Page 10

MARGOT

I t only fogs in Las Vegas one or two times a year, but it figures that tonight would be one of those nights.

Walking along the paved trail of the park, I pull my cardigan across my chest with one hand while clenching the envelope with the other.

The tennis court lights have been cut off, so only the lamp posts sprouted along the walkway light my way.

I don’t need them. I’ve marched this same path enough times that I could probably do it blindfolded if I wasn’t so terrified to close my eyes.

My phone buzzing in my back pocket makes me trip on my shoe, but I continue on as if I don’t notice it. It’s him. It’s always him.

If I was less of a coward, I might search for him in the foggy shadows, but I know if I saw him, I’d scream. Or do something terribly stupid like run.

Breaking off the path, I start toward the picnic table he chose five years ago for occasions like this. My pace increases with each inch I move out of the light, but I don’t know why the trail makes me feel any safer. It’s an illusion. A security blanket. False sanctuary.

When I get to the table, I drop to one knee and pull the tape from my cardigan’s pocket. My hands shaking, I place the envelope beneath the table and hurry to pull tape across it. Once it’s held in place, I start back toward the trail, resisting the urge to look around.

I make it halfway to the parking lot before a whistled tune cuts through the buzzing of the beetles around the lamp bulbs.

My intellect says to walk faster, but my feet abruptly come to a stop and wobble like they’ve been given a tranquilizer.

Hairs raise on the back of my neck as I slowly turn my head to look over my shoulder.

Thirty yards or so away, a man walks toward me with his hands in his hoodie pocket.

He whistles a jingle so lightheartedly, I know it couldn’t be him .

He’s always stiff. Always serious. And for the most part, he follows the rules. He agreed long ago not to approach me.

I turn around and start walking again, convincing myself it’s just a guy doing some late-night walking. It isn’t crazy for joggers to be out here, even as late as 11PM. But I can’t help but think of Arseni. Of the swagger in his walk. The hoodie he wore the night he came to my office.

I pick up my pace while the whistling continues behind me. Once it stops, I look over my shoulder, hoping to see the guy falling behind, but he isn’t even there.

I brake.

The lighted path suddenly makes me feel exposed as I search for the man. The fog makes the shadows too hazy to make much out, but I don’t have to wait long. His voice sounds to my left, just a little ways down off the path.

“ Margot ,” the man sings out, his voice playfully menacing.

Arseni .

It must be Arseni.

“I’m not afraid of you!” I yell into the fog. I’m not sure if it’s a brave or stupid thing to do, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

Laughter gives away the man’s location as he approaches from the dark. I force myself to stand strong, my phone in my back pocket feeling bulkier than it did before.

I could call the police.

I should call the police.

But then…

My eyes pop as I seek out a second figure. Him .

What will he do if he sees Arseni approach me?

Would he kill him?

I stand still and try to decide if I hope it happens. It would take care of my Arseni problem for good…

“Get the hell out of here, Arseni,” I say, nearly whisper at the black form mere yards from me, hiding just beyond the light of the lamp. I don’t know who I’m protecting from his wrath, me or Arseni.

The man doesn’t say anything, just stands there ominously until I think I’ve made a grave mistake.

I start to back away on the trail, never taking my eyes off the mysterious figure.

It isn’t him . It can’t be him. He doesn’t break the rules.

But if it isn’t Arseni, then who else could it be?

“Wh-what are you doing?” I ask as I slowly backpedal. Swallowing, I make my voice more assertive. “You aren’t supposed to show yourself. You swore to me you wouldn’t.”

I stumble as the man begins to approach me, still keeping to the side of the trail.

When he pauses again, he speaks so ominously, I startle.

“It’s time to run, Margot.”

My eyes popping wide, I spin and break into a sprint toward the parking lot. My lungs burn as my legs soar over the pavement, panicked breaths drowning out the sounds around me. I think. I don’t hear him, but I don’t dare waste a moment to turn around.

I barely slow down to rip my keys from my pocket as I reach my car. A frightened cry escapes as I jab the unlock button on the fob, flashing lights my greatest comfort.

I’m moving too fast to control my momentum when I make it, so I wind up slamming my palm on the driver side door to stop, nearly cutting myself on the jagged shards of glass sticking from my newly busted window. I give it zero attention while I jump into my car and fumble with the keys.

I jab at the ignition with shaky hands I can’t get control of and curse when I drop the keys altogether. As I reach for the floorboard, my head jerks to look where I came from. I expect the man to appear at my window, but he isn’t there, and I don’t hear him.

When I have the keys in my grasp, I pull in what I’m hoping will be a steadying breath but is more of a stuttered sob. I fit the key into the ignition and cry as the car roars to life.

My hand is on the shifter when a gloved hand covers my mouth and yanks me back against the seat. I instinctively slam on the gas pedal and try to scream, but the car whirs in park. Something sharp presses to my throat when I go to move the shifter.

I meet Arseni’s gaze in the rearview mirror, his crooked lips an inch from my ear.

“Gotcha, Mommy.”

I cry against his leather-clad palm while the hooded man walks up. He throws the hood off his head and leans down to peer inside the car, his reddish hair messed and lopsided grin mocking me.

He holds up the envelope. “What are you, a fucking drug dealer?”

“What is it?” Arseni asks.

“Two thousand in cash. She taped it underneath one of the tables.”

My eyes lock onto the envelope as tears spring to my eyes. I try to fight and kick, in spite of the knife, but the man just reaches in to turn the car off and looks around to make sure all is well.

“I’m keeping it,” he says to Arseni. “Consider it my fee.”

No! I try to screech through the glove, but Arseni’s hold is too tight.

“Good. Buy your own damn pizza.”

The man chuckles while something pinches my neck. My head starts to feel heavy, my body slumping against Arseni’s hold.

The last thought I have before I fall asleep is that we aren’t alone.

He’s here. And he saw everything.