IT’S RARE FOR JEREMY TO feel out of control. He has patience. He has discipline. He has plans. But tonight, he has none of that. Tonight, he just has anger. He’s sitting in his car outside of O’Grady’s Pub, staring ahead at the only real path left for him tonight. He can’t get his last egregious miscalculation out of his head. Now he’s buzzing, like a pressure cooker. It was supposed to work. It was supposed to be theater, his victory lap. But the girl took his moment away from him, and it hardly matters she succumbed to the hemlock. If he could, he would go back in time to hack her head clean off and release the rage inside him, but he can’t.
And so, he hunts.
It’s 1:30 a.m., and last call is near. This is the ideal time to get someone to come home with him. It’s late enough for even the most cautious to cast their inhibitions to the wayside but still early enough to catch people coherent and aware. He isn’t looking for a target practice dummy. He’s looking for another rabbit that can run.
He quickly checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. His eyes are bloodshot, but in a darkened bar he knows they won’t betray his state of mind. He carefully pushes a strand of hair that has fallen onto his forehead back into place and makes his way inside.
The bar is still packed. The air is thick with cheap perfume and even cheaper cologne. The lights give off a red tint that makes the one-room bar resemble the lower rings of hell. The remaining patrons are split into two camps. There are lone wolves who sit toward the ends of the bar with their shoulders hunched forward in a defensive lurch, inexplicably wanting to be left alone in this crowded room. He’s not here for them. And there are the people who are still hopeful if not desperate for someone to notice them. Most of them don’t even need compliments or even the veneer of decency. They just need the promise of pleasure to drown out their own self-loathing. Jeremy can work with that.
He doesn’t bother with anyone standing around the edges of the space and instead makes a beeline to the bar. He slides into a seat and scans the room quickly. His eyes land on a woman sitting to his right, about three stools away. She looks to be in her mid- to late twenties, but worn, like she’s seen all too much in her short time on this earth. Her brown hair has been straightened within an inch of its life and sits in a sharp spray just past her shoulders. He noticed her initially when she boorishly adjusted her blue strapless dress. She stuck her entire hand into the top of her dress to do so. He finds her utterly repugnant. Desperation rolls off her like cigarette smoke and mixes with the pompous delusion she wears all over her like drugstore perfume. And tonight, he’s going to make her dreams come true.
He flags down the bartender with a finger in the air. She makes her way over to him slowly.
“What can I get ya?” she asks, wiping her hands on her pants.
“What is she drinking?”
The bartender looks where he is pointing and narrows her eyes, laughing. “Oh, that one is a Cosmo girl for sure.” She looks back at him with a playful smirk, leaning on her elbow. “You want me to slip her a whiskey and see how it plays out?”
A smile hints slightly at the corners of his mouth. Bartenders can pick out a phony as well as he can, and for that they usually earn his respect.
He nods. “Give her another Cosmo and tell her it’s from me, please.” He slides her some cash to cover it, and she places her hand over it.
“You got it.”
He watches her make the pink drink and pour it into a fresh glass. She slides it in front of Jeremy’s mystery rabbit without spilling any contents over the rim—he’s impressed. Rabbit looks startled but quickly transitions to satisfied. She feels emboldened now, pushing her hair back with a self-satisfied look on her pinched face. She glances up, after the bartender points her in his direction and casts a look his way under her eyelashes. She gives a flirty wave and beckons him closer.
Got her.
“I hope that wasn’t too presumptuous of me,” he says, sliding into the stool next to her, flashing his disarming smile.
She sucks in a breath. “I was hoping you would come over to talk to me.”
She leans forward. He can plainly see her trying to subtly squeeze her arms to her sides to accentuate her cleavage. Her proximity makes him uncomfortable—she smells like tobacco and coffee, and it’s nauseating as it swirls off her tongue in waves—but he soldiers on, concentrating on what’s to come.
“Well, you’re in luck then. What’s your name, pretty girl?” He nearly chokes as he says this but keeps his voice steady.
She bites her lip.
“Tara,” she answers in a breathy voice.
She draws out the long a in an obvious effort to appear seductive, and he almost pulls a muscle trying to stop his eyes from rolling. She smiles, and, unsurprisingly, doesn’t ask for his name in return.
“Hi, Tara. I’m Jeremy.”
“You don’t look like a Jeremy,” she coos and leans her chin into her palm, blinking her eyes rapidly. He forces a grin and takes a sip of his drink.
“Well, I doubt I act like one either,” he replies, not even sure what it means but pleased that it’s elicited a shrill giggle from his new friend.
This is too easy.
It’s exactly what he is looking for tonight. No complications or overly intricate blueprints. He just needs release. The way he sees it, this is a return to the basics. All he has to do is get her in the car with him, and from there he’ll be free to follow wherever his desires lead. He pauses to observe her as she sips her Cosmopolitan. She places it down and briefly wipes her nose with the side of her finger. She takes the same hand and runs it through her brown hair, flipping it to one side, and tilting her head back slightly in the process. As she does, he gets a glimpse at the tiny bit of dried blood that coats the inside of her nose.
Bingo.
“So, Tara, I’ve been watching you tonight.” He smirks, seeing her light up already. “I mean, obviously, just the sight of you turns me on.”
She’s totally loving it and leans forward to allow him a better view down her dress.
“But I also know that you’re the kind of woman who knows what she wants. You don’t seem like the type to fall for a line of bullshit.”
Her eyes travel down his body, and when they return to his face, she bites her lip, and replies, “Damn straight.”
He recoils a bit but forces himself to move in closer. Just as he suspected—under her grown woman’s exterior, she is just a horny teenage boy. He gets to the punch line, “I have some blow back at my place. Come with me.”
He watches her eyes light up. She licks her lips in a way he’s sure she thinks is alluring. “Let’s go.” She nods, leaning in too close.
He throws down some cash for the bartender’s tip and stands, extending a hand to grasp hers as they walk toward the exit. The bar’s smoky, hot air is replaced by the fresh evening breeze outside. He opens the passenger door of his car for her, and she slides in smoothly. As he walks to the driver’s side, he mentally prepares himself and starts mulling over options. He should take her back to his place. But he doesn’t want to wait for his release. Before sliding himself into the driver’s seat, he nods to a man smoking a cigarette outside. He’s frustrated, like he just got into an argument with someone, and gives Jeremy a perplexed look before flipping him off, stamping his cigarette out on the ground and going back inside the bar. People have a funny way of validating his disdain for them just when he needs it most.
They drive in comfortable silence for a bit. Every now and then, the woman breaks his meditative quiet with mindless bits of conversation. As the pair makes their way down the dark, tree-lined back roads of Orleans Parish, Jeremy decides where he is bringing her next. He turns onto a dirt road and distracts her with a bit of light conversation.
“What do you do for work?” he asks, preparing himself to feign interest in whatever menial title she’s about to rattle off.
“I’m an attorney,” she says, looking out the passenger window.
Her response is the first thing to shock him tonight. He stifles out an incredulous chuckle. “Really?” he asks, trying to keep his tone even. “A lawyer?”
She smirks, turning to face him with her glassy eyes.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am