty skin and she was lifted off the ground. She struggled as fangs, wet and dripping with Jimmy’s blood, snapped at the air. The creature made a whooping sound, like a hyena’s laugh.

Overwhelmed by pain and fear, dangling helplessly from the creature’s hand, Natalie had one fleeting thought before she passed out: as a little girl, her mother had told her there was no such thing as monsters.

Oh, Mom, you were so wrong.

Saturday

It was dawn.

At least, Izzy Morris thought it was. Trying to judge time from the hazy sunlight filtering in through the blinds was way too much work for…well, for this early in the morning.

Yawning, she squinted at the alarm clock on her nightstand.

Oh, yeah. Dawn. And then some.

With a groan that was part regret, part resentment, Izzy rolled onto her back. She’d wanted to be up by six but had forgotten to set the alarm. Now she was almost half an hour late starting her day.

She turned her head. Lying beside her, Stanley slept soundly, his face half-buried in a rumpled pillow. Sometime during the night, he’d kicked his foot out from under the comforter, exposing it to the cool air. Once she might have thought it cute, her husband laying there, sleeping, his toes twitching as he dreamed whatever men dreamed. Back then, she might have crawled across the bed and run her fingernail lightly along the arch of his foot. And when he woke, with his sleepy gaze peering down at her, she might have grinned lasciviously, slipped her hand under the covers, tickled another part of him until she had his full attention. Then she’d slowly, teasingly, crawl up his body, sharing touches, sharing kisses, until they were loving their way to lunch.

But that was years ago. Too many years and too many hard emotions. Now the sight of the pale fleshy limb struck her as irritating.

Slipping out of bed, she pulled the comforter down until it covered his foot.

Quietly, Izzy stepped into the bathroom, did what she needed to do, then changed into a pair of shorts and an old Michigan State sweatshirt. Pausing at the sink, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Hazel eyes stared back. Beneath a slender nose dusted with freckles, her pale lips could use a touch more color, but that was a vanity she could do without. Her auburn hair was a mess, though, and using a hair tie, she worked her unruly curls into a kind of controlled chaos.

Before she stepped out to begin her day, she hesitated, her gaze lingering on her reflection. When she couldn’t bear the scrutiny any further, she turned away and moved back into the bedroom.

Stanley had woken while she was in the bathroom. He lay on his back, scrawny arms crossed behind his head, his gray eyes following her across the room. He waited until she’d almost reached the hallway door to speak.

“Kind of early to be up, isn’t it?”

Reluctantly, Izzy halted. She caught a hint of cinnamon from the air freshener plugged into the wall. It was one of her favorite fragrances.

Turning to face him, she smiled. “I wanted to get my run in before Natalie comes home.”

“She’ll be at Katie’s for hours. And besides, it’s your day off. Why not take it easy?”

Izzy almost laughed. “Tell that to the three loads of laundry sitting in the hamper. In between which, I still have to clean the house and get dinner together. So, either I get started now, or come Monday, you’ll be wearing dirty shirts to work.”

“Oh God, please,” he said, a bit too harshly for her liking. “I’ll do what I can to help before I leave for work. And Nat always does her part. That’ll free up a few hours of your time.” He brought his arms from behind his head and crossed them over his chest. “You worked hard this week. You’ve earned some relaxation.”

“For me, running
is
relaxing.” She stepped up to the bed and bumped it playfully with her knee. “You could join me, you know. Work on losing that muffin top of yours.”

Stanley patted his belly. “Sometimes less isn’t more, Iz.” He reached out to embrace her. “Besides, I have a better idea.” 

She stepped back before he could wrap his arms around her. “I’m serious. The doctor—”

“Roger Linden’s a nagging ass,” he said. “
And
he likes the Yankees. Never trust an A-Rod fan.”

“Your weight’s up,” Izzy went on patiently. “So is your blood pressure. And don’t forget what happened last spring.” Back in April, she’d called EMS after Stanley started complaining of chest pain. It had only been angina, but Stanley had received the standard speech about exercising more and eating better.

