Fury (4 page)

“No.”

“Neither could I, but I suppose anything’s possible. Let’s see. What next? Oh! I haven’t catalogued what I had to eat!”

“Enough,” I said, setting down my fork. “Fine.”

A smile so wide formed on her mouth, I could count her teeth. She settled in her seat.

“I’m miserable, Finley.”

Her smile fell and she nodded her head in understanding. “I know, Ethan,” she said softly.

“And I don’t know what to do about it. I’m so angry. So, so angry.” I sat back in my chair and stared out her window. “I want to hunt Spencer Blackwell down and do something, something awful to him.”

“Ethan, that’s just not healthy, dude. I mean, I know anger. I’ve felt anger, but I did something about it. I felt it taking over me and I decided to let it go. I can tell it’s taking you, and you have to let it go.”

I looked back at her. “I don’t want to,” I told her truthfully.

She shook her head. “You’re just mourning her and can’t deal is all.”

“No,” I said deadly seriously, “I don’t think that’s all. I think Spencer Blackwell is the shadiest asshole I’ve ever met, and I want him to pay for how he wronged me.”

“Not any shadier than—”

“I told you,” I interrupted, “I don’t want to hear her name. Never say her name.”

“Fine. It’s crazy, but whatever.”

It got quiet and we both stopped eating.

              “I hate him,” I whispered. “I hate what he’s done to my life. I had held on to her so tightly, was willing to give her my kidney along with the heart I’d already given. I never thought in a million years that she would do that to me, and I don’t think she would have, had it been anyone else. He did something to her. I don’t know what it was, but he distracted her from what was real.”

              Finley sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “Jeez, Ethan.” She sighed. “What did she tell you when you broke up?”

I was surprised by this question. No one had ever asked me about the circumstances surrounding what happened that day in the woods.

              My mind went back to the camping trip, to her choosing him over me, to my promise to Spencer that I would get him back when he least expected it.

              “She told me nothing,” I explained. “She tried to appease me, attempted to let me down easily, but it felt like a cop-out and I wouldn’t let her do it. She chose Spencer over me by running to him when I expected her to run to me, literally and figuratively. He stole her and I want my revenge.”

“Damn it, Ethan, this is a ridiculous mentality! Life isn’t fair. Life is far,
very, very
far from fair. Sometimes it slaps you so hard in the face you fall back, you hit the ground with a resounding thud, knocks the breath outta you, but it’s how quickly you stand and fight for the life you want and how you forge that new path that defines you. Ethan,” she said, resting her hand on mine, “nothing is so overwhelming, so dreadful, that it cannot be defeated.”

“Even a love lost?” I asked in all sincerity, watching the window again.
“Even
that
love lost.”
A bird landed on the sill, its tiny head robotically searching for food that wasn’t there.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She stared at me hard, her jaw clenched. She leaned closely to me to drive her point home.

“Trust me, Ethan Moonsong, I know anger. I’ve lived anger, and I had
every
right to seek the revenge I so badly wanted but hear this,
know
this,
revenge is a slippery slope
. The eye for your eye never satisfies. You may achieve your goal but the reward is never as sweet as you imagined it.“

I shut her out. I was unwilling to hear her words of unburden, of relief. Only, one thing burned me with curiosity. “And what do you know of anger?”

“Enough,” she explained, avoiding eye contact.

I smiled. “It seems neither of us is willing to talk about what we really want to hear the other has to say.”

She smiled back. “It’s high school all over again.”

CHAPTER FIVE

              Finley dropped me off at the bar after breakfast, and I waved goodbye as she drove away in her rickety navy blue VW Bug that reeked of oil. I watched her drive away and wondered if I would see her again before she left for Vietnam.

              I found it so odd that she would choose Vietnam, not that I knew anything that even went on in Vietnam, but she was proving to be just as tight-lipped about her life as I was. It seemed we had that in common. I was curious, though, about her life, about her attitude about said life. Maybe it was because I considered her more an old friend than she thought me. Maybe it was because I was pathetic and was desperate to hold on to anything that could distract me from the chaotic crappy life that was my own.

