He’s trying to disappear into the forest and that’s no good. He can vanish in a way that’s almost supernatural. The whole time he followed me to the mountain mansion I heard him only once. In the woods he’s so much better than me. No good, no good, no good.
As I race after him, I make a plan for my second bullet. That first shot I was trying to keep him from getting his gun. That was my overriding thought, to stop him from getting the rifle. Now I want to stop him, period. I just want this to stop. It’s not about death or murder or killing. None of those words are in me. The only word I have is stop. I need this to stop. And the way to stop it is to put a bullet in his head.
We’re down in the ravine, and his hiking boots are helping him. He’s getting a bigger and bigger lead, which scares me because I need to be picky about the shot I take. I want to give myself the best chance at success, but pretty soon there’s not going to be any shot to take at all.
I decide that when he hits the bottom of the ravine, that’s when I’m going to stop, aim, and fire.
Everything’s moving so fast. Leaves and branches fly by. My brain is full of what I’ve got to do, only a tiny portion of it is taking anything in. Up ahead the valley floor approaches. Time to get ready. Time to stop him.
A likely looking flat rock, a platform to stand on, presents itself, and I take the opportunity. Grasping my gun, I wait. One, two, and I’m not even to three and there he is, appearing out of some shrubs and heading up the opposite side of the ridge. He’s too far away, but it’s now or never and time to hope I get lucky. Getting a bead, remembering to breathe out in one long, slow breath until my hands are solid and strong, I squeeze the trigger.
I don’t get lucky.
My little bullet pings against some rocks, sounding like a BB from an air rifle.
He plunges into the brush, and the only thing I can think is to keep following him. Up the hillside, my sock-shoes start to take on dirt and damp; they’re hindering me now. Once on top, I can’t see him, and it takes far too long before I hear him. He’s off to the right, which makes sense. I’m pretty sure that’s toward the Logan house, which must be in the same general direction as Wolfman’s truck.
I’m after him in a flash, but there’s a deep burn of dread in my throat, a fear in my heart that’s ahead of my brain. This isn’t working. He’s outdistancing me. But not knowing what else to do, I stick with the plan.
After a few minutes I pause to listen. It takes even longer than last time before I hear him. Correcting course, then along the ridgeline I go, trying to stay on top of the hills, not wanting to sink down into the valleys. Down there you can’t hear. I need to hear him to trail him. A few minutes more, another pause. Defeat is slipping into me now. But quitting isn’t something I’m good at, so I keep on and keep on and keep on, until I’m standing alone in a dead-silent forest with muddy socks on my feet.
Dawn is on its way in.
I miss the moon.
And I don’t know what to do.
Five Years Ago
“YOUR VICTORY LAP,” THE MAN says. He’s jut fastened a blue-and-red ribbon with gold fringe around the black horse’s neck.
“What?” The girl is dazed, borderline nonresponsive.
“Your victory lap. They’ve started the music.”
“Oh, shit,” she says, giving her horse a too-sharp kick in the ribs, as though it was his fault they missed their cue. The horse jumps forward awkwardly, and a little laugh ripples through the audience.
At first she doesn’t even feel the people in the stands. She is in numb disbelief, and it takes a good hundred yards before she even looks up. Her vision blurred with tears, she can’t find her mother. There’s a bit of anxiety and a wash of regret that she didn’t ask where they would be. She wants to share this with her family, but she sent them away, and now she doesn’t know where they are. She’s in this all by her lonesome.
Despite the shock, something filters through. People are standing. She doesn’t know why, but she thinks it must be dinner break, that everybody must be leaving.
Then it hits her. The crowd is standing for her. The crowd is giving her a standing ovation. The twelve-year-old in the pink shirt has pulled off something almost impossible, and they love it. Even in the political world of horse shows, everybody loves an underdog.
Her emotion evaporates like rain in the desert.
This is a golden opportunity that can’t be wasted. She has the whole world in her hand right now, all those rich horse owners and the famous trainers, and it’s time to tighten her fist.
She asks her horse to gallop, and the crowd responds with whoops and hollers. Then she puts the black gelding into the biggest, longest sliding stop he’s ever performed. It’s better than the one he did during her performance, and the people go insane. Spins, rollbacks, and one more stop. The people want more, more, more.