Sixty-Five
It’s three in the afternoon. Students are flooding out of their classrooms excitedly. Tomorrow is the last day of finals, but like me, most people are done after today. Liberated, I throw my head back and stare at the blue sky. Blue like George’s eyes, blue like the ocean. Blue, blue, blue.
I sit on a bench and watch the sun. I let the warm summer air caress my face. I’m wearing the flowy skirt and cream-colored blouse that I wore the first time I met George, and even though it still smells like mothballs, I love the way it feels on my body, the feel of the wind fluttering the edges of the skirt. Every time I pass a window, I stare at my reflection.
My phone beeps in my lap, and I open it up to see a message from George.
I write back.
An hour later I get up from the bench. My legs are stiff. I get into the car and drive to the coffee shop where George and I have agreed to meet. I’m shaking with excitement. In the parking lot, I pull out Alexis’s Ambien and crush the three remaining pills into a powder.
The coffee shop is busy. Besides the students milling around inside, the decorations are eclectic, as though the person who designed it put everything together blindfolded. There are records and paintings crammed into every inch of open space on the walls. None of the paintings match. In one of them, a pig is drinking from a trough. It makes me think of George.
The air is perfumed with the scent of roasted coffee beans. I take a deep whiff. At the counter, I order two black coffees, paying for them with a handful of coins. On the other side of the table, they come out right away. They’re steaming hot. I pour in three containers of cream and five packets of sugar to make them the way George likes it. I take a handful of creamers and sugars and stuff them into my pocket before heading back out to the car.
When I pour in the powdered Ambien, it bubbles and sinks, disappearing to the bottom. I stir until everything is dissolved and take a tiny sip. There’s a hint of bitterness that lingers on my tongue, and though I don’t think George will notice, I add an extra packet of sugar just in case.
The streetlights blink on. George will be here any second. I hold my breath and dial Geoffrey’s number on my phone.
At 5:01, George’s truck pulls into the lot.
I take the coffee and fly over to him just as he parks. He doesn’t have a chance to be surprised because I open the front passenger door and sit down, shoving the beverage laced with drugs into his hand.
His eyes nearly pop out of his head. My stomach swoops; they look incredible. Perfect. Lovely. I’m so engrossed in them that I barely hear his voice as he asks me, “JW? What are you doing here?”
“We have to talk.”
“Erm.” He looks around apprehensively. “Can this wait? I’m a little busy now. I’m supposed to be meeting someone . . . a client . . . in a few minutes.”
“I know there’s no client. That was me.”
“What?” His eyes open wide in surprise. “How did you—how did—” he stammers.
“I just want to talk,” I say. “I brought you this coffee as a peace offering. Please, have a drink.” There’s a sudden pain in my head, a flash of white. I blink, willing it away.
George leans back in his seat, silent and brooding. He holds the coffee at arm’s length. I take a big swig of my coffee and then look at him. Sighing, he takes a gulp.
“I need you to explain to me what you’re doing here, JW. What I’m doing here. Is this your sick idea of a joke?”
“No, it’s not,” I reply. There’s a throb in my temples. I ignore it. “I can explain everything, but I need a second. Let’s just enjoy our coffee for now.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down.
A fool and his eyes are easily parted.
I lean against the window, the glass cool against my skin, waiting. “I wanted to talk to you about the wedding. Mom hasn’t been well lately. Have you spoken to her? You’re not going to bail or do something stupid, are you?”
George sighs. “That’s between me and your mother.”
“My mother is my business.”
George’s expression falters. He stares at the setting sun. The sky is streaked with pink, and I can see the clouds reflected in his irises. I’m so close that I can see everything. Every line, every ring, every furrow. The specks of gold scattered throughout. “Well, one thing is for certain,” he says moodily. “You’re a good girl, JW. So obedient.” For a moment I think he’s going to pat me on the head like a dog.
I shake my head and look him squarely in the eye. “You don’t know anything about me. Nothing.”
“I do.”
“No. You really don’t.”
George raises his hands, palms facing me. “Look, I’m not here to argue with you. You’re the one who brought me here. Once you leave, I’ll be on my way.”
No you won’t. There are consequences for your actions.
“There’s something else I want to talk about,” I say slowly. I feel my heartbeat in my head. It thumps loudly.
“Spit it out.”
“I heard you talking about me and my sister.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” He purses his lips, leaning back in his chair. I see his hands tighten on the armrests.
“I heard it,” I say, more insistently this time. “You were on the phone when I got home. It was disgusting. You’re disgusting.”
George stares at me. “I have no idea where these baseless accusations are coming from.”
I slam my fists against the dashboard. “You called her a slut. You know Ji-hyun is a child, right? What the hell is wrong with you? I’ve seen the way you look at us. The way you treat us. What makes you think that’s okay?”
