Taken In by the Pack: Second Chances (8 page)

“Mm… that’s true, I suppose.” I considered it a moment… if I turned her down, what was I going to do instead? Probably go sit and home and, as she said, mope. I decided that was probably not, in fact, a better course of action. I still had a little money in my savings, though I had to be careful with it. I sighed. “Yeah, alright. Let’s do it,” I relented.

She gave a soft but definite squeal of delight. “Yay! Come on, let’s go!” She grabbed me by the hand, and tugged me insistently towards the commuter lot where I always parked.

I laughed as I followed her, stumbling a bit as she pulled. “Geez, Ang, excited much?”

“Yep! And you should be too! But we’ll fix that soon enough.” She finally quit pulling me along as we got to the lot, since she didn’t know specifically where I had parked. I rolled my eyes with a grin and led the way over to my car.

We settled in, tossing our bags in the back seat, and set off to the mall again.

This time, the objective was not intensive shopping as it was last week. Today was just two college girls having a blast at the mall.

We tried perfume samples until we smelled like “a cheap French bordello” as one of the associates said. We laughed at that, crying “Perfect!” in unison, which only made us laugh harder. We each got a makeover at one of the cosmetics shops, which was fun, though I never wore even half as much makeup as she’d used on me. I even managed to find a cute shirt.

I wonder if Bryson would like it?
flashed through my mind before I realized it, to my horror. Who
cared
if Bryson liked it or not?

From there, we went to ride on the giant carousel. Most people think of carousels as ‘kiddie rides’, but I’ve always loved them. Sure, they weren’t thrilling, like a rollercoaster or something, but that wasn’t the point. They were pleasant, and relaxing, with just enough fancifulness about them to be fun if you opened yourself to it. I tried to let go of all my tension, to just relax and enjoy the soft wind and the bobbing motion of my horse, but it was a doomed effort.

After we’d gone two or three rounds on the carousel, we went to the food court and had pretzels. Angie loved the cinnamon-sugar ones, but I told her (for the hundredth time) how that was blasphemous, and got myself the garlic and kosher salt one.

We each got a lemonade, as well, then went and found a little table for two, overlooking most of the seating area for the food court. I really tried to keep my mind off Bryson and Elijah and the whole puzzle presented, but it seemed like the harder I tried not to think about it, the more it invaded my mind. Like telling someone ‘don’t think about pink elephants’.

I spotted Elijah at one point, coming out of Spencer’s Gifts. That was somehow absurdly appropriate. Part punk biker jewelry store, part head shop, part adult toy and joke shop.

I was still somewhat anxious, but at least I was no longer melancholy. The bubbly Angie really was good for me in so many ways.

❖ ❖ ❖

I didn’t sleep quite as well that night, despite Angie’s efforts at cheering me up; mostly because I was getting nervous about what would happen the next night. I spent quite a while staring out my bedroom window at the nearly-full moon. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, until it felt like Friday would never actually arrive… but of course, it did. I woke to cheerful sunlight having replaced the moonbeams in my window.

Our earliest class didn’t meet on Fridays — I guess our professor didn’t like getting up that early any more than we did — so I took my time getting ready and heading to campus.

As worked up as I already was, I seriously considered skipping classes that day, but I really couldn’t afford it, after the last week. It was just two classes, though.

I tried not to be too badly preoccupied while Angie and I sat together in between. She had gotten past the full-throttle gushing about Josh, and I hadn’t told her what was coming for me that night, so our conversation was very pleasantly laid back. Once we were done with the second class, I headed home to get ready.

I showered thoroughly, including full exfoliation and shaving. I put on plenty of my favorite lotion that worked together with my body chemistry to smell absolutely lovely without being overpowering in the slightest. I paired that with just a touch of perfume at my pulse points.

Then I did my makeup. Like last week, I made myself up far more than I normally did. Jeweled eyeshadow, cat’s eye eyeliner, long-lasting lipstick, blush, and even a little concealer under my eyes to make them stand out more. I braided my long hair, then twisted the braid into a bun, pinning it in place with oversized bobby pins with little jewels on the ends.

Which left me with the task of deciding what to wear. I went to my closet, flipping through every item at least three or four times as I tried to make up my mind. A skirt or dress seemed out of place since I had no idea what the evening would entail, but racy cutoff shorts seemed too informal. I had to find just the right outfit.

Wait… why?
Why was I spending so much time trying to decide what to wear? Who cared what I wore?

I had already put in far more effort and attention into primping and polishing myself than I had for the party; and now here I was completely stressing out over clothes, something I never did.

I had an almost blinding flash of clarity, of self-awareness. I was trying to impress Bryson. I wanted to make him want me.

But why?

Was I just trying to torture him, to taunt him? Or did I actually want him back, despite everything? I leaned my head on the doorframe of my closet, closing my eyes and studying this new revelation.

I had not forgiven, nor forgotten, what he did to me. He seemed confident, though, that whatever it was he was going to tell me — and show me, apparently — tonight would make me understand it. Would that understanding bring forgiveness?

I also hadn’t forgotten the way his fingers felt on my cheek, either. Only now, in retrospect and in light of this small but significant epiphany, did I recognize the shivery warmth I had felt as desire. I couldn’t deny it, even to myself; part of me most definitely did want him back again, wanted to be with him.

I groaned, realizing that I had better hurry now, or I would end up late.

