Enemy Closer, page 6
In the meantime, I had an ample supply of booze. It wasn’t the wisest course of action by any stretch of the imagination, but I went ahead and poured myself a generous glass of merlot for something to do. I carried it over to the bookshelf, which forced me to walk past the couch, and made quite a meal of picking out a book to read. I would much rather have watched a movie, but that would require me to remain in close proximity to Alan. Eventually I decided The Hobbit was the book for me, and I carried my wine and my fiction back upstairs with a totally undeserved sense of accomplishment.
For about half an hour I read and sipped, mostly relaxed; but my hiking boots, belt, holster, and jeans seemed to grow more uncomfortable with each passing minute. Still, I refused to put on pajamas or even more comfortable clothes. Besides, the mounting discomfort was helping me stay awake. At least, I thought it was.
Friday, June 26 to Saturday, June 27, 2020
Hesperus, Colorado
My eyes snapped open to find the cabin aglow with the dawn. I was freezing.
Cursing my stupidity, I rose to my feet as quietly as possible and crept to the banister. Alan was still stretched out on the couch, either asleep or faking it very convincingly. Dude was unwinding himself from his chair, ready to go outside now that he knew I was awake. I slipped off my hiking boots, the better to creep noiselessly down the stairs, let him out the front door, and returned to the loft.
The cold was too much. I burrowed under the covers, intending to warm up while I waited for Dude to scratch at the door to be let back in. Instead, I fell back asleep immediately.
I could tell by the light when I woke up again that at least a couple more hours had passed. Sitting up too fast, I groaned as the edge of my empty holster dug cruelly into my hip. I yearned to reach a place in life where I no longer occasionally fell asleep strapped for battle.
Thinking Dude was still outside, I forced myself out of bed to go rescue him; but to my surprise, he bounded up the stairs to receive some morning pets. Alan must have let him back in. Or he’d figured out how to open doors.
“Who’s my good boy?” I cooed. In answer, he jumped up onto the bed and laid his head in my lap. My heart melted. “What would I do without you, you big lump?”
I sat on the bed for at least ten minutes, stroking Dude’s comfortingly soft fur and contemplating my next move. I had to pee, and I needed food; but to meet either need I’d have to venture downstairs. While I mentally rehearsed this, I heard the toilet flush followed by the sound of running water as Alan presumably washed his hands. He left the bathroom, walked into the kitchen, and got something out of a cabinet. I heard the telltale sound of the coffee machine clicking off, then a tantalizing pour. He carried his coffee to the living room, sat down on the couch, and fell silent. All this I gathered from listening, safely out of sight on the bed. He probably didn’t know I was awake.
Eventually I could smell the coffee. It weakened my resolve to hide all day, which in any case would have been defeated soon by all the water sounds to which I’d just been subjected.
Since I had no reason to believe I’d be getting my gun back anytime soon, I finally gave in to the temptation to ditch the jeans, belt, and holster in favor of a loose pair of sweatpants. Still a little chilly, I threw on a hooded sweater and thick socks to complete the ensemble. Nearly silent in my socked feet, I finally crept down the stairs. Though I knew it was impossible not to be seen, at least peripherally, by anyone sitting on the couch, I carefully avoided looking in that direction and headed straight for the bathroom without a word. I could feel his eyes on me, but he said nothing, not even to ask why I hadn’t made my escape last night while he slept.
Once the urgent business was done, I felt plenty calm enough to whisk into the kitchen, grab a bottle of water, a package of pop tarts, and a cup of coffee, and retreat back upstairs.
I went downstairs in the early afternoon to pee again, let Dude out, and grab lunch (a can of soup). I finished The Hobbit right at dusk, having successfully passed the day without even acknowledging Alan’s existence; but I was murderously bored, aching with hunger, and unable to take my mind off the rest of the bottle of wine I’d tapped the previous evening. My unwanted guest had been as unobtrusive as I’d endeavored to be, though with access to the kitchen and TV he had certainly passed the day in greater comfort than I had.
The thought of spending one more day, let alone many, the same way made me want to scream. I went back downstairs at eight o’clock, grabbed the wine bottle, and took it to the shower with me.
The pop tarts and cold soup were no match for the wine, which hit me like a ton of bricks after only two swallows. I took my time in the shower, making sure all the hot water was gone before I got out and got dressed. I was still nursing my wine when I emerged to find Dude sitting outside the bathroom door. Was I drunk, or was he wearing a remarkably disapproving expression? I peered at him.
“Got something to say, dog face?”
He cocked an ear at me.
“Oh right. Dinner.”
We went through the routine again, and then I let Dude outside for his nightly perimeter check. I watched through the window as he disappeared into the darkness, then turned to face the living room, expecting to see Alan on the couch; but it was empty. I heard the fridge open. Another look at the couch revealed my cell phone sitting on the arm, just a few feet away from where I stood. Ignored for the moment, I crept over to the couch, slipped the phone into the pocket of my sweatpants, and headed for the stairs. I was halfway up when I heard, “Hey—fuck—Abigail!”
