I ran right into someone.
Or something.
“Auuuggh!” I screamed.
I had hit them hard, my jaw clattering against my teeth as I flew backwards. There was a rattle, a metallic smashing sound. My head rocked against the cold ground. I didn’t even give myself time to register the pain.
I leaped to my feet and tried to run again, only to have my foot slip on a slimy patch and send my leg flying forward so that I was airborne once more.
This time I hit the ground even harder and immediately felt my body go limp. The blackness behind my eyes started spinning and my lids closed briefly. Thoughts of danger and harm seemed very far away and the room started to vibrate and hum, almost lulling me to sleep. Sleep seemed like a nice idea.
But sleep was not to be had. A bright light flashed in my face, interrupting the comforting haze behind my eyelids. I squinted uncomfortably and felt a pair of hands on my head. One felt gingerly along my neck, another brushed against my forehead.
Rapists are gentle these days, I thought absently, and raised my arm up against the light that bore down on me so relentlessly.
“Don’t move,” a gruff voice said from out of the darkness. It sounded vaguely panicked and a million miles away.
I obeyed and dropped my hand. Thankfully, the light moved off of my face and I was aware of something being placed on the ground beside me.
I felt hands on my face again. They were shaking slightly. I tried to open my eyes wider as more coherent thoughts entered my flustered head. The panic began to rise instinctively throughout my body. It intensified when I saw the outline of a man’s face above me. I tried to jerk away, but the man had one hand down on my shoulder pressing me down.
“Seriously, you might be really hurt. Please don’t move.”
I couldn’t see the guy’s face save for the outline, so I leaned back and closed my eyes and did an internal once over of my body. The back of my head throbbed with a dull ache, but other than that, the rest of me felt OK. From my fingers to my toes, my muscles were awake and primed and ready to be used.
“I’m OK,” I managed to say. I opened my eyes and tried to make eye contact with the faceless figure, aiming to where his eyes ought to be.
He took his hands off of me and backed off slightly. I slowly eased myself up and leaned forward. My head was definitely aching and the room was still spinning in the murky dark, but I didn’t feel like I had done any major damage.
Of course, that meant I didn’t have to worry about that and could instead focus on this potential rapist in the lighthouse.
I could see a lot better once my night vision kicked in. The man was crouched a foot or two away from me. I could only make out his outline, which was backlit by the moon coming through the window and from a light source on the floor. Upon further inspection it seemed to be coming from a video camera. Not like mine but like the ones filmmakers use. That tiny bit of information calmed my heart down by a few beats. Most lustful meth addicts didn’t have high-quality digital cameras.
“I’m so sorry,” the man said. I tried to read his voice but other than its deep, rough quality like his throat was lined with gravel, I had nothing. It was strangely comforting, though.
“I was upstairs,” he continued, “and I heard this crazy clatter from down here, and I thought maybe it was the cops or something. I didn’t know what the fuck to do. I thought I could get out the way I came in, but I saw you there, and then I saw the window probably at the same time you saw the window, and I’m…I’m so sorry if…well, you’re obviously OK.”
I knew there were many things wrong with that incredibly long sentence but I didn’t have the brains to dissect it. The best I could do was:
“Who are you?”
The man didn’t say anything. His silhouette started to rock back and forth slightly.
“That depends on who you are,” he said simply.
Hell, even I didn’t know who I was right now. I shook my head.
“I asked you first.”
He sighed and reached back into his pocket. He fished out a business card and handed it to me. He picked up his camera and shone it on the black paper.
“Dex Foray,” I read the shiny white print aloud. “Producer, cameraman, cinematographer. Shownet.”
I flicked the card over. There was nothing but a Seattle address. I looked up at him, at his face that I couldn’t see.
“Are you from West Coast Living or something?”
He laughed. “Fuck no.”
I stuck the card in my pocket and felt strength returning into my bones and into my tongue. I was glad all my courage hadn’t deserted me.
“Well, Dex Foray, I have a feeling that whatever you guys are doing here tonight, you’re doing so without the permission of my uncle, who owns the lighthouse.”
“There’s no one else here. It’s just me.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Look, I don’t care. I’m not going to report you. I shouldn’t even be here myself. Just get your crew together or whatever and get out of here before you do get in trouble.”
The man, Dex, stopped rocking.
“It’s just me,” he repeated. “Did you see someone else here?”
His voice became pitchy. Something about his change of tone alarmed me.
“Yes,” I said slowly. “I heard you upstairs, and I was going to go out the window, but I saw the shadow of someone pass by. Outside.”
There was silence. He shuffled in the dark and moved closer to me. I wished I could see his face properly.
“Are you sure you saw something?” he asked.
I was starting to doubt myself a bit with the questions but I stuck to my guns. “Yes, I saw someone. Someone walked past the window, swear to God.”
“Where did you come from? Did anyone come with you?”
I shook my head. He raised the light so it was on my face. I winced.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding very sorry at all. “I…well, nevermind.”
“Nevermind?” I couldn’t help but sneer. “You just broke into my uncle’s lighthouse. Don’t you tell me to nevermind.”
I realized it wasn’t probably the best idea to start provoking a complete stranger, especially when you actually hadn’t seen his face yet and you were in a dark, possibly abandoned lighthouse together, but...
He straightened up, his figure blocking the moonlight and reached down with his hand to help me up. He wasn’t very tall at all, maybe 5’9”.
I took it hesitantly and he brought me up to my feet. I wavered a bit at the change in height and gravity and within seconds he had his arms around both sides of me. He smelled like Old Spice aftershave. I felt like I was in some bad drama on the Lifetime network.
“You OK?” he asked. His face wasn’t too far away from mine. I turned around on the spot so that my back was to the window and the moonlight was coming in on his face, illuminating it.
He was a surprisingly handsome guy. Maybe I was expecting a bald man with a beard, but he wasn’t like that at all.
His jaw was wide and round, totally acceptable. A dusting of an Errol Flynn moustache traced his upper lip and his chin was shaded by scruffy beard. He had fathomless, dark eyes framed by brows that were devilishly arched and set low on his forehead. A simple eyebrow ring graced his right eyebrow. It was a very ‘90s look. A man after my own heart, apparently. He reminded me of Robert Downey Jr. in his strung-out drug days.
He watched me, his eyes glittering darkly in the moonlight, full of intensity. I felt relieved that he looked like a normal person and almost tickled that he was quite a looker as well.
“Just a bit dizzy,” I managed to say. He kept his gaze with mine. It was a bit unnerving after awhile. It must have shown on my face because he smiled very slowly, showing perfect white teeth.
“Good,” he said. “Promise not to sue?”
I eyed him warily. “I won’t. Can’t speak for my uncle, though.”
He pursed his lips and seemed to think about it, though his eyes remained motionless.
“Why are you here?” he finally asked.
“We’re having a bonfire on the beach. I got sick of hanging around teenagers and wanted to come here. My uncle never let me come here when I was younger. I didn’t tell anyone, I just left. I was hoping to film some stuff.”
At my own mention of filming I panicked. My camera! I reached down and pulled it up in front of my face. I turned it on and the lights flared and then steadied. I couldn’t see the lens but Dex grabbed it and held it in front of the light. He peered at it, brows furrowing, and gently put it back around my neck.
“It’s fine. I thought you wrecked the shit out of mine when you ran into me.”
He lifted his camera up and patted it. I immediately felt guilty, even though it was his own damn fault for trespassing.
“You’re right,” he continued, reading my face. “Who cares? I probably deserve to have this camera smashed.”