Whispers in the Dark (13 page)

“Water, food, resources.”

“Did they have to defend the tiny spring here from neighboring bands? Or were the thick-walled towers just an architectural style? Did they have some other use?” I shrugged and hugged my knees, feeling the bubble of pleasure that came with questions like these. “That’s what I love about archaeology. Wondering, guessing, testing. We may never know for sure. Or I might make a new discovery that answers one of those questions.”

“I hope you do. Have you seen the wooden lintels yet?”

“No, I just read about them.”

He rose in a smooth movement. “Come on.”

Bossy. I stayed where I was. When he looked down at me, I raised my eyebrows.

He smiled. “If you’d like to take a look?”

I laughed. “Absolutely.”

We hiked along the river and then headed up a steep path toward the rim. I thought I was in pretty good shape, but I was panting to keep up with Danesh. I hoped he didn’t notice.

He glanced back at me and slowed. “Sorry. We can rest up here on this ledge.”

Of course he’d noticed. “It’s all right. I just—” I took a deep breath. “Somehow I’m not getting quite enough air.”

“It’s the elevation. We’re at over five thousand feet.”

“Oh, that’s right. I mean, I knew that. I just didn’t expect it to make a difference.”

“It’s not as obvious as when you get over eight thousand feet. You’ll adjust, but you might be short of breath for a couple of days.”

“Whew. I thought I was out of shape.”

He turned off the path halfway up the canyon wall, where the cliff formed a natural ledge several feet wide. His glance ran down my body. “You look in pretty good shape to me.” He said it casually, like a fact, with no hint of flirtation, but still I felt my face heating.

“Thanks. I just—I mean, since I stopped jogging, I haven’t....”

“Why did you stop jogging?”

I winced. How had that slipped out?

My first instinct was to blow off the question, make some excuse. I didn’t really want to talk about it, and he didn’t really want to know. When I did talk about the attack, people got uncomfortable. But it was part of me now, and I didn’t think it was healthy for me to hide or ignore it all the time. Plus, maybe this was kind of a test. For me, to see if I could say it. For Danesh, to see how he would react.

“I was attacked.” I felt like I was hearing my voice from far away. It was nothing to be ashamed of, I told myself for the thousandth time. It wasn’t my fault. But I hated being a victim. “I was jogging through the park along the river at dawn. Some guy grabbed me, dragged me into the bushes. Fortunately, someone came along walking a dog, and the dog started for the bushes, barking. The guy ran off before he had time to do much more than grope me.”

I took a deep breath and gave a little shrug. I stared down into the canyon, trying to see it and not that park by the river. “I know I’m lucky. It could have been so much worse.”

“You weren’t lucky. You shouldn’t have had to go through that at all.”

“But I could’ve been raped, beaten, tortured... killed, even. So many women have suffered much more, I should feel grateful—”

He interrupted. “You should let yourself feel whatever you feel. You don’t need to compare yourself to anyone else. People are starving in Africa, and maybe that gives some perspective when our stomachs are grumbling, but it doesn’t mean we can’t feel hunger.”

The counselor had told me that my fear was real and normal, that it came more from feeling powerless than from how badly I was hurt. I liked the way Danesh put it, though. I kept my gaze on the canyon below. “I guess I know that intellectually, but I still can’t help feeling....”

I didn’t really want to name the feelings. But I knew I probably should. Recognizing and admitting them was supposed to be part of the process. “Stupid and weak and pathetic because I didn’t fight back better. I didn’t even scream—I couldn’t. And like it was somehow my fault, because he chose me. And humiliated and frustrated because I let this affect me so much.”

I glanced at him. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, I said, “And you don’t have to tell me that none of those things are true. I guess it didn’t help that my parents kept saying, ‘Thank God he didn’t rape you.’ I know what they meant, but....” I shrugged. “Even the cops told me I got off easy.”

After a moment he said, “You’re getting help?”

“Yes. Six months of counseling so far. It has helped. This trip is my first time away from my counselor and my friends. I wanted to prove I could be on my own, face new places and new people, especially since I’ll be looking for work soon. And it’s been all right. But I didn’t expect....”

“You didn’t expect to need the police the other night.”

I gave a short laugh. “Does anyone? I’m glad I was there, glad I could help. Maybe it will be good for me in the long run, help me feel like I have some control.”

“It can’t have improved your feelings about men.”

I slipped off my backpack and pulled out my water bottle. “No. You’re right, I have some resentment, and it’s not just because of the jerk who attacked me. The police were fine, really, just... paternal, I guess. Lots of ‘You shouldn’t jog alone.’ Why shouldn’t I have the right to jog in a public park in broad daylight? They’d never tell a man he shouldn’t go out alone.”

I took a long drink. “I still get nervous around men a lot, especially if they’re big or muscular, and, of course, almost all of them are big compared to me. I’m going to start taking self-defense courses, but I needed to deal with the emotional baggage first.” I shrugged. “I just want to feel safe.”

“Do I frighten you?”

I thought about that. “No. I know not all men are bad or dangerous. You intimidated me at first, and I suppose that’s why I took everything you said the wrong way.”

“Yeah, sorry about that first day. It’s just that you looked so damn young at first. It was like—you’re going to take this the wrong way.”

I turned to look at him. “Probably.”

He half smiled. “I keep saying the wrong thing around you. I guess there’s no reason to stop now.”

“So tell me then, what was it like?”

“It was kind of like seeing my kid sister running around in the wilderness on her own. I wanted to protect you.”

I snorted a laugh. “Great. Just what every girl wants to hear.” So much for my romantic dreams. Still, the thought of him feeling protective was rather sweet, even if he was an ass about it.