              I got in my truck and stuck the key in the ignition, ready to return home but was immediately struck frozen mid-crank when Spencer Blackwell’s truck sped past me on Main.

              My heart pounded, raced with adrenaline, and my palms started to sweat. I turned the key but my truck wouldn’t start, and I began to panic.

              “Come on, come on, come on,” I begged her. I tried again and again to start her but she wouldn’t turn. “Damn it!”

              I paused, my hand resting on the key, and gritted my teeth. I cranked the key as hard as I could and felt the rush of relief when she turned over and the engine rumbled to life. Tearing out of the lot, I felt invigorated. I didn’t have a plan, but I knew I needed to follow him.

              I took a left onto Main and spotted him two blocks ahead sitting at a stop light. I sped up a bit so I wouldn’t lose him but not so close that he could recognize me. That tingling rush adrenaline gives you tumbled through my veins, but there was a sick feeling in my gut I’d never felt, and I didn’t recognize the source. I chalked it up to the drinking and hitting my head from the night before and ignored the sinking feeling it was something else. Instead, I focused on keeping him in sight.

              He approached the light at Third and came to a stop, turning on his blinker to turn left. I drove past him but kept him in my rearview then took a left at the next street and another then came to a stop right before Third so I could watch him. His light turned green and I thought he’d turn left but he made a U-turn instead, and that’s when I knew exactly where he was going. Ceres Bakery. I took a deep, shaky breath. And I also knew who he was with. Because it was her favorite.

              I took a left then a right to get back onto Main, drove past his truck and parked in front of the flower shop she and I intended to hire for our wedding a few stores down. My hands shook on the steering wheel as I contemplated my next move. All sorts of awful, strangely appealing scenarios ran through my head, which scared me.

              The truck door slammed closed behind me as I reached for my hidden bottle, unscrewed the lid, and took a swig. It burned on its way down, alleviating that sick feeling in my stomach, albeit temporarily.

              Slowly, ever so slowly, I walked toward the bakery. I kept as close to the storefronts as possible. When I reached Ceres, I stopped and leaned against the brick beside the window, knowing they couldn’t see me. Carefully, I peered into the window and saw them. Their backs faced me as they ordered at the counter.

              “My God,” I breathed.

              There she was. It was the first time I’d seen either of them since the day in the forest when she chose him over me. It felt so surreal to me. Her hair had grown out a little and she’d gained weight, probably since the transplant went so well. I looked at Spencer. I bet the bastard was her hero. I couldn’t help but think I could have just as easily been him. I could have been standing next to her in line at Ceres, waiting for our sweet potato sticky buns, laughing and feeling happy because I was with her.

              I thought about what Finley told me earlier that morning. I thought she was wrong. Cricket would have been just as happy with me as she was with Spencer.

I studied them together. She bounced on her heels, talking animatedly, her hair swishing around her shoulders. She used her hands a lot when she spoke. I wondered what she was talking about. I wondered if she thought about me at all, if she gave a shit that she broke my heart, shattered it into a million pieces. She smiled at Spencer and they started laughing. Apparently not.

God, I hated him. I mean really hated the guy. I looked back at my truck and remembered that I kept my hunting knives in the glove compartment in case my mom’s brother Akule, the only one willing to talk to me on her side of the family, wanted to go hunting. He gave them to me for my eleventh birthday. They were beautiful. Two Spartan short swords with leather handles, and I knew what I was doing with them.

Akule is Echo River Indian, as was my mother. She left the tribe when she converted to Catholicism right out of high school, and they didn’t approve but Akule was young when she did and he was close to my mom, so he didn’t care. He would sneak into town and they would watch movies together at her apartment.

