PANIC (14 page)

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T
HIRTEEN

H
E SLAMS BOTH feet on the brakes but the car has already torn through the impact barrier like tissue paper, ramming through drums of sand that could stop a truck in neutral. The windshield shatters inward as if stomped by a huge boot and the sliver of the moon twinkles through the kaleidoscope of crinkled glass, the wind breezing softly through wheels spinning impotently in the air.

The air bag goes for both of them, just as she’s gotten out of her seatbelt, foolishly. It snaps her back and lifts her in the freefall, jerking her so hard that her head rams the sunroof of the car.

He braces himself on the steering wheel, helpless while the car tosses through the underbrush, tearing away sapling trees and dead leaves and scattered nests and old bleached bones.

His head pounds, loud and sharp, the only thing he can feel. He can’t see his crushed spine and mangled legs and broken fingers, pinned under the heavy steering column. He can’t see his wife’s tiny frame, pathetic and bruised, slumped in the seat dead from her broken neck. Her head rests on the limp airbag in eternal rest. He can see outside her window as the car tilts over on his side, taking on shocking cold water from the pounding river.

The evening chill on the water condenses on the window but it’s clear enough on the wet, glistening rock.

It’s so beautiful, the sickle moon, glistening on the surface of the water, angry, foaming, churning.

It perches there with it’s glowing doll’s eyes, flashing rubies, reflecting hot blood like lava inside the creature. It bounces on the rock on all fours, the tendrils of its fingers and toes hooked to the rock; it will never falter or slip or come loose. The ape grin is mocking him, laughing at his foolish pursuit like it can’t believe he fell for it.

It bounces rhythmically like a pup wanting to play, its horrible, rotten body a mass of dead vines. It does a headstand on one of its hands, bowing down to the water to let the surface distort its hideous mask face so it blots out the moon. It’s the last thing Nick sees, it’s the only thing he sees, sinking to the bottom, trapped.

It has a barking cackle like a coyote and it watches Nick’s eyes all the way down.

O
NE

S
HE WAS ALWAYS around, but it was like he just couldn’t remember her name sometimes. That’s why he treated her like one of the guys, he told himself. If he has to keep saying ‘Julia’ out loud, she’s gonna get ideas, and then he’s in trouble.

Julia was the kind of person you just couldn’t say much about. When people met her, certain people like the guys she crushed on or the girls she ostensibly competed with for attention, they’d be hard pressed to remember much about her after she was out of sight. She wasn’t hard to look at, far from it, but he was at college with hundreds to choose from. He could do better. They stood together in the shade of an awning of one of the older buildings, facing out onto a freshly buzzed campus square lawn where other students milled about.

At the moment, Julia brushed the stiff fan of hair up onto her forehead to draw attention to the feathery sweep bundled tightly around her ovalish face. For his part, he didn’t do so much as tilt his chin to make eye contact and notice she’d gotten her hair cut.

Of much more interest was the bright, four and a half inch screen he held in his hands.

“Are you listening?” she said.

“Uh huh. Just checking my e-mail.”

She blathered on as he pretended to attend to important classwork, reviewing notes on the fly or whatever it was bright guys did, but his eyes were roaming between all of the pages he had open.

Nude photos of one of the Real Housewives.

More evidence for financial backing of anti-democratic rebels by Putin in one of the Stans.

The correct way to point your antenna to get the best WiFi signal in your house.

The instant he found something else remotely interesting, he highlighted and selected “Open In New Tab”.

She changed the subject.

"Sophomore year, I think I'm going to apply for study abroad. There's sister campuses in Issan and Montevideo, so it's probably better to apply to one less people apply to."

"Doesn't matter," he mumbled. "All they want's your money."

"That's true, I know, but, it's the experience that I'm thinking of-"

"-yeah."

"Know what I mean?"

There was the strain of romance in her voice, another strand he wouldn’t pick up and tug.

“Yeah. Just warning you.”

It was clear he wasn't going to look up and see her, and she watched his eyes dart past her guiltily, a furtive, paranoid gleam catching something she knew he probably couldn't ignore.

