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Gabriel walked down the bicycle path until he reached the bridge, body strong, mind sharp. The air was strangely thin as the sun bled out along the western horizon and the lights in the parking lot pulsed on, piercing the dusk with a silver haze.
He lifted his chin at the honk of a goose, squinting at the v-shaped formation in the sky. Where were they going? What were they thinking? Could they see him down there, a small black speck stopping on an incline that led into the parking lot?
A bitter scent of rotting detritus among the cottonwoods and he could hear the bubbling river and the occasional rustle of a wood duck. There were remnants of footprints in his mind, those of family as they had walked along the Bosque Trail all those years ago. Sometimes riding bikes, sometimes horses. There had been no worries then.
He felt a stab of fresh air in his lungs as he inhaled, felt the joy of homecoming. Once, those rolling hills of sage and sand had been inhabited by coyotes and rabbits, and now they were layered with houses and dust covered streets, brightly colored playgrounds and manicured parks.
The houses behind Corrales Café were reserved for the cultural elite. Even businesses had evolved in his absence, fluorescent signs blinking in the approaching dusk and the steady sounds of traffic as cars rumbled across the bridge toward the crowded restaurants. Everyone ate out these days.
He wasn’t here to reminisce. There would be plenty of time for that. It was then he noticed a metal flood gauge tacked to a wooden post at the river’s edge. It was here he left his mark.
Gulshan.
Muscles tensed and relaxed, his feet met the pavement with the same old spring he remembered as a child.
A street lamp spread a weak yellow light around its base, bright enough to see three cars in the parking lot ‒ two if he didn’t count his van. A white Chevrolet Cavalier and a dark gray Mazda RX7, both facing the river and parked on the summit of a steep slope that curved down to the water’s edge.
The latter interested him the most with its diamante framed plate and the words Ms. Bling emblazoned under the license lamp. Chinless Rosa... so fashionably tacky.
He cast a cursory glance through the rear window as he walked past, saw a young woman sucking Red Bull through a straw. He watched her from inside the van, studied those painted fingernails as they reached down to the passenger seat. She threw her head back and dropped something inside that large mouth. Two bites and whatever it was had been crunched into a pulp and swallowed.
She came here every Saturday night at six forty-five after eating salad with the other singers at Waterfall studios. Parked by the river to eat an addition to that healthy salad, a large portion of waffle fries and honey mustard from the Burger Giant drive thru. Left around seven ten.
The white Chevrolet reversed out of its space, headlights blinking into life as the tires crunched on pine needles and gravel. Just as the white cloud of exhaust tapered off into the night, Gabriel slipped a shoe lace and a small flashlight into his jacket pocket and scrunched an old blanket under one arm.
Never good to feed a habit. Never know who could be watching in the darkness, he thought, walking over to the black Mazda and reveling in the thought that Rosa’s life was very much in his hands.
He dropped the blanket on the ground behind the left rear tire and tapped on the driver’s window. There was a brief whoosh and a clunk before a slit of light appeared at the top of the frame. She turned off a loud belting of classical music and turned to study him.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said, conscious of the salty aroma of French fries. “I hope I didn’t frighten you.”
“No... no, that’s fine,” Rosa said, with a sigh. “What is it?”
“It looks like you ran over a dog. I wouldn’t normally worry, only this one has a collar.”
Rosa glanced at her wing mirror, saw the crumpled heap by the rear tire and groaned. She tapped her forehead with the heel of one hand. “I didn’t see anything.”
“It was probably too dark when you drove in. Don’t get out. I can handle it.”
He backed away from the driver’s door, scooped the blanket up in his arms and walked about ten feet toward a clump of foxtail barley. He knew she was watching, crying perhaps, as he laid it lovingly behind the grasses. She wouldn’t want to look at a bloody pancake of matted fur, wouldn’t want to see the collar and know the poor little thing once had a name.
He could hear Demon in the rustling leaves, hear him urging to hurry up and get on with it. Gabriel’s chest grew thick and tight and he tried to catch his breath.
Click.
The car door opened behind him, gravel grinding under a pair of shoes. Training shoes, he imagined, because the sound was somehow deeper than the simple tap of high heels.
He waited for a few moments until she was clear of the car and then turned slowly, taking painful steps toward her. “You mustn’t worry,” he wheezed. “These things happen.”
“Is it dead?”
“Quite dead.”
She looked so forlorn, nose wrapped in a handkerchief and shoulders heavy with guilt. Gabriel almost wanted to call the whole thing off, give her a hug and just go home. But he had a job to do. And he was beginning to wonder if he felt well enough to do it.
Her breath almost mingled with his as they stood there in the parking lot. Brown hair slicked back behind her ears, roots boosted with mousse and ends flat-ironed to death. It was a popular style, better suited to a woman with a chin.
“Can I see it?” she said.
He wasn’t expecting that. “No, don’t. You’ll only make yourself sick.”
She stared at the foxtail barley tufts stooping in the breeze. Took a few steps forward and then stopped with her back to him. “I didn’t mean to. Really, I didn’t. Did he have a name?”
“Otto,” he said, taking a brief look around the parking lot before taking the shoe lace from his pocket, curling it around both hands as he crept up behind her.
“We should call the number. The owners will be worried.”
Gabriel was tired of the charade and rolled his eyes. The ligature caught her by surprise, tightening around her neck until it was so tight she could no longer breathe.
He half-carried, half-dragged the dead weight back to the car and arranged her in the driver’s seat, clicking the seat belt into place.
Once the driver’s door and window were closed, he walked around to the front of the car and crouched beside the front bumper. Sure enough, no concrete wheel stop, good clearance between the underside and the ground, nothing to stop that car hurtling to the bottom of the river.
He inched around to the passenger side and turned on the ignition. Shifting the gear lever into drive, he pushed the passenger door closed, never heard it click as the car inched forward slowly at first, before tipping over the verge and picking up speed down the slope.
As the car bounded over the bicycle path, the passenger door swung open. Gabriel could do nothing but watch as it hurtled over the sandy verge, rushing toward the deepest part of the river.
It hovered there for a time, front end slowly dipping beneath the waves like an old gray submarine.