He taught me how to hunt with my hands in Echo River style from a young age but when my mom died, he made it a weekly trip to the mountains. We would spend entire weekends up there up until I turned nineteen and Cricket got really sick.

I looked back at Cricket. She brought her hand up to Spencer’s back. He followed suit and tucked his hand into her back pocket, incensing me. Immediately, I walked to my truck and opened the passenger side door. The knives sat in their sheaths in the glove box. I hadn’t touched them in months, and my hands itched to hold them again.

I reached for them but paused a few inches from the handles. My hands shook and my heart pounded.

“
What are you doing?
” I asked myself.

I shut the glove box and sat on the bench of my truck, my booted foot resting on the concrete below. I ran my hands through my hair and rested against the back of the seat, shocked I’d been even contemplating what I’d been pondering.

“What were you going to do?” I asked myself. “
Murder
him?”

I felt sick to my stomach I had indeed thought about just that.

“Mom, help me?” I asked the ceiling. “I’m suffering for her and it’s literally driving me insane. Please help me figure out how to get over her.”

Just then, Ceres’ bell above the door rang out and I shoved my foot inside and shut the door. I didn’t have time to start the truck, so I laid flat against the seat, hoping they wouldn’t be able to see me. I sat up a bit and looked through the side mirrors, my chest pumping oxygen in and out at a furious pace.

They started walking the opposite direction toward the music store. I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for them to stumble upon me, so I slid over to the driver’s side and started the truck in one turn. I sped out of there, watching them all the time through my rearview.

              I needed to sort myself out before I did something stupid, before my hate took over and stupidity started to sound even better to me than it did at that moment. Finley, of course, was right.

CHAPTER SIX

              I decided that night I no longer cared to get myself under control. I decided I wanted a drink instead.

“Vi, one more?”

              “Sure, darlin’.”

I nodded when she set down the glass and walked toward another customer.

              “I’m surprised you’re in here again,” I heard over my shoulder, and I tensed.

              “What are
you
doing here?” I asked Finley.

              “Lookin’ for your dumb ass.”

              “Why?” I asked as she sat down beside me.

              “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I’m an idiot? Maybe because I’m bored?” She sighed. “I don’t know.”

              The bell above the door rang out and we both turned to see Spencer Blackwell and Cricket Hunt walk in holding hands as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

              I narrowed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing. “What the
fuck
are they doing here?” I asked no one.

              My eyes locked in on them as they moved to the opposite side of the large room. They had no idea I was there. They sat together, totally unaware that their mere existence in that moment bruised me more brutally than I’d felt in a long time. I studied Caroline, the palm of my hand absently rubbing at the knot in the center of my chest.
My Caroline
. She had no idea just how much she’d worn me out since we’d broken up, worn my body and my soul. I felt too heavy to carry around since she’d gone from me. Far too heavy. She’d been unintentionally cruel, but cruel nonetheless. So I swallowed back the lump in my throat, a lump she’d put there with our childhood memories, our laughs, our love. The ache. The awful ache she caused me.

I continued to watch her. She was laughing, so happy, and very much in the moment with him. And that’s when I saw it. Saw what Finley and everyone else saw. She had
never
looked at me the way she was looking at him, and I was suddenly sick with jealousy and a terrible, terrible hatred. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck and I snapped. My hands trembled on the surface of my glass and I breathed from my nose in seething anger.

Finley whipped her head my direction, her eyes wide. “Let’s go,” she pleaded.

“Get out of here,” I ordered her.

“No,” she whispered, placing her hand on my own.

I peered into her eyes. “Just. Go.”

I stood up and threaded my way through the bodies. There was nothing planned, no finite idea, but I knew I wanted to get to my truck, the passenger side, the
glove box
. I shoved through the bar door and into the summer night, my blood pumping through my veins. My truck was parked in the space closest to the street, and each footstep it took to get me there felt like an eternity. I clomped through the gravel lot and threw open the passenger door. I’d forgotten that the glove box had been locked. My hand found my pocket to dig out my keys but they were stuck at odd angles, making it difficult or maybe it was that I was too drunk to remove them with any kind of finesse. This made me pause, but my body couldn’t catch up with the thought and I pitched forward, my hand clumsily finding the edge of the roof of the cab. I swayed and the memory of his hand on her neck renewed my fury.