Nothing special - just some girl, wearing a tiny romper with spaghetti straps, blousy with little grandma's throw pillow carnations silkscreened on it. The thing hugged her distracting abundance but was loose enough to bounce suggestively as she walked across the path onto the grass, taking a shortcut to the library.

Julia knew that look well, so she didn't have to turn and actually see the girl to know she was there. She could never bring herself to do that, she was already mortified by her own flirting, which by her standards was completely shameless. Already, though, she was trying on outfits in her mind that could steal his glance back.

His eyes caught hers as if by way of apology.

“I’ve got to get going. You gonna be at Starbucks later?”

“I dunno. Are you asking?"

"Yeah," he sighed, already regretting. "Coming or no?"

"Yeah," she said quietly. The word shot from her like an arrow loosed and her whole body relaxed, tired from straining the bow.

She'd said it so fast she felt bad about it, swearing she could see him wince inwardly. He thought he was being polite by not letting on, but guys aren’t that great at not letting on.

"See you after class," he said.

"See you," she said.

He waited until he turned from her and started walking away to give his attention back to the phone, and she wiggled her fingers at him, pretending he appreciated her little kindnesses.

The financial stuff was above his head, and would probably piss him off if he understood it, anyway.

Suspect in kidnap case caught lying to news reporter on camera.

Four healthy zuchinni recipes for when you've planted too much!

Mobile app juggernaut planning IPO for Q2.

Dustin Evan Chenowith has invited you to play Feudal Farm.

In the middle of checking to see if he had any private messages, a pair of kitten heels comes clacking up behind him and passes him shortly. He watched porcelain calves lead up to as much leg as a billowing summer dress will allow, having half a mind to turn his head to see if a photographer was following behind her, by his side. Before he can take her all in, she's gone, walking right past a dumbstruck guy who didn't expect to be holding the door open for a vision wrapped in fluttering cloth.

It was enough to tear him away, but not for long. A girl like that would never, ever give him the time of day.

Once in the building, he felt the phone in his hand buzz, just as he was ready to put it back in his pocket to keep the battery above fifty percent. It was a disconcerting, intense vibration, the kind reserved for flash flood warnings and Amber Alerts.

New Message: 00000

Couldn’t have been a real number. Nobody was more innovative than spammers. The bar at the top of the screen showed a paperclip and nothing else, so he opened the text out of curiosity.

After a few seconds of anxious, entitled impatience, a picture filled the screen.

The frame of the photo was a full length mirror, reflecting a spacious, if slightly disorderly bedroom.  Dead center, with clear eyes squinted and cheeks dimpled from grinning, was the most stunning girl he'd ever seen.

He wouldn't spoil it by speculating on how old she might be, but there she was, so lithe and flawless and tight it looked like you couldn’t pinch her and come up with a centimeter of flab.

Her hair was black, straight and halfway down her back.

She wore a long t-shirt that draped off her sinewy shoulders, exposing a lacy bra that didn't even pretend to support her, black kitten heeled shoes cutely pigeon-toed.

Her right arm bent up at the elbow to her face, where her finger pushed into her dimple, tweaking it with a lone fingernail painted to match her bra, probably her panties as well. She’d stuck her tongue out and caught it between her teeth.

It was just too familiar.

Cute as it was, it felt like he was looking at something private; a memento for someone who'd grasp the meaning of it.

His heart jumped as he felt an urgent body brush against his own.

"Ah, 'scuse me," said the guy behind him, who hunched a heavy backpack up to one shoulder. The student's face looked expectantly to the door he was blocking, honestly not meaning to be rude.

"Sorry."

"Oh, oh, shit, my bad."

He stepped to the side and let the young man pass into the lecture hall, where class was about to begin. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate.

T
WO

HIS APARTMENT WAS near enough that it was pointless to wait for the shuttle.

One more from Julie. She couldn't give it a rest for an hour. To her credit, she didn’t text him during class.

A second message came in and he was nearly annoyed until he saw it was from Jon.

