As I follow Aidan into a new set of woods, I feel hyper-aware of our isolation here. Last week's lesson is fresh on my mind, and I can't shake the image of his barrel aligned with my forehead. I shudder at the knowledge of it being loaded and the danger I had unknowingly survived. I stare at his shoulders bearing the black bag of armaments that will constitute today's lesson plans. My resolve today feels weaker than ever, and dread pools in my stomach. I don't dare guess what he plans to make me do.
We cross a stream and hike further off the path before Aidan settles the bag in the dead leaves and faces me. He looks me over, searching for something, whatever it is, he doesn't see it. "Today, you're gonna have to kill."
I'd assumed we were alone, given how silent it is here in the woods, but the word 'kill' draws an involuntary, "Who?" from my lips. Aidan's eyes widen in surprise, but it melts into amusement.
"We're in the woods, Lulu, we're hunting game. You gotta walk before you can run." He stifles his laugh, and I realize I must have shown a fraction of the horror I felt. He's not going to make me kill anyone; he wouldn't. This is just for self-defense, I remind myself.
"So, what are we killing then?" I look around, and not a creature can be seen in the foliage.
He shifts his weight and wipes some sweat off his brow. "There are a couple of traps set up out here. We start with dispatching them. Then, we'll move on to moving targets." The way he says the word 'dispatch' sours my stomach. He is already, though, opening the bag and pulling out the guns. Mine and his. He hides the bag in a bush and begins to trek in a different direction. I can't even tell which way we came at this point, and I stumble to catch up with him.
He loads the guns as he walks, and as I think about the bag abandoned in the bushes, a new question burns on my tongue. "If we are only using those two guns, what else was in that duffel bag? It sounded heavy, and it's a very obvious bag when all you're trying to conceal is two guns."
"It's not just two guns. It's their cases and sights, and a double-barreled shotgun, but you're better off with just the pistol - it's easier to hide and more useful in a dangerous situation. I brought the other things for if the need arose," he speaks while loading the second gun, his already in the holster that, once again, I failed to notice is around his waist.
I'm still not sure of how he knows which direction to walk in, until I hear it - a high-pitched squeaking noise in the distance. The creature sounds distressed, and for some reason, it unnerves me. Then I see it, a small ball of brown fur, tugging and pulling anxiously against a snare. Its secured foot is extended behind it like a ballerina, no more like a damned soul. Its squeaking actually quiets the closer we get, and I wonder if it is because it knows the danger we present. That its cries have acted as a beacon, guiding us to it in its most vulnerable moment.
I am close enough now to look into its eyes, and I feel so wrong being here. It can't run, it has no chance to escape, and yet its eyes seem trusting. I want to yell, "Don't!" at it, as if the language barrier could disappear long enough to provide this creature a warning. But there's nothing I can do to stop what happens next.
I'm looking into its eyes, so soft and innocent; the bullet rips through its skull with cruel precision, leaving a void in its wake. All that's left of the bunny is a puddle of red, and as I stare at the growing puddle before me, I feel Aidan press the cold metal of my gun into my hands. "Your turn," he whispers.
I turn to him questioningly. "You already killed him."
He's at the snare pulling the bunny loose. "Her," he corrects. This doesn't make me feel better. "There's another snare down the path." He's detached the bunny and is carrying it by the foot as he walks in the direction of his next snare. I listen closely and wonder why I cannot seem to hear what he does. Suddenly, he stops; this time, the squeaking never comes, and I wonder if he is lost. As Aidan stares ahead, I then see why. There is a snake in the leaves; it has a bulge just beyond its head, and the snare behind it is empty.
The sight of the snake, actually, makes using my gun a little easier. This is not a trapped animal, nor is it innocent. It's noticed us as a threat, and I don't know if it's venomous, but I don't care to find out. I load the chamber, raise the pink barrel of my gun, line my sight with its current path, and let the bullet loose. It spirals out of the pistol violently, kicking back into me, but my arms are firm, my sight locked on the serpent. In an instant, it is more still than the autumn wind, and while it bleeds just the same, I feel a strange gratification in avenging the second bunny.
"Nice," is all Aidan has to offer in response. He inspects the dead snake. I can tell it is quite 'dispatched' by how limply it dangles from his hand. After a second of looking around, this time quite lost, he says, "I guess, let's find some bigger game now."