I finally grabbed, almost blindly, a pair of subtly embroidered capri jeans, and a light black-and-white gingham button down shirt that I wore open over a plain tank top. Since I wasn’t sure where we would end up or what we would be doing when we got there, I opted for sneakers instead of pumps or sandals.

❖ ❖ ❖

I took a look at myself in the full-length mirror on the door of my closet, and decided I was satisfied. Still wasn’t quite sure how I felt about all this, but at least I looked fabulous.

I grabbed my purse, making sure I had all the important bits, and headed out to my car. It was a lovely late spring evening, the sun just reaching the treetops. It would be almost dark by the time I got out to the farm.

I cranked up the radio, older pop songs that I knew almost all the words for, and sang along since I was alone in the car. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket — I’ve been told I sound more like a hound baying — but I enjoy it anyway when there’s no one around for me to hurt their ears.

It was a long drive, but now that the time was here, I wasn’t nearly as edgy as I had been, so I was much more able to just enjoy the drive. It struck me that that was kind of odd; wasn’t that backwards? Shouldn’t I have been
more
nervous as I got closer? Maybe it was just a result of my realization earlier, and the faint hope that maybe this would all make sense soon.

When I arrived at the farm and pulled into the area where we had all parked the week before, I was rather nonplussed to find that there was no one else, no other vehicles, in sight.

For several painful heartbeats, I wondered if this had all been a cruel joke, a wild goose chase of the nastiest sort. Just a way to manipulate me into calming down and leaving him alone at the party.
I should have known better than to
trust
him in any way!

I felt the sting of tears beginning to form in the corners of my eyes, when I heard the low rumble of an approaching vehicle.

Oh… or, maybe, I’m just a little early.
Talk about feeling instantly sheepish.

It only took a few more moments before I saw the reason why I was first to arrive. It was my faithful shadow in the red truck. I rolled my eyes, since he couldn’t very well see me do so. Didn’t he have anything better to do than follow me around constantly?

He pulled up even with my car, but didn’t cut his engine. He waved, to get my attention, then pointed at me, made a following motion with both hands, then pointed at himself. Hah. He wanted to reverse our roles so that I was following him for once. Well, okay. Odd, but… well, what choice did I have, other than just going home? Clearly, this was not our actual destination.

I nodded to him, giving him a thumbs up to show I understood, and he returned the gesture, turning his truck to head back out the gate and down to the small country road running along the front of the property. Or was this the back of the property? It occurred to me I didn’t actually know how their farm was laid out, this was the only small section I had visited, and it was a very large property.

As we continued down the road, the heavy railed fence on the farm side just kept going, and going, and going. There was the occasional house scattered here and there on the far side of the road, but soon the old pavement gave way to gravel, and there were no more houses.

Yet still, the fence continued, though it had also changed. Now it was just a single wire at about waist height, with signal tape on it every few feet, and an occasional “PRIVATE PROPERTY, NO TRESPASSING” sign. It was only to discourage people, now, not to impede animals coming or going. I imagined they must hunt these woods in the proper seasons.

The longer we continued down the little gravel road, the more nervous I became. Maybe I should turn around? I didn’t know this man I was following, I had nothing but Bryson’s word that he would not harm me, and I was still dubious at best as to how much Bryson’s word meant on anything.

Despite considering it a dozen times or more, however, I continued to follow Elijah.
Like a lamb to the slaughter,
I thought, and winced, hoping that was not prophetic.

Chapter Six

Just as I resolved to turn around at the next opportunity, Elijah pulled off on a nearly hidden little drive. The gap he drove into seemed like no more than a coincidental momentary thinning of the trees. I wouldn’t have even realized there was a break in the fence wire if he hadn’t driven right through.

I paused, trying to decide whether to follow or just turn around and head home, but then sighed and turned in. Worst case scenario, my doors were locked and I could just throw it in reverse; there was no ditch to speak of, so as long as I could avoid trees, I should be able to escape easily if I needed to.

To my relief, after only a minute or two going down the little road, just far enough that nothing would be visible from the ‘main’ road through the trees — mostly evergreens, so it would be concealed even in winter — one side opened up into a lovely little meadow, and parked along the edge of it by the road were an assortment of vehicles. I spotted several I had noticed at the bonfire.

Elijah pulled up at the end of the string of cars and hopped out, heading towards the knot of people in the center of the clearing. I was more hesitant, but eventually I pulled in, though I sat for a long moment studying the gathered people with my car idling before I dared turn it off or get out.

The first thing that struck me were the differences. While the group at the party had been roughly what you’d expect at such a party — early twenties ranging up to Elijah, who was probably no more forty; mostly white; mostly male — this group had a wider range represented. There were a number of Latinos or Native American types, I wasn’t sure which at this distance in my car, a few black people, even an Asian boy who looked mildly uncomfortable. Ages, too, were more varied. I didn’t see anyone younger than late teens or so, but from there they ranged up all the way to a statuesque woman with long steel-colored hair clutching a walking stick that was clearly helping her stay upright.

Despite all these differences, however, there was a strange sort of sameness to them, as well; I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. As I had noticed at the party, there was a feeling of wildness, of danger. I had thought of it then like a motorcycle gang, and the feeling still fit, though certainly I couldn’t imagine the skinny Asian boy or the grey-haired woman on a motorcycle. However, in a way that made it more creepy instead of less.