Mitch stepped over Dekker, his feet inches from the acid. I hoped Dekker had the presence of mind not to make any sudden moves, because if Mitch went in, at the very least Dekker would be splashed with acid and there would be no way to help him out here.
Mitch walked toward me. He still held my Glock. I kept my arms out toward him, locking eyes with him. I slid my arms around his waist inside his open jacket.
He groaned, an animal sound. “Wait,” he said, and moved away, settling the rifle strap over his shoulder. Then he wrapped his arms around my waist and bent down to kiss me on the lips.
Chapter 30
THE REVULSION I felt as Mitch touched his lips to Petty’s made me light--headed. I couldn’t feel my hands anymore, which were crushed beneath me on the hard snowy ground, but I had to get free somehow. I struggled to a sitting position but my dizziness remained. If I stood, would I be able to keep from falling over, possibly into the acid?
Suddenly, Petty reached for the rifle.
“No, Petty!” I shouted. Mitch was too big for her to overpower, no matter how much training she had.
They each clenched it with both hands, parallel to the ground. Petty suddenly let go, causing Mitch to stumble backward, then unleashed a mighty high kick, dislodging the rifle from his grasp. He was stunned, watching it fly and land with a plop in the pond. While Mitch was preoccupied, Petty turned and kicked his knees forward, dropping him onto them.
As he fell, he got hold of her ankle. She grunted and caught herself before her face hit the ground. Mitch grabbed the other ankle and flipped her onto her back, her left hand inches from the water.
He straddled her. “You lied to me.”
I rocked from side to side, trying to move forward, frantic to stop what was happening. I tried to pull my knees under me but only succeeded in moving closer to the acid.
“Get off and I’ll go to your cabin with you,” Petty said.
“I’m not falling for your lies anymore. I’m not going to wait that long,” Mitch said. “I’m going to take you right here, and then you’re mine for good.”
To my horror, he pinned her arms with his knees and began unfastening his belt. I bucked, desperate to do something, anything. Was Mitch really going to do this here? Outside? In the cold and snow?
He leaned forward, trying to get his pants undone with one hand while pinning Petty with his opposite elbow. She wheeled her arms and legs, at once trying to pull her bra knife loose and get a punch in, but she had no leverage. He was so large and heavy it must have been like trying to fight a boulder.
“No! Stop!” I yelled. I’d never felt so helpless, so useless, in my life.
Mitch fumbled with his zipper. “I need to show you,” he said. “You are mine.”
IT WAS A trick of the light, maybe—-or the snowflakes in my eyes had warped my vision—-but suddenly I was in a bathtub with huge hands pinning me underwater.
And just like that it came to me.
Of course it hadn’t been Michael Rhones who’d tried to drown me. It was Mitch and his huge hands. To get my mom to go with him. I saw it all now, heard it all. Mom screamed in the background, “Let her go! Let her go!”
“Let’s play a new game,” Mitch was saying to two--year--old me. “Let’s play the drowning game.”
PETTY STOPPED FIGHTING.
“No!” I yelled. “Petty, this is what your dad trained you for, all those years, your whole life.”
Mitch lifted his head and smiled victoriously at me.
“Petty,” I said. “This is the moment. This is your moment. Your mom couldn’t stop him, but you can.”
Mitch licked his lips and turned his attention back to his fly. As he did, Petty thrust her hips upward, knocking him off balance. He scrambled to regain his stability, but he rolled forward onto his right shoulder, and then Petty was on top of him, one of his feet dangerously near the water.
Suddenly Petty let loose. And it was glorious to behold.
She drove her elbow into Mitch’s nose. Fine droplets of blood burst outward, misting in the frozen air before Mitch covered his face with his hands. I’d seen fights before, and somehow the punches had always seemed restrained. Not this time. Petty pounded his face so fast and hard, I couldn’t count the blows. One of the lenses of Mitch’s glasses was suddenly gone, the frames bent.
But once Mitch recovered from the surprise of the broken nose, he was able to collar Petty’s throat with both bloody hands and squeeze. She punched his elbows, but he wouldn’t let go. Petty rose to her knees and threw her weight straight down into his midsection. As she forced the air out of him, his grip loosened on her throat. Then she punched him in the Adam’s apple, and he made a loud heeeeeeee noise as he tried to inhale. She finally got hold of her bra knife and held it to his throat.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Petty said. “I’m taking you to the police. You’re going to pay for what you did to my mother. Now get up.”
Mitch recovered enough to struggle to his feet. He shuffled toward her, his right hand covering his nose, blood dripping off his chin.
“Give me that knife, young lady,” he said through his hand.
“Walk back to the car,” she said to him.