Of course, he hadn't changed his lifestyle at all—like doctors and nurses, pharmacists made terrible patients.

“I’m fine,” he said irritably. “And I hate running.”

“All right, then. We can walk. It’s still exercise.”

He patted the empty side of the bed. “I can think of another kind of exercise.”

Izzy closed her eyes…and saw that foot again, pallid and fleshy and disgusting, sticking out from under the covers. She had been trying to get along with him, trying hard. And she might have even joined him in bed. But any amorous feelings she had, or could have faked, fled from the image of that foot.

She had been silent for too long. It was as much a rejection as if she had spoken her refusal out loud.

“What?” he said, his tone prickly. “Is there a problem?”

Sighing, she opened her eyes. “No, there’s no problem. It’s just—”

“Just what, Iz?” He leaned forward. “Just what exactly is going on? Explain it to me, will you, because I sure as shit don’t understand.”

Izzy opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. How did you tell someone you’d been with for almost twenty-five years that you weren’t sure if you loved him anymore?

She couldn’t do it. ‘Sticks and stones’ be damned: sometimes words did hurt.

“Look,” she said. “I’m going for my run. We can talk about it after I get back.”

“It?” he asked incredulously. “What the hell is
it
?”

“Please, I don’t want to fight.”

Stanley continued as if he hadn't heard her. His hands were balled into fists. “How about I tell
you
what ‘it’ is? ‘It’ is the fact that I want to have sex and you don’t want to have anything to do with ‘it.’”

“That’s an oversimplification—”

“That’s a goddamn fact,” he snapped, his face was hot with anger.

“It’s not about the sex,” Izzy said, her eyes meeting his. “It’s about love. It’s about sharing. Not just getting your rocks off.” She turned toward the door. “I tried, Stanley. I tried to get us to go running. To do something together, something other than…that. And not to make too fine a point, you’re the one who turned me down first.”

“God, when did you become such a bitch?”

“When you started caring more about yourself than us,” she said, slamming the bedroom door shut on her way out.

At the front door, Izzy laced up her running shoes, shoved her cell into her pocket, and inserted the earbuds of her iPod. Then she was outside and running.

While Green Day waited for September to end, she headed west on Windmere, each long, leisurely stride carrying her further from her fight with Stanley.

The early morning air was chilly. On either side of Windmere, large maples shaded the lane, blocking what meager warmth the sun might have provided. Identical two-story bungalows lounged indolently behind the trees. The houses had been young once, vibrant, brought to life by families living and loving in them. Now, most showed their age. Where the paint had peeled away, bare wood dotted their skin like liver spots. Boards sagged here and there. And every so often, there was the occasional angry cataract of a boarded-up window.

On her iPod, Aerosmith replaced Green Day. Steven Tyler launched into a tale about child abuse and a young girl who couldn’t take it anymore. Izzy skipped it. Loved the song, but she had to be in the right mood for the subject.

The shuffler brought up an old Moody Blues tune. She breathed deeply, wanted to clear her head of negative thoughts. Warmth flowed into her legs as her muscles loosened up. She pushed herself, lengthened her strides. Four more miles.

Izzy veered right onto Overbrook. Her route carried her past Wooliver Park, a small rectangular patch of grass that sported a three-person swing set, a slide, and a merry-go-round with the base painted brick red. A halo of wood chips ringed each play set: modern-day guardian angels for the overly daring or the eagerly litigious. Modest steel benches flanked either end of the park, giving parents a place to sit and watch their children play.

Before she’d discovered dresses and dating, Nat had loved to visit Wooliver Park. As a family, they would walk the short distance to the playground. Izzy and Stanley would sit together on a bench, sometimes holding hands, sometimes simply talking about their respective days, while Nat scurried from swing to slide and back again. Then it would be time for the merry-go-round. Stanley would grab the steel handles and spin Nat around and around until she was laughing so hard he had to stop so she could breathe. And, like any kid, she’d want to do it all over again.