- aunt's away for the weekend. we're gonna raid the bar and party. you down?

- Gotta study.

- you don't 'gotta'. need a ride?

- Nah. Don't worry about it. Maybe next time.

- oh ok. apts yours then. you can bang julie finally. your bed only tho.

- Really funny Jon.

- cu next Tuesday maybe. if not Wednesday

He swiped away and opened the calendar, looking for Tuesday's date. Not that it was important, he just wanted cross-reference and file it away.

His feet followed a memorized path behind the campus and down a few shaded side streets.

wark
-

It made him jump. Constantly looking down at his screen like that, he'd be a terror behind the wheel, but there was rarely anything to bother him out of privacy on his walk home.

Right in front of him, blocking the curved sidewalk path was a Canadian goose, the kind that show up in nice weather and just take over the town like shitty vacationers.

The bird was a big one, swaying its body side to side but not moving forward at all. Its head stayed in place, gyroscopically stable, as its neck moved.

He snickered at it and went forward, but his pace slowed. There didn’t seem to be a point to antagonizing it.

wark
-

"Alright, Jesus," he said. "I'll walk past. That OK with you?”

The goose didn't like his tone and hunched its shoulders, shaking the feathers along its body as its wingspan grew, threatening in a manner so ridiculous he laughed aloud.

Was anyone else seeing this?

He wished he had a newspaper to swat at it, but impatiently improvised with his hand to shoo the belligerent goose.

It reared up, ruffling, its webbed feet planted firmly on its territory of one square, sun bleached paving slab. The goose's head moved steadily on its swivel neck and he swore he could see its eyes draw to slits as it vocalized at him. There was a burst of warnings, half choking, half hissing. Its head bobbed back and forth - the damn thing was laughing at him as it barked its goose threats in his direction while he stood there with the phone in hand as if about to take a picture.

He swished the air impotently again and recoiled, seeing it wouldn’t even flinch; of course it just stomped and warked, making its feathers tremble angrily, choking, clucking, hissing.

He looked across the street briefly.

There was someone standing there, at the bus stop, not paying the slightest bit of attention to him and this idiotic predicament but he was sure someone else must be looking and enjoying the sight of his being too afraid to just pass the stupid thing by.

Before he could do what seemed like the cool thing and demonstrate man’s dominion over all living things, the goose took action and flapped its wings powerfully and leapt up from the ground, beak open and ready to snap; a big, fat Christmas dinner beating itself into flight in the majestic posture of attack aimed directly a tall, pink, featherless rival goose.

The stupid, prehistoric, miniscule-brained thing came at him and forced him into the street to get away from it, which was his plan anyway, and he dashed, flailing his arms to protect his face.

He thought he made a pathetic whinnying noise of panic when he realized it was the squeal of tires: some little beater came flying around the corner too fast to plan for an equally reckless pedestrian and skidded, seeing the idiot fruitlessly doing battle with a harmless water fowl. The compact skidded and the driver laid on the horn and the pedestrian ran stumbling, not looking back to see feathers fly up as the goose kicked up dust, backing out of the path of this even bigger threat screaming toward it.

Only when he stumbled over the curb until his shoulder hit the pole marking the corner as a bus stop did he realize his shoe had come off in his mad dash not to be crippled by a '99 CR-V.

The car screamed off, righting itself but not stopping, honking angrily and it was gone just as fast as it'd come. Too shocked to call out after it, he hugged the pole.

He regained his composure and looked over to the girl at the bus stop, expecting a polite smirk of acknowledgement as he moved back to the curb to retrieve his loose shoe. Across the street, the goose waddled over to a bush to stand vigil over another, larger bird, which seemed busy in roost.

Wedging his foot back in, he wondered about her lack of interest. If that wouldn’t make a little small talk, nothing would.

Was she deaf? She didn't have headphones in.

With those big, bugeyed sunglasses, she could've been blind, too, but she didn't have a white cane with a strap and a bright red tip, either. Probably she was just stuck up, like all the other girls that barely acknowledged his presence.