"Hold up, what is the plan here, Aidan? What are you going to do with the animals we've already killed?" I ask, I don't feel right about killing more animals for training. Maybe he wants to eat them, but I can't imagine eating a snake. That one we are leaving here, I don't care.
He stops and turns to me, "Well, I was going to keep the rabbit feet and make them into good luck charms, but the snake kind of made it less sentimental."
"What?" My jaw has dropped in utter disbelief. I take a deep breath, but it fails to compose me. "What about hunting rabbits and saving their feet is sentimental? That sounds sick, Aidan."
Now, he looks caught off guard. "I was going to give you the charm of the one I shot, and I would keep the feet of yours. My rabbit still has 2 feet, so I can make two charms - it just feels less special."
"Aidan, why're we hunting larger game, if your entire plan for today's 'lesson' was hunting rabbits? This isn't exactly a romantic Friday night for me," I say.
He's bristled now and ready for a fight, but his next words hurt. "You're not ready."
"Not ready for what, Aidan? I'm learning to use the gun for defense. I just defended myself. Lesson over, I'm ready to go home." My voice is firm, and the tension here builds an anger in me I haven't ever felt for Aidan before. Maybe it was how reckless he was during our last lesson, but finally, the emotion has taken over me.
He scoffs, "It was a snake." As if to help me remember better, he tosses the limp vermin in my direction. I jump back as it lands right before my feet. "It wasn't even moving that fast; you need something more realistic to the threat you are going to face."
"What?!" I shout, "Like a bear?! You want me to fight a wolf?! Aidan, I have done what you wanted; this was far enough for me. I want to go home now." There are tears on my face, but I'm determined to say my piece. "I tolerated you yelling at me last time, but we are in the middle of nowhere, killing innocent animals. If you won't lead us out of here and take me home, I will steal your car keys and ditch your ass here." I am panting and furious, and I want to shout at him about last time's loaded gun, but I don't want to start a fire on old kindling, especially in a forgotten wood.
I look up, and there's an expression on Aidan's face I haven't quite seen before; it looks like a mix of respect and love, but also shock and anxiety. I don't know which emotion to believe. And I turn around to leave him, when I hear the thump of the rabbit on the underbrush. In a weak voice, he implores, "Lulu, please, turn around. I never meant to make you cry. I'm so sorry my words did that. I'm worried about you and scared of what might happen if I can't be there to keep you safe."
I haven't taken another step, and I guess this reassures him enough, because he approaches me. Wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling his face into my hair, he murmurs, "Please don't be upset, my sweet. No one loves you as much as I do, and I wouldn’t be the same if you left. I'll buy you whatever expensive crap from Starbucks you want tomorrow. Please just stay?" The fire that had been building in me is extinguished by the anguish in his tone. The last thing I want is to hurt him, even if he hurts me. I don't have it in me to see him in pain.
He turns me to face him, and the lonesome look in his eyes melts me, and I feel awful. I know he cares about me, maybe I should have been nicer? The tears fall faster as I eke out, "I’m sorry. You’ve just been moody, and I- I don't know... Like the other day with the new kid and the gun last week..." It comes out in a sigh, like a deflating balloon. I feel raw and exposed at this moment.
He simply grabs my chin and makes me look into his eyes. "Look, I got a bit jealous, but I know that you wouldn't leave me for someone fresh. And I know you’re a strong person, together we'll stop this world from turning. Besides, I may have taken the 'training' thing too far. You haven't really seen me that way, and I can be a little tense, I guess."
My hand strokes the one that cradles my chin, and I look up at him through my lashes. "So… You'll really buy me Starbucks?" This draws a playful smirk out of him, and then in an instant, we topple to the ground in a tangle of kisses and teasing tickling.
As the play becomes more passionate, the tickles turn to caresses, and his small pecks evolve into passionate hickey-inducing worship along my stomach. His hands reach up, grasping my red cheeks, and the ensuing kiss is as tender as it is electric. With my eyes shut, I can almost see the fireworks bursting between us. The kisses lengthen, leaving me breathless - an asphyxiation, so pleasant, I would drown in the depths of his lips, if it meant never losing this feeling. Even as I'm sure he feels the same effects, he uses restraint and pulls away; his retreating smile reassures me that this kiss wasn't the last.