“I told you you’d feel my wrath, Spencer Blackwell,” I spoke to no one. “And I never break a promise.”

I took a deep breath as my fingers found their purchase and pulled out my keys. The key I needed somehow hit home and the lid sprang open, the knives staring at me, daring me. I watched them, waited for them to tell me what to do, but nothing came. They laid still, gleaming in the moonlight waiting for me too, it seemed. I sat in the passenger side seat, one boot still on the gravel, and made the first move. Raising a trembling hand toward the temptation, my fingers felt the cool length of each blade.

The rage still burned in my veins and I felt myself sobering, hesitating.
No
, I kept hearing.
Pick them up
, a voice said, so I did. Their weight felt good in my hands, comfortable. I breathed three breaths before gripping their handles and twirling them quickly in my palms. Even drunk, I could slaughter anything that moved. I was made to hunt.
And hunt you shall
, the voice urged.

I nodded and stood, shutting the passenger side door, tucking the blades into the back of my jeans, and camouflaging them with my shirt. My boots echoed with each step back toward the bar, heavy and dark like the night that surrounded me, like the thoughts in my head.

The adrenaline seared through my body, heightening every nerve, intensifying every sense. My heart pounded like a bass drum in my chest, pressing painfully against my ribs. My skin burned with anticipation.

I reached for the door handle.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a voice whispered, startling me.

I stopped, one hand on the handle. “Finley, go home,” I ordered her.

She stood from her leaning position against the outside wall of the bar, out of the shadows, and walked toward me. Her eyes seared through me. She came to me, stood closely, the heat from her body enveloping me.

“No, I don’t think I will,” she told me, looking up into my eyes. “At least not alone.”

She stood tenaciously, fearlessly. I noted how much taller she was than Cricket and it was a little bit intimidating to me, like what she said was going to happen whether or not I liked it. I respected her and I didn’t know why. I stared at her hard, but she didn’t budge. No, instead, she strengthened her own resolve, her jaw tightening with the decision and glared back even harder. She said and did things with such righteous authority, I felt powerless to her. I’d never felt that way before about a woman. It wasn’t pushy or irrational, it was simply as it was going to be.

My eyes and face relaxed the moment I acquiesced. “Fine.”

Her body followed suit and she nodded once, grabbing my arm and leading me toward my truck. Her hand reached into my jeans pocket, sending an inexplicable electrical charge through me, which I promptly chose to ignore, and yanked out my keys.

“Get in,” she ordered and I obeyed.

She threw herself into the driver’s side and slammed the door shut, sticking the keys in the ignition and turning only once. The engine started, daring not to further goad her. The stereo kicked on, belting something indicative of the moment we were leaving behind us, full of bass and a sharpness so edgy it echoed through my chest and head.

She shoved the truck in reverse, throwing her arm over the back of the bench, and her stare found mine. It was a solid look, packed full with a storm of unspoken words. Without breaking her gaze, she shifted into drive. She held there for a moment, driving her disappointment in me deep down into my soul before finally looking ahead to the end of the parking lot.
I know I’m toxic, Finley
, I thought, but that didn’t stop my mouth from retching awful thoughts.

“You have no reason to be pissed at me,” I told her, practically begging her to speak.

She didn’t say a word as she pulled out onto the road with more punch than the Finley I knew normally would have, turning toward the interstate. I had no clue where she was taking us, but I wasn’t about to ask.

Just make her turn around
, I thought.
Tell her you won’t do anything
.

I opened my mouth to speak but caught a glimpse of her hair whipping about her determined face from the open windows and forgot what I was going to say. I turned my gaze toward the windshield. The light from the headlights exposing just enough of the road to make me nervous at the speed we were traveling. One hand found the dash to steady myself.

“What’s wrong, Ethan?” she asked.

“Huh?” I asked, whipping my head her direction.

“Too fast for you?”

“No.”

“Liar,” she said, calling me out.

I wiped my palms down the thighs of my jeans. “Slow down,” I said, swallowing.

“Oh, now you want to play it safe?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re so selfish, you know that?” she asked. I was taken aback. She’d never talked to me like that.

She leisurely drove across lanes as if traveling more than a hundred miles per hour was completely normal.

“What?” I demanded, feeling alert. The adrenaline had sobered me quickly.

“You’re selfish. And stupid. Let’s not forget stupid.”

My blood boiled. “Whatever, Finley.”

“Whatever, Finley,” she mocked. “Don’t you know I’m suffering? That I’m the only person in the world who suffers? Can’t you see that I’m determined to be foolish, Finley?”

“What do you know of suffering?” I asked, incensed.

Wide eyes met mine and her jaw clenched as she pulled over, slamming us to a stop. Her hair flew forward from the force before settling onto her chest and shoulders.

“I know more about suffering than you could ever possibly imagine. You don’t know shit! So you got your heart broken. So what! There are worse things, you know. There are things out there that would curl your toes to know about, Ethan.”

She stopped, breathed deeply. Her hands white-knuckled the steering wheel as she watched me.

“What- what things?” I asked sincerely.

“I can’t say. I
won’t
say.”

I swallowed.

A few moments passed in silence and her eyes softened. “A broken heart is terrible, Ethan. I know it’s terrible, but it’s also a part of being human. You’re allowed to be tossed about in love sometimes. It sucks but it’s not the end of the freaking world. It’s not worth a
homicide
conviction.”

My jaw clenched at her presumption. “What do you know of a broken heart? Who has ever loved you?” Her hands fell to her lap in a dull thud at my words. Her mouth gaped open in a painful expression, and I immediately felt like such an awful douchebag. I reached for her. “I’m sorry, Finley. I just meant that…”

“I know what you meant,” she said quietly, raising her hand to fend me off.

She brought her hands up to the wheel once more and turned on the blinker before heading back out onto the highway.

              I knew Finley had been abandoned by her parents. I knew this but I was so absorbed in myself I’d forgotten to think about that before I spoke. Now that I was feeling much more aware of myself, I wanted, no, needed to thank her for saving me from doing something unforgivable. I didn’t know where this awful side of me was coming from. The fact that I was no longer living in the fantasy of revenge was more than a little horrifying.

              “Finley, I—”

              “No more, Ethan. Just, just no more.”

I nodded, feeling horrible for what I’d said to her.

              We continued on in silence for close to an hour and I figured out where she was headed. Doris Lake. It was her favorite place. Everyone knew if you couldn’t find Finley Dyer, it was probably because she was at Doris Lake. It was a sort of haven to her for some reason none of us could figure out.

              She took a right on Doris Creek Road and within a few minutes, we were near the trails. She parked and removed the keys from the ignition.

              The quiet was deafening but I dared not open my mouth. We both needed that silence, that was obvious.

I was the first to open my door so I slowly walked to hers and opened it for her, reaching out my hand to help her. Her eyes met mine. The few seconds it took her to decide whether she wanted my hand was excruciating.

We were at an impasse.

This is where she decided whether we were to continue this odd friendship of ours.

When she took my hand, I released the breath I’d been holding and simultaneously discovered that I was relying on her more than I dared admit to myself.

I helped her from the truck and closed her door for her, and my heart beat a little bit faster in relief of her choice. I followed her quietly in the moonlight through the trail to Doris Lake, a trail she so obviously knew like the back of her hand. About a mile in, we passed Blow Lake, the little stone bridge amongst the trail as well and in another mile and a half, we’d arrived at Doris.