I peeked back into the room, but nothing had changed. It was empty, not a cup, not a bag, not a single thing that suggested someone was inhabiting the space. I crept toward the end of the building three doors down from the window I’d been looking in. There was a narrow dirt walkway that led to the back of the building, and I could see fluorescent lights illuminating the space.
When more branches rustled, I cocked my head to the side and listened. My heart was racing again, and when I took the first step down the path, I paused for a half a second and then started walking. I hugged the side of the building, keeping my outside shoulder away from the branches next to me, and when I reached the back corner, I edged up to it, listening some more.
I could smell cigarette smoke, and when I heard another cough, it was nearby, and I pulled my body back from the edge of the building for a moment. But then I leaned out, peeking around the corner.
And he was there.
I had to hold my breath to keep the gasp inside my lungs, but I stared, unable to look away. He was standing along the tree line, smoking, and the high overhead fluorescent light lit up the line of concrete slabs that sat just outside the backdoors of each room. There was a green canvas knapsack sitting on the ground just outside the back door to the room with the light on. I could see the handle of the knife the man had been carrying when he’d assaulted Helene and me sticking out of the trim that surrounded the door. I was guessing the gun was in the bag, because I couldn’t see it tucked into the waist of the man’s pants.
The man had no idea I was there, and I watched him. When he turned toward me and I saw his face, I recoiled around the side of the building. I crouched down and held my arm across my stomach as I fought the need to vomit again. The very sight of him was disgusting—his scruffy facial hair that ran too far down his neck, the pot belly that sat on top of spindly knobby looking legs, his ill-fitting clothes that hung on him in places and stretched over his skin in other places. I’d never been more disgusted by the sight of a person in all my life.
I inhaled and exhaled deeply until the nausea passed, and when I stood back up, I peeked again. The man sauntered easily as he smoked, and when he lifted the very bottle of vodka Helene had sold him to his lips and took a swig, he paused and swayed on his feet. He stubbed the cigarette out on the side of the vodka bottle and then flicked it into the woods.
When he adjusted his crotch, my jaw clenched tight. He chuckled quietly to himself as he lifted the bottle to his mouth again. I could feel my nostrils flaring as I breathed through my nose, and when I made the mistake of recalling the sight of him shoving himself down Helene’s throat as she choked, I took a step out from behind the building before I knew what my feet were doing.
Tingles of hot rage flushed my skin, and I walked, foot over foot toward the man, feeling bile rise in the back of my mouth as my throat constricted. I wanted to kill him. I was going to kill him. I was going to make him suffer the way he’d made us suffer. And I was going to make it hurt.
When my fingers closed around the handle of the knife, I yanked it from the wood trim. The man was still facing the woods with his back to me, but when he heard me grunt as I dislodged the blade, he turned slowly toward me, staggering off to the side as he did.
He smiled when he saw me, laughing as his eyes moved down my body. “Back for more.” He slurred his words, and when his eyes lit on the knife I held in my hand, he broke into a loud bout of laughter as though it was hysterical to see a deranged seventeen year old kid standing in front of him threatening his life.
“Shut the fuck up!” I screamed, spit flying from my mouth. My hand was gripping the handle of the knife so tightly it hurt.
But the stranger was too drunk to care or maybe he just wasn’t capable of caring drunk or sober. “You gonna make me, bitch boy?” He slapped his leg as he laughed, nearly falling over.
“Shut up,” I spat again. “Don’t say another word.” I could barely speak through my gritted teeth.
“Or what?” the man asked as he smiled. He took a step toward me. “What are you gonna do?”
I took a step toward him, holding the knife up.
The man held his hands up, but it was mocking, and he didn’t retreat nor did he stop smiling as though this was nothing more than an amusement to him. All I could think about was how much I wanted to cut his dick off and how terrified I was to get close enough to do it.
God, I wanted this man to hurt.
“I hate you,” the words whimpered out from my mouth pathetically, and I could feel the warmth at the back of my eyes threatening to unleash into tears again. That couldn’t happen right now. No matter what I did, I could not give this man one more tear.