"Let's get some food," he tells me. He stands and extends a hand to help me get up, and I take it. He collects my gun and, to my chagrin, the rabbit. He leads us back to the bag, meticulously packs it back up, then leads us back to the trail and the car. He drives slightly over the speed limit, but I couldn't care less as the breeze weaves its way through my hair. I look at my phone and see 3 missed calls from Elly. I send her a text that just says, "Out with Aidan, what's up?" I know she's going to want to call rather than text, but I don't have the energy to deal with her right now. If it's important, she can text me.
After half an hour, Aidan parks in front of a diner hidden in a strip, and we make our way inside. I didn't think I was particularly hungry, but my stomach growls a protest. The smell of fries and greasy burgers appeals, but I soon spot one patron with a frosty glass of heaven; I couldn't care less what I pair with mine - just that I have one to myself.
As soon as we are seated in a booth, a sweet lady with braids comes up to ask our drink orders. I get the milkshake with no hesitation, and Aidan asks for a Cola. "I thought you'd want a Sprite?" he asks.
I shake my head. "Did you see the chocolate milkshake that guy had over there? No way, I'm drinking Sprite when I could have that." I look over the menu for something to eat, and while diner meals are not typically my first choice, I settle on a BLT with fries. With that decided, I check my phone for a text from Elly and am startled when, instead, I see one from daddy.
"So, we should probably talk about IWAAs and the kinds of dangers they present. I'm assuming you don't want to just go on a spree, so we need to know who we are looking for," Aidan tells me, and as interested as I am in this conversation, the text from daddy is more pressing.
"Aidan, did you kill someone?" My voice is low, not intimidating nor accusatory, just a quieter conversational tone. I don't want to create a scene, but daddy doesn't send me things like this often, and I can only assume his use of 'he' in the message refers to Aidan. I haven't looked up at him, and for some reason, I am faced with a memory.
I was in eighth grade, and a group of kids had picked on me, called me names, and then he was there. Aidan, in his hoodie and sports shorts with a Coke and saltwater taffy. He would walk to my middle school with Brody, and he'd crack jokes as we walked. It was his personal goal to make me laugh until I shouted, "Stop! I think I'm gonna pee myself!" He would show up every time with a Coke. I didn't know at the time how to tell him I prefer Sprite, but he just wanted to distract me from the other kids' taunting. One day, I recall in detail, I came out having cried a waterfall, snot bubbling out of my nose. He ran up to me, Brody struggling to keep up. At my side, while Brody exclaimed, "What happened? Who was it? I'll teach them a lesson!" Aidan took off his hoodie and dressed me in its oversized protection.
Brody ran into the school. When he came out, his fists were a bright red, and he held a wad of paper towels - likely from a bathroom - in one fist. "Let's get out of here," he grumbled, shoving the towels into my hand. I knew I was loved by both of them that day. I look up at Aidan, worried that maybe his eyes might show me a change in this. His eyes are wide, but sincere, even if a little guilty.
He coughs lightly, "Not yet."
"So, how am I supposed to interpret this text from my daddy?" I ask incredulously. My daddy being in on it is already strange enough as it is, but he believes someone is dying tonight and that Aidan is involved. I don't know who I should be more worried for at this point.
He runs his hand through his hair, and I can already tell this wasn’t his idea. "Your father said I had to boost the intensity if I wanted to continue being with you." My eyebrow raise tells him that I don't believe that's the end of this, and he continues, "He told me to do it by tonight or 'else'. Baby, trust me, I love you more than anything, he threatened my arrest.”
His eyes convey a level of fear I haven't seen in him. I know somehow that the arrest isn't what scares him in this scenario. “I can call him; he shouldn’t threaten that. I mean, that could endanger me as well. He can’t be that dumb.” But I know this isn't a matter of intelligence with my daddy; it was a test to see how Aidan would do. I don't know whether or not he's passed this test, but I will put a stop to it. This was uncalled for.
I scroll on my phone for his contact, but Aidan’s hand covers the screen, stopping me. “No.” His eyes set on my face, their intense green signaling 'go' when he should stop. “I agree with him. I need to prove that I could kill for you.” I open my mouth to protest, but he grabs my hand tightly. “Our next agenda will require some life-taking. Babe, I want to do this for you.”