He sounds almost amused. “That’s why you led me here? To lecture me?”
I clench my jaw.
“Fine, JW,” he says. I glance at the clock on his dashboard, at the red numbers crawling like ants. “You caught me. I’m a man. I do what all men do. Congrats. Can I go now?”
He raises the cup of coffee as if to toast me, a look of almost imperial superiority on his face, and takes a long drink.
My confidence wobbles. I feel a sense of desperation. Why isn’t it working?
Suddenly, he touches his forehead. “Ugh.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” George mutters, shaking his head.
I pat his back, even though the feel of his damp and sweaty shirt makes me shudder. “Should I get some help?”
“No!” he snaps. He slumps forward, his head in his hands. He’s not completely out, but I can tell he’s dizzy. His mouth falls open, and he’s panting, the smell of his sour breath thick in the air.
“Let me drive you home,” I say. “It’s no problem. I’ll call Mom and let her know you’re not feeling well, and she can take care of you.” Around us, people pass by, coffees clutched in their hands. “Besides, you don’t want to get sick in your nice truck, do you?”
“Right,” George mutters. I hurry out of the car and open his door. He stumbles out, his steps unsteady. Once or twice he almost falls, catching himself at the last second. I help him into the passenger seat, pushing him inside. I get in the driver’s seat, careful not to show my face.
“Ready?” I ask George.
“Mhm.” His eyes are glazed. I reach over and pull the seatbelt taut over his body, buckling it with a satisfying click.
No need to damage my precious cargo.
I drive us out of the parking lot, watching my mother’s busted Honda grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. Next to me, George’s head lolls. He’s trying to stay awake. We drive to an empty construction site, pulling up silently on the grass.
“Where are we?” George mumbles. I can barely understand him.
“Home,” I say, smiling at him.
He doesn’t respond.
On the other side of the road, hidden from our view, is a cul-de-sac with a cluster of small houses. There’s a copse of trees separating us. It’s impossible to see through them. They’re thick and dense, and there are no lights on this road. It’s dark, and I need to work quickly before Geoffrey arrives.
I sit there for a few seconds, marinating in my excitement before taking Umma’s paring knife from my bag. I hoist myself up to the passenger side where George is lying, his eyes closed. His breathing is shallow. I lower his seat so that he’s flat on his back.
This is the meal I’ve been waiting for, and I’m going to savor it.
I touch George’s eyelids. They’re so warm. I can feel his pulse through the paper-thin skin. His eyelashes are so soft. And when I push my nail under the flap of his eyelids and feel the slickness of his eyeball, I nearly groan.
I take the point of the blade and push it underneath his eyelid. A thin line of blood floods the incision I’ve made, and then—
His eyes fly open. I scream, toppling backward against the passenger door, losing my grip on the knife. It falls to the ground, and then George’s enormous, hairy hands are on my shoulders, shaking me, making my teeth rattle. He’s not speaking in any language I recognize. His bleeding eye is leaking, splattering everywhere. He’s unstable from the Ambien, and he pitches forward, his weight sending us tumbling to the ground. He lands on top of me. My bones crack.
“Umma!” I scream. I’m going to die here at George’s hand. He’s choking me, beating me against the ground, and every time my head bounces against the dirt I feel my skull splitting. George splutters as he strangles me. His right eye is completely bloody now.
Headlights bounce along the road. My vision is getting blurry, the edges fading to black. I’m gasping for breath. Am I alive? Is the car real? It comes screeching to a stop next to us, and then Geoffrey’s howl tears through my eardrums.
“Ji-won!” Geoffrey screams.
“Here,” I rasp, before using the last of my strength to point at the knife on the ground next to us. Geoffrey looks confused, but after a moment, he reaches down to pick it up. He lurches forward, hovering over us. George, who is hellbent on squeezing the life out of me, doesn’t seem to notice.
There’s a dull thud. George’s hands loosen. I gasp, trying to suck in as much air as I can. Another thud. I see Geoffrey’s arms come down again and again. In his shaking fist he’s holding not the knife but a rock, slamming it into George’s skull. Each time it makes contact, the blow echoes through the air, reverberating. At some point during the onslaught, George releases me and slides onto the ground, his hands up in the air. Then he stops moving entirely.
Geoffrey sinks down onto the ground. In the dim light, his face is pale, drained of color. He’s trembling. His breath comes out of his mouth in ragged gasps.
The air is so sweet. I open my mouth as wide as it will go and swallow as much of it as I can, feeling my lungs expanding in my chest.
Another bolt of pain runs through my head. I screw my eyes shut and wait for it to pass. To my left, I hear a whimper. Geoffrey is leaning against the rim of George’s car. He’s crying. He picks something up and throws it into the bushes. At his feet, George is limp and unresponsive, the grass underneath his body soaked in blood.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear sirens.
Everything goes black.