On Tenterhooks (3 page)

“I’d
like
that .
.
. a
lot
,” she
smiled
. She took a business card from her pocket, jotted on it and handed it to him
.
“
Here
.
My
home number is on
the back
.
I’ll supply the dog and the map of the old borrow pits off of
I-
29
. Y
ou supply the wheels.”

Steve laughed
.
“You got it!” he replied
.
“But
afterward, we’re taking it through the car wash
!”

That was ten years ago
.
Together
,
they found a rare balance.
Julie was attracted to his straightforward, dedicated approach to life
.
If he wanted something, he would focus an
d achieve it
.
For Steve, Julie had a zeal for spontaneity
and fun that
he found captivating
. B
eing near her when she laughed or cried
was magnetic
.
They
had spent a decade
building a life together
—
the home was established, the careers were solid
.
They
were
talking about
starting a
family.
They’d even starting saving to build a dream home. There wasn’t much in there yet,
because they had preferred to spend much of their disposable income on vacations and time away from the pressures of work
.

F
ive weeks ago, that
had
all ended
.
There was no cliché about the accident
.
There
were
n
o
noisy
rain
drops
, no faulty brakes; just Julie trying to make her way home on a Thursday night
.
That
,
and the
drunk
who ran the red light and smashed int
o her sedan on the driver
’s
side
with enough force to kill her instantly
.

Steve never went to the scene, but he could imagine from
the police description that
the
familiar
Cautela
logo
was no longer visible on
driver
’s
side door
.
The details of the crash report were enough to seed his recurring nightmare
.
The
drunk who killed her
had been
a retired schoo
l-bus driver,
n
ot the
evil
figure
from
his nightmare
.
The glass
-
like shrapnel in his skin, the blaring bass beats of the music booming
into
his ears
, the
metallic taste of electricity on his tongue
—
all of it seeme
d so tangible. It
was unlike any other
dream
he had ever had. He’d wake up screaming himself h
oarse, sweating and clutching
pillows with white-knuckle fear.
What had she felt at those last seconds? Had she seen the other car coming?

Julie’s
office
told Steve
that they would
begin the process
first on the criminal suit
and involve him
later
in the civil suit
.
S
ince Steve wasn’t at the scene,
all he could do was answer the p
olice questions about Julie’s health and habits
.
Her health was excellent; she was drug-free and
her alcohol was limited to the weekend bottle of wine they’d share
.
She’d
been an
active, fit and outgoing woman,
a victim of circumstance
.
The detective who interviewed Steve the day
after the accident knew it.

Since
the interview
,
Steve
had
had
little contact with the p
olice or
Cautela
.
He had been able to cut them out along with the rest o
f the world
.
He divided most of his time between the couch and the bed
.
He wept openly and often
.
The recurring nightmare
chased away
any
rest
. E
ach day became a monotonous routine of
broken sleep
and bouts
of
grief.
Smiles, even the faked ones, were rare and painful.

Trips to the grocery store were automatic
.
He restocked the items that would sustain him with litt
le
effort on his part
:  milk and cereal,
canned spaghetti
, bread
.

Behind his glasses, his eyes were puffy and bloodshot
,
accented with
dark circles
.
His normally clean-shaven face was stubbly with two weeks
’
worth of growth
.
The
beard was salt and pepper grey
—
like his temples
.
Steve
stared at it in the bathroom mirror.

For years, Julie had tried to get him to give up the clean look
,
mix it up a little to make himself more “sexy.” 
Steve
had refused, thinking it made him look “unprofessional.”  As he surveyed himself in the mirror, he knew she would have approved of the stubble
d
look
.
He could
imagine what she’d say:

“Sweetie, the beard is hot
.
I’m serious!  It looks
great!
  But you need to do something about the red eyes
.
And you need a haircut
.
And a shower wouldn’t hurt
,
either
.
”
And then that wonderful grin
.

He laughed with
the memory of her
, staring at himself in the mirror
.
But it was
weak laughter
.
Like
everything else in recent memory, it turned into a silent sobbing.

Chapter
3

Abby cursed her luck again as the university marching band finished playing
the school fight song
for the fourth time. It was only the beginning of the third quarter, so she knew she’d have to listen to it several more times before the game ended. The brass was clanging in her ears, even through her thick earmuffs
.
She sat in the bottom row of the bleachers, directly in front of the
band.

I have GOT to start leaving home earlier. This is ridiculous!

She
had
arrived at Botten Field
too late to get a good seat, which she defined as anything above the
level of the
band
.
Looking behind her into the stands, she saw a sea of blue and silver. Southwest Texas Tech’s school colors were well-represented. It was a home game, with the Armadillos on a major winning streak
and t
he S Tech crowd came out in droves to support a team that
,
until last year
,
had been the division underdog.

She knew that her brother
,
Zack
,
was a major reason the team had been able to dig itself out of its decade-old losing streak
.
He was young for a quarterback, only a sophomore, but age didn’t deny his talent
.
He could throw
farther
, run faster and call plays better than his older teammates
.
Fortunately for him, and the S Tech fans, his coach believed in playing talent over seniority.

“Coddle with your mommies or cuddle with your girlfriends, I don’t care.
O
ut here, we play football.”

Abby was proud of Zack
.
He’d accomplished so much already during his short time in college
.
Grades in his pre-vet classes were steady and strong
,
and his football reputation opened doors for him wherever he went
.
He always made sure to include his “li
’
l sis” whenever he could, and Abby adored him for it. H
e
was already a big man on campus
,
and her frequent visits got her close to living the college life before she was out of high school.

She loved these home games
.
The cold biting air and sting of the metal railing on her bare hands was exciting
.
The frigid
aluminum
bleachers made her feel like she was perched on the tip of an iceberg, but she didn’t care. She could smell the burned buttery popcorn and cheap hot dogs piled high with canned chili
.
She heard the echo of the announcer
’s voice,
as it rang across the open expanse of the field between plays
.
She even enjoyed the fight songs from the band when the trumpet wasn’t located immediately behind her head. The football games filled her senses like nothing else she’d experienced in her 18 years. Everywhere around her were things to see, hear, smell, taste and feel.

She hadn’t missed a home game yet
.
She’d
tackle
the
hour-
long commute to cheer Zack on even when her parents couldn’t make it
.
When they did come, she’d drive herself
,
because
Mom
and
Dad
didn’t care to stay for the
late-
hour victory parties
.

She had even traveled out of state for two away games
.
Losing their home field advantage hadn’t slowed
the team
down
,
and Abby had cheered twice as loud and twice as obnoxiously to make up for the smaller Armadillos crowd. “Come on guys, their big crowds are just to compensate for small talent!”

Tonight was no different
.
Zack was in solid form
.
He’d already thrown for three touchdowns and had run for over a hundred yards. Their current victims, the Jersey College Devils, were doing their best to defend against an S Tech powerhouse that would not quit
.
Zack worked the field, left to right, and kept the Devils guessing
.

The game was going well, but Abby had something small tugging back in a corner of her mind
.
It was like an itch between her shoulder blades
—
annoying
,
but just out of reach.

Ten minutes into the third quarter
and S Tech was 1
st
and 10 on the Devils 20-yard line
.
The Devils
’
coach called for a time out
.
As the Armadillos huddled around their coach, Abby could hear the
Jersey College
coach screaming at his team from across the field
.
The Armadillo coach was calm, collected and brief.

He’s gonna call in Bastille.

Bastille was the second-string quarterback for S Tech
.
Before Zack had joined the team, Bastille had been top dog
.
As
the lead quarterback
, he
had expected to reign from the driver’s seat during his junior and senior years
.
But early in the past season, Zack had shown his mettle
and t
he coach had bumped Bastille down, relegating him to second string
.
It was a harsh spoonful of nasty to stomach, and Bastille had made no secret of his disgust for Zack
.
On the field, they worked well for the team, but off the field, they seldom spoke
.
Zack had attempted to smooth it over several times. He gave up
only
after Bastille had made it clear that he wasn’t interested. Abby didn’t like Bastille
.
She
knew that he was looking for an opportunity to get back to the top
, and she
didn’t put it past him to be deceitful or play dirty
,
if that’s what it took to get there.

Bastille was big enough to be a linebacker, but he had the speed and the arm to call the shots behind the wall
.
His
giant, crooked nose sat tightly between two tiny eyes
.
He was ugly
,
and he was mean
.
He was fast
,
and he was good, but not as good as Zack.
It now looked as if he would have
to ride out his college career as second fiddle.

The coach called Bastille in and benched Zack for the rest of the quarter
.
Abby knew he
had done
it
only
because they had a comfortable lead
,
and he wanted Zack fresh for the final quarter
.
She couldn’t blame him.

Zack took off his helmet and filled a cup from the cooler. He was mid-field at the bench. Abby was near the end of the bleachers, almost to the Home end
zone
.
He smiled at her from the water station and jogged across the track that surrounded the field toward her seat in the front row
.
He stopped beneath her and
grinned
up to her. She was 10 feet above him, leaning over the railing to hear him over the crowd and the band.

“Heya
,
Gabbs!” he yelled up to her. Sweat matted his blond hair
,
but he was smiling as always.

“Hey you!” she replied. “Bastille gettin’ the glory again, huh?”

Zack smiled and turned back toward the field
.
The teams were lining up for the play at the far end.

“Naw,” he said, turning back to her
.
“It’s all good.”

“Just keep an eye on him, Zack,” she said
.
“I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know,” he said, nodding back
.
“You’ve only told me that about uh, I don’t know, every time you see me! You stickin’ around for the victory bash?”

The referee blew the whistle for the game to begin.

“Wouldn’t miss it!” she called down.

“Staying here tonight?”

She had to strain to hear him over the blaring PA system speakers behind her.

BASTILLE HAS THE BALL IN HAND
,
BUT HE’S RUNNING BACKWARDS
.
THIS PLAY HAS GONE TO HELL
,
FOLKS!

“S’long as your couch is available!” she said.

“Good deal! I got a history paper to do tomorrow, but we can go somewhere nice for breakfast before you head back!” he shouted.

BASTILLE IS LEAVING THE FIELD, PAST THE SIDELINES. WHERE THE HELL IS HE GOING?

“What’d you say?” Abby shouted down
.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a streak of blue coming down the track next to the field.

LET’S GET ZACK THE ATTACK BACK IN THERE BEFORE THIS GAME GOES TO HELL!

Abby heard a buzz of angry voices behind her. At the sound of his name, Zack turned back toward the field
.
Bastille was charging at him, only thirty feet away. He had dropped the ball
,
and he had his helmet in an outstretched hand
.
He was spinning it round and round
.
Over the buzz of the crowd and echoing PA system, she heard the whooshing from the helmet. Bastille’s arm whirled like an out-of-control windmill
.
As he got closer, his arm sped up until it was a blur of blue and silver. The helmet was no longer even visible. Abby felt the prickly pinch of fear at the nape of her neck. Now she remembered.

“Zack!” she screamed
.
“Run! Run!”

Zack stood frozen, smiling at the whirling onslaught only a few feet away.

WELL THIS GAME HAS COMPLETELY GONE TO HELL; SORRY YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS FOLKS!

Bastille reached Zack and brought his whirring helmet down on
his younger teammate’s
head.

Thok

Abby felt the gruesome crunch and saw Zack’s cleats sink into the earth. The whirling slowed
,
but with each revolution, Bastille brought his helmet down hard. Abby screamed
.
The crowd in the stands pushed forward
,
and she was pinned against the railing.

Thok thok thok thok

Bastille’s silver helmet turned to a deep red as hammered it down again and again. Zack’s ankles disappeared into the soil. Abby clawed at the people around her, trying to get to the steps leading down to the field, but the mass of squirming coats and arms didn’t budge
.

Thok thok thok thok

Bastille buried Zack to the knees
.
Under the now
-oozing flesh, h
is
eyes were still open, but they stared wildly, unfocused
.
Bastille’s tiny eyes were bulging
,
and he had a lunatic’s smile as he looked down on
his victim
.

IT’S ANYBODY’S GAME NOW
—
SURE AS HELL!

“Zack!” she screamed
.
She punched out around her
.
The crowd crushed her against the railing
,
and she could barely turn her torso. Agonizing seconds passed.