His smile bloomed. “If it helps, I got over it. And I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the other stuff, but now it makes sense.”

When I gave him a puzzled look, he added, “Why you went so white when I startled you. I thought it was guilt until I found out who you were. And why you were so lightheaded the next morning. It wasn’t hunger, was it?”

I shook my head. I had told him more than I realized.

“And last night—I’m glad I know now.”

“I don’t want you to act different around me. At least, I appreciate that you call out before you get too close, but I don’t want to be treated like I’m....” I shrugged. “Fragile or helpless or something.”

“I don’t think you’re fragile or helpless.”

I turned restlessly and paced the small ledge. “My boyfriend couldn’t handle it. He felt—I don’t know, guilty, angry, disgusted. He wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, wanted me to ignore it, get over it. He couldn’t comfort me.”

“He didn’t deserve you.”

I smiled a little. “No. At least I learned that. We were engaged.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. The quick spurt of anger had vanished, perhaps for good. “I’m glad it’s over. I don’t want to tie myself to that kind of man.” I’d said it before, but this time it felt true. I didn’t miss Jonathan. I hardly even resented him anymore. I was better off without him, and I had saved myself from a miserable marriage or a tedious divorce. “I hated him for abandoning me when I needed him most. But I felt guilty, too. I felt dirty, and like no man would want me after—”

He stepped close and I jumped, but when I stared into his face from inches away and felt his hands on my arms, I wasn’t afraid.

“You’re wrong about that,” he whispered. “Men will want you.”

My gaze drifted down to his mouth. I felt breathless again, but not from the altitude or the steep climb. I dragged my gaze back up to meet his. His grip gentled and his face softened. My lips parted in anticipation. Complex emotions swirled through me—gratitude, connection, nerves—but the strongest feeling of all was
want
. I leaned in.

On the path above us, gravel crunched. For a moment neither of us moved. Then his hands slid off my arms and he stepped back. I swayed toward him, my body still seeking the connection.

Someone spoke behind me, and I glanced back to see a man hiking down the path toward the river. He and Danesh exchanged a few words, but they might have been speaking a foreign language for all the sense they made to me. I leaned back against the cliff wall until I felt steady again.

The hiker went on his way, and Danesh blew out a breath. He glanced at me and half smiled. “Ready to keep walking?”

I nodded and stepped out to follow him. Had that moment really just happened? My body still ached with the sexual pull. Had Danesh felt the same, or was I misreading a simple act of comfort and compassion, blown out of proportion by my hormones, overactive after six months of slumber? I warned myself, again, not to read too much into things. I’d been wrong when I thought Danesh was a jerk and a bully. I might be wrong about this. I didn’t want to develop some silly crush that might not be reciprocated.

But as I hiked up the steep path behind him, admiring how the muscles in his calves bunched and moved, I couldn’t help wondering what kissing him would be like. And imagining how I might find out.

We reached the rim and hiked around to the Twin Towers. “Both doorways in this tower have the original lintels,” Danesh said. “You can’t really see the second-story doorway from here, but take a look at this.” He crouched outside the three-foot-high, first-floor doorway of one of the buildings.

I squatted beside him and looked at the wooden lintel across the top of the doorway. Archaeologists had been able to date the buildings exactly because of those wooden beams. They could trace the pattern of tree rings, then find other trees whose rings overlapped, recording the pattern of wet years and droughts until they had a thousand-year record up to the present day. Amazing. And even more amazing to think that some person hundreds of years ago had shaped the log with his own hands and stone tools and lifted it into place above the sandstone blocks of the walls.

I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of earth, dust, and the man next to me. I tried to imagine the building when it was new and possibly some family’s home. But the vision that filled my mind had nothing to do with ancient peoples. I imagined dragging Danesh into that shady, dark space and finding out how his body felt pressed against mine.

I opened my eyes and tried to breathe. “It’s... amazing.” My voice sounded husky.

Danesh was gazing up at the lintel. “It makes you feel connected to the past, doesn’t it?”

I stared at his mouth and gave a murmur of agreement.

“Have you seen the petroglyphs yet, and the peepholes in Eroded Boulder House?”

I jolted. I’d never told Danesh about the lights or the map. I quickly explained. “Do you think it has anything to do with the guy they arrested the other night? Or his kids? I thought the map might be theirs, but I’m not sure if they’re old enough to draw that well.”

He frowned and ran his hand through his hair. “Maybe, but it’s probably coincidence. It’s human nature to look for patterns—that’s how we get superstitions, not to mention a lot of religious practices—but just because a black cat crossed your path and something bad happened doesn’t mean black cats are unlucky. I don’t think we can assume that one guy or family was responsible for every weird or unpleasant thing that happened here in the last month. A lot of them maybe, but not all. That’s too easy.”

My legs were starting to tingle with numbness, so I stood up from my crouch. “So what should we do?”

He stood too. “I’ll log the incidents, but we can’t do much without more info.”

I stared at the wall of the ruin, half my mind admiring how beautifully the stones fit together. But mainly I was thinking about what Danesh had said about patterns. I’d been telling myself I had to date again because I wanted companionship, sex, eventually a family. But some frightened part of me wasn’t willing to trust. I had to stop assuming that all men were dangerous and untrustworthy because one man had attacked me and one had failed to stand by me. I was taking two data points and trying to turn them into an entire theory about men. I’d allowed Sean to kiss me, as a test, but I hadn’t opened myself to him as a person.

I stiffened. I had forgotten about Sean—and our date. Which was tonight. Shoot. What time was it? I had my phone in my backpack, but how could I get a look without being too obvious?

Danesh leaned against the sign describing the ruin and smiled as if he had all the time in the world. “So what made you say, ‘I want to spend my life searching for relics of the past’?”