“What?” I asked, hoping I sounded innocent. With the wine muddling my senses, I couldn’t be sure. I turned to see him standing at the foot of the stairs.
“Bring it back,” he said, so perfectly deadpan that he could have been mad, amused, or anything in between.
“The wine? No chance, get your own.” I continued up the stairs. He followed. I stopped at the top of the stairs, crying, “You leave me alone!”
“I don’t want any trouble, just the cell phone.”
“I don’t have it!”
“Abigail, I can see it in your pocket.”
“Dammit—fine.” I pulled it out and, rather than tossing it to him, I threw it over the banister. As it clattered to the floor, a tinkling sound confirming I had definitely broken it, I met his eyes and felt a jolt of fear: I’d really managed to piss him off with that one. He stared at the spot where it had hit the floor, then slowly continued up the stairs. I froze, torn between apologizing and kicking him in the face. I failed to make up my mind in time and he stopped one stair below me, eye-to-eye with me.
“Excuse me.”
I stepped to the side, gripping the edge of the banister for support, and watched on tenterhooks as he crossed the room, grabbed a spare blanket from the chair next to the dresser, came back toward me, and brushed right past me to return downstairs. I realized I’d been holding my breath and let it out slowly. A minute later, scratches at the door announced Dude had returned from his patrol. While I was still frozen in indecision, Alan let him inside.
There was nothing else to do but curl up in bed, shut my eyes, and hope tomorrow would suck just a little bit less.
* * *
I woke up much later the next morning, no doubt thanks to the bottle of merlot I’d so unwisely finished off. My sleep had been restless, plagued by dreams I forgot as soon as my eyes opened. As the last tendrils of sleep evaporated, I finally registered a delicious smell that seemed to be floating up from the kitchen. Unless my nose deceived me, pancakes were in the works downstairs.
I trudged downstairs, more or less ready to face the day.
A stack of pancakes was already waiting on a plate on the kitchen island. I approached them warily, not sure what to make of the scene: Alan at the stove, busily flipping more pancakes, Dude sitting at attention next to him, gazing unwaveringly up at him in the hopes of scoring some breakfast. The pancakes looked very fluffy, and I was very, very hungry; but I couldn’t quite convince myself to take one.
While I deliberated, Alan finished another couple of pancakes and turned around to add them to the stack. He jumped at the sight of me, nearly dropping the pan.
“Holy shit, how long have you been standing there?”
“Like a minute. Sorry, I thought you heard me.”
His eyes raked me from head to foot and back. “Feeling better?”
Ignoring this, I asked, “Why are you making pancakes?”
“To fatten you up, obviously.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Oh, lighten up. It’s an olive branch, okay? You could’ve run off by now, but you haven’t; which tells me you really are stuck here. I want to get along. I even made some for Dude, without salt or sugar.”
He presented a smaller plate of three tiny pancakes. I stared at them, stomach knotting into a ball, and concluded, “You’re freaking me out.”
“Whatever,” he shrugged. “More for me.”
Scowling, I grabbed one of the non-dog pancakes and took it to the couch. Failing to take the hint, Alan joined me a minute later with a plateful of pancakes for himself. He also brought the plate of doggy pancakes and set them on the couch between us. Dude, somehow sensing they were meant for him, sat down with his nose two inches from the plate and stared at me.
“I think he’s waiting for permission from you,” Alan hinted.
“What’s the secret ingredient, rat poison?”
“What kind of monster do you think I am?” he asked. He seemed sincerely offended. Grabbing one of the sugar-and-salt-free pancakes, he took a bite and looked at me as though to say, “There, happy?”
“Ugh. Fine. Dude, hol.”
The pancakes were gone within seconds. I cradled my own, uneaten pancake in awkward silence, watching Dude lick the plate long after there was any trace of food left on it. After a good five minutes, he gave up and curled into his favorite chair. Alan took both empty plates back to the kitchen, returned to the couch, and sat down. Rather than facing the TV like a civilized human, he turned toward me.
“Jury still out on that olive branch?”
After a beat, I realized he was talking about the pancake. I still hadn’t taken a bite. For half a second I considered tossing it on the floor, but I was honestly too hungry. Without returning his gaze, I took one bite. As soon as it hit my stomach, I felt significantly less irritable. I turned toward him, mirroring his posture, and asked, “How do you get them so fluffy?”
“Wow, that’s a really personal question.”
I laughed, the first real expression of mirth I’d managed since discovering I wasn’t alone up here. In short order the rest of the pancake was gone, and I got up for seconds. I stood at the counter and plowed through a couple more, then brought the plate back to the couch to finish them off.
“There is syrup, you know,” he said.
“Don’t like it.”
“Honey? Peanut butter? Hot sauce?”
“Ew, no thanks, and don’t have any.”
“Weird.”
I shrugged. Down to the last pancake, I decided to try a little niceness and offered it to him. He shook his head.
“Go for it.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as the plate was empty, I returned to the kitchen to make coffee and clean up the mess he’d made. Olive branch or no, I wasn’t thrilled about hanging out on the couch with him. While I got to work, he sidled up to stand on the other side of the kitchen island.
At length he said, “Getting along seems to be the best option, don’t you think?”
“Depends on what ‘getting along’ means to you,” I answered without looking at him.
“Well… we’ve got two problems to sort out, and if we can do that, we’ll be getting along. Living in peace.”
“What problems?”
“One, we know nothing about each other, so we don’t trust each other.”
“No argument there.”
“And two, there’s not a damn thing to do up here. Thanks to wine-drunk Abigail, I can’t even play Candy Crush anymore.”
“Uh… sorry. What do you normally do?”
“At first I explored, spent a lot of time patrolling the area, making sure no one was getting too close. When hunters come up, I hide in a cave up near the summit. That fucking sucks, but they never stay long. A couple times some tourists have come around, so scaring them off is actually pretty fun. Other than that, I just… get ready.”
“For what?”
“Something I have to do.”
“On August thirty-first?”
“… Yeah.”
“Do the Perkinses know you’re up here?”
“The owners? Nah. They never come to the cabin, and they don’t even do the cleaning themselves. Right before someone rents it out, they call a cleaning company to get it ready. I think the cleaners think they’re cleaning up after someone, not the other way around. At least I don’t think anyone’s figured it out yet.”
“That’s a pretty blasé attitude, compared to how you’re treating me being here.”
“Up ‘til now, no one else has ever even seen me.”
“Lucky me.”
“Why’d you come snooping around the cabin anyway?”
“I told you, I saw it from the summit. I was curious.”
“Why were you packing heat?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
When he failed to answer, I turned around. He was studying me with a strange expression, as though unsure exactly what he was looking at. I decided to press my luck.
“Earlier you said you thought I was someone else, or something like that. Like someone is looking for you.”
“And?”
“Do you think someone sent me here to find you?”
His expression hardened.
“I only ask because you talked about trusting each other. That really won’t be possible if you think I came all the way up here just to fuck up whatever it is you’ve got planned for August.”
Still he said nothing.
“As long as you’re not gonna kill anyone, I really don’t give a shit what you’re planning to do.”
Having said my piece, I forced myself to meet his eyes, to evaluate the effect of my little diatribe. For a fleeting moment, he looked so threatening I almost reached for the knife drawer; but as soon as I’d seen it, it was gone. I was still shaken from that brief moment of terror when he finally spoke.
“You probably won’t understand this… but I have no choice but to assume the worst about you.”
“Well that’s stupid. Why’d you even bring up trust, then?”
“To get you to talk. About yourself.”
“What do I have to tell you to convince you I’m not some… spy or assassin or some nonsense?”
“I don’t know, Abigail. I’ll know it when I hear it.”
“Meanwhile I’m supposed to trust you, when the only thing I know about you is your name isn’t Alan.”
“Maybe we should focus on something to do. Let the other stuff happen organically.”
“Let’s see.” I started counting on my fingers, “We’ve got hiking, eating, sleeping, drinking, fighting, reading, and watching TV. Where do you want to start?”
“Hm.” He crossed his arms, regarding me appraisingly. “I wouldn’t mind learning a few of those bullshit Krav moves. And you need some ground skills.”
I flared up at once, snarling, “I have ground skills, I just made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
“All right, all right… jeez.”
“I have no interest in teaching you to more effectively terrorize me.”
“Who’s terrorizing? I made you breakfast!”
“Well I have a request for lunch: Get the fuck out.”
“God damn you’re mean.”
I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, as though he were holding back laughter. For a moment I was so angry I couldn’t speak, but after a deep breath I said slowly, “I would like to take a break from this conversation.”
He held up his hands palms first, giving no other answer. I dashed upstairs and laid down on the bed, covering my eyes with my arm. I was incapable of rational thought when I was mad, and he seemed to have picked up on the undeniable fact that nothing pissed me off more than losing a fight.
“You can’t let him get to you like that,” I whispered.
If I’d learned one thing from the morning’s discussion, it was that Alan remained as suspicious of me as ever. How or why he was convinced I’d lied about my reasons for coming here, it was obvious he’d made up his mind. He’d probably given me back the gun to see what I would do, and my purported attempt to use the Perkinses’ telephone, followed by my botched cell phone heist, had been all the answer he needed. I couldn’t keep bouncing back and forth from grudging compliance to feeble rebellion without provoking more suspicion.
I had to get him to trust me.
Saturday, June 27, 2020
Hesperus, Colorado
Ten minutes later, I descended the loft, dressed for a hike and fully prepared to not be quite such an asshole. Dude reacted to my appearance in the predictable way, bounding around the cabin and barking joyously. Alan was nowhere to be seen at first, but soon enough he emerged from the bathroom, looking puzzled by my change of clothes.
“You said you’ve explored the area quite a bit,” I said, in answer to his unasked question.
“Yeah, I’ve been around.”
“Anything interesting you can show me?”
“Uh… sure.”
He quickly got dressed while I crammed some snacks and water into my backpack. When we set out a few minutes later, Dude launching himself uphill as soon as he realized we were hiking that direction, I could sense Alan’s suspicion waxing rather than waning. Sure enough, he started in almost immediately.