He didn't say 'might,' he said 'will.’ I don't understand it... The kind of devotion he is promising has a lethal premise, and yet, somehow, I feel lucky. It's strange, being the center of such affection and affliction. I owe him something equal in value, yet I can't really say I would do the same, no matter how much I appreciate his gestures. He deserves and should have much better - someone who would kill for him. It feels like I take so much from him, and still, he's asked nothing in return. And while I don’t really want him to be killing people, he wants to prove his dedication, not just to me, but to my daddy. There are people who will stand in our way as we find my brother’s killer, and it might be smoother if we've already got experience.
That word chills me, 'experience'. Killing as if it were a skill to put on a CV for a job. A step to advance your career. It feels like the wrong word to use about what we need to do. "So then... Who will we..." I trail off, unsure of how this sentence is supposed to end. If I haven't given him the least of things, I should at least help him with the murder, right? That’s what a good girlfriend would do.
He shakes his head. "You're not joining me on this one."
This makes me mad. "Yeah? Why not?" My voice is a little too loud. The waitress has come back and set the milkshake and Coke before us. She asks if we are ready to order, and I nod, telling her the BLT with fries. Aidan says he wants nothing, and she leaves to put in my order. "Why are you not eating?"
He sniffs and then looks at his straw as he admits, "You are going to eat your food. I'll debrief you about the IWAAs information later. I'll take care of it while you have your dinner, so don't worry. I'll be back by the time you finish." I glare at him. "It's something I should do alone. I'll be safe, promise."
"When were you going to do it, if I didn't bring it up?" I ask.
"It's a three-hour drive home. I was going to wait until you fell asleep in the car, then do it," he admits.
I shake my head at the stupidity. "And if I didn't fall asleep, what was your plan then? You'd be really trapped in Clearwell."
"I'd figure it out, sweetheart, I'm craftier than you think. Give me some credit." With that, he stands up and leaves the diner, my dinner arriving less than a minute after he has exited the building. I can't pin it just yet, but I have a feeling something is going to go wrong.86Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNjNsqF0jIk
I finished my dinner 15 minutes ago. I've been waiting for him to return, but my confidence is shot. I open up the location tracker I have for his phone and see that he's not too far away, but he doesn't seem to be moving, and that is what worries me. Calling the waitress over, I pay the tab, then head down the streets in the direction I remember seeing Aidan's dot. I check my phone absentmindedly, and I recall the "curfew" my parents gave me... A dark chuckle bubbles out of the irony of it all.
After looking down a few alleys, I finally find him. But I am too early somehow, because at precisely the moment I see him, he fires his gun aimed at the elder individual cowering against the brick siding of the restaurant behind him. The man slumps, his head falling back into the light, illuminating the glaring hole produced by the bullet. He moves forward, and with a gloved hand, dips a finger into the blood; he paints a 'Z' on the wall that is just barely visible considering it's brick.
He turns around only then to catch me at the front of the alleyway. I am looking at the scene in awestruck horror. Aidan is masked as he would often do during our other crimes, and the juxtaposition of the corpse with this image is oddly surreal. His eyes widen, and he grabs me, pulling me into the cover of the alley. He has me pinned by my shoulders on the opposite wall, and to an onlooker, it may appear as if I'm about to be the next victim.
"You can't be here," he whispers harshly to me.
And as much as I want to protest, complain about how long he's been gone, the only thing I say is, "Camera."
With that, Aidan looks over his shoulder at the security camera that overlooks the alley between the restaurant and the hardware store. "Shit," he utters. Then, in a swift move, he swings his arm that still holds the gun at the camera and shoots one-handed. I notice he didn't have to load the barrel, meaning he just shot an automatic one-handed. And accurately at that, because the camera shatters and hangs from its fixture. I'm not very versed in guns, but that must require a lot of strength, right?
I shake myself out of the musing and say my next piece, as concise as I can make it, "Cover-up time." And while he looks like he wants to argue this, he doesn't have time or the luxury to, as the situation complicates itself even further. I heard the door faintly as it opened, but we both noticed the speed and volume with which it was slammed shut as a presumed interloper had just joined in on this most wonderful moment. And, while I don't have to say it, I feel smug for knowing something would go wrong. Tilting my head, I look him in the eye and jeer, "Witness."
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and then Add to home screen.