We Live Inside You (28 page)

What you didn’t expect was… well… any of it. Not really.

Ava was at the meeting spot, a dusty trailhead near the Wildwood hiking areas. So that part matched up with how you’d pictured it.

She’d stepped out of the car and closed the door. She’d left the headlights off and you couldn’t see her that well. You’d taken longer than expected to reach her, moving along with a pretty decent limping trot, and you began to apologize.

“Hey, baby, I know I’m running a little behind but you won’t believe…”

And then she hit you with the Tazer.

You were already on the gravel before you recognized the crackling sound and felt the fire where the darts had pierced your belly.

For a moment you thought that you’d been shot. That Stump Lo had found the pair of you and you were dead for sure. Soon Scarface would be gnawing the marrow from your bones.

But it was Ava holding the Tazer, and she wasn’t letting up on the volts.

Your right leg was folded underneath your body, and with the next blast of juice you felt your calf pull too tight. Your fragile IT band finally gave with an audible snapping sound. You would have screamed with this new agony if your jaw wasn’t clenched shut.

Ava let up on the trigger. She said, “Bag!”

You gestured towards your pack and the duffel bag, thrown three feet to your side when you were zapped.

What the fuck was happening? “Ava…”

She turned the juice back on and grabbed the duffel. Clearly, she was not interested in conversation. She stepped closer to you and said, “I’m going to release the trigger, but if you start to talk I’ll Taze you until your hair starts on fire. Got me?”

You made your best effort at a nod.

She crouched closer to you. “You’re not coming with me, but you should still run. You probably didn’t even think of this, but Stump has a shit-ton of cameras in his house. Doesn’t really need them, not at his level, but they make him feel gangster. You’re definitely on tape. He’s no killer, but the people who supply him will not be pleased.”

She’d been rehearsing this. You could hear the exactitude in her voice. She was leaving no room for emotion. Maybe she really loved you. Maybe this was some kind of test…

She continued. “You’ve probably killed me. This is what people will think. They will find a letter at Union Jack’s, talking about how you’d been planning to rob Stump, how you threatened to kill me if I didn’t go along with it. You’d even joked about burying me right out here in Forest Park and keeping the drugs for yourself. The girls I worked with last night think I’m scared of you. I really sold it. There are plenty of strip club employees and patrons who’ve seen you staring at me for hours. It will read as stalker behavior after the letter gets out.”

“But Ava…”

ZZZZRNT! You seized up. Too much pressure behind your eyes.

She was not trigger-shy on the Tazer.

“Don’t try to find me.”

Another long jolt with the Tazer and then she was kneeling by your side, properly pegging you as too jellied to lash out. Even in the dark, you could sense she was smiling. She was back at your ear again, whispering, “I did love the ring, by the way, but I had to sell it today. Easier to send off the struggling single mother vibe without it.”

Then she was above you, and her breath smelled like black licorice, and she leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

And you, you sorry son of a bitch, you still wanted it, and when her lips met yours you closed your eyes and prayed for time to slow, so that it would never finish.

But it ended, and too fast, and she was up and the Tazer was left behind in the dirt.

“You’re smart enough to know I’m right. Get the fuck out of Portland.”

“Ava…”

“Good luck.”

Her car door slammed. Headlights slapped you blind and then she was gone.

You alternately dragged and hobbled yourself about three miles before you realized that you couldn’t go any further, that dawn would come and that you were far too savaged for your runner’s ruse to help you.

You made it to a house which looked un-occupied and then found and memorized the street address. You crawled to the backyard to keep from being spotted on the streets.

You drained the water from your CamelBak but still felt Death Valley thirsty. All that electricity…

There was one stroke of luck in all of this. Ava had left you with your cell phone.

Call it an oversight.

Your first phone call was to your Uncle Joshua. He slurred a groggy “Hello?” upon answering, but was alert after hearing your voice. You gave him the address. Said to come to the backyard of the house. Don’t ask why.

He didn’t. You’d run with him as best you could this last Thursday, knowing it might be the only remaining time you’d be able to do that together. He’d started to ask you questions, wondering about your late nights and your hitchy right leg. You’d cut him off and said, “Things are just kind of crazy right now. I met this girl…”

Uncle Joshua had started to laugh and let out a slow and knowing “Oh.” You’d worked hard to ignore your leg and pick up the pace. He got the message.

You hoped he’d pick up the pace this morning. You’d lost a lot of blood. How long did you have before Stump Lo figured out he’d been jacked? How long before Ava’s friends would have the cops scanning Forest Park for a body they’d never find?

A light turned on over the patio at the rear of the house. Could be on a timer, but you weren’t taking any chances. You crawled across the grass and spotted a large dog house at the rear left corner. From ten feet back you could see it was empty. It would have to work.

You crawled in and found it surprisingly plush. You figured this might be a figment of your shock and delirium, but you could swear the west wall had an on-switch for a tiny A/C unit. Even the
dogs
up in the hills were living easy.

You leaned up against the rear wall and set your CamelBak on your burnt belly. You unzipped the pack and pulled out your accidental insurance policy.

You’d broken in to Ava’s place on Thursday night, knowing she was working at Devil’s Point, to bring her underwear back. Ever since you’d stolen them you’d felt weird about it. They turned you on, without a doubt, but you wanted to move past that part of your life, past connecting to people through their things. You had a chance to be with the real flesh and blood girl, and starting out on such a psychotic note just felt wrong.

But once you were in her place, you couldn’t help looking around. You rifled the bag she had packed for your trip, wanting to see what kind of swimsuits she’d be wearing when she was laying next to you on the beach. What she might be wearing for you at night.

You’d been living with compulsion so long you didn’t even question it when you pocketed the thing. She was going to need it with her anyway, and this way you’d be certain that she wouldn’t forget it.

But you could have left it in the bag. It was already packed. She wasn’t going to forget it. Maybe, deep down in the recesses of your memory, you were thinking of Mary Ashford and Sarah Miller, and that twinge of pain kept her passport in your pocket.

Your second call was to Information. They automatically connected you through to a Customs agent at the Portland Airport.

It was getting harder to breathe inside the dog house, and you noticed tiny silver sparkles in your vision that couldn’t mean anything good, but zoning on the photo in the passport made it easier to focus.

God, she
was
easy on the eyes. Too bad she was murder on the rest of you.

You told the man on the phone what she looked like, and what kind of uniquely marketable baby she was carrying. You told him that the woman’s birth name was Jean Christenson, but that she preferred to be called Ava, which was short for Avarice.

He noted that the name seemed appropriate.

“More than you’ll ever know, pal.” You closed the cell and thought of her last words to you.

Good luck.

Your chest began to shake.

You were still laughing when your Uncle Joshua had arrived and spotted your running shoes sticking out of the tiny house in the stranger’s yard. He crouched down and looked you over.

“Jesus! Are you okay?”

In between gusts of mad laughter you managed to say, “No. Nope. I’m in a bad place. I’m going to have to run.”

“Alright then. We’ll get to that. First, let’s get you out of that fucking dog house so somebody can take a look at you.”

It was hard work, but he managed to get you upright, with your arm around his shoulder and as much weight as you could bear on your dog-mauled leg.

Once he started the car he looked over at you, seemingly relieved that you’d stopped laughing. You couldn’t help it—the pain of moving had killed the chuckles.

Your Uncle had a hundred questions on his face. He asked one.

“The girl?”

You nodded in the affirmative then, over and over again, knowing that somehow he would understand: Yes she pulled me into this and yes I was a sucker and now I’m in real trouble and yes I thought it was love and yes I’m so glad you’re here because you’re the only person that really cares for me and the only thing keeping me from falling permanently into hate and yes I sold her out but only because that’s where she’d taken our game and yes I’m still remembering her kiss and yes the very worst part is that if you ask me if I am still in love with Ava gorgeous terrible amazing vicious Ava I might say yes oh yes despite it all Yes.

You began to shake but kept yourself from crying. Your Uncle could tell you’d just dropped over the threshold of what your mind could handle. You kept nodding, locked in. You started to mumble: OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGod….

“Okay, okay. Take it easy. Trust me, you’ve just hit the wall, and you know that’s as bad as it gets. I’m with you and you’re gonna get fixed up. You’ve got to tell me enough to keep you safe, but that’s it. We’ll go where we need to. And soon as you can foot it, soon as you get past this wall, the morning runs are back. And this time there’s no dropping it. No goddamn way. Whatever’s got itself inside of you, kiddo, we’re going to hit the streets and clear it the fuck out.”

He sounded angry, more with himself than with you.

He twisted his grip on the steering wheel and gunned his car down slender curving roads on the way to the hospital. Dawn was approaching and it was likely to be another beautiful grey-green morning in Portland. Could your Uncle really be willing to leave his home behind just to protect your mangled love-junkie carcass?

You wondered at your luck, knowing this man.

He approached a red light, started to hesitate, took one look at you, and then pushed right through.

And you, you love-sick bastard, you finally let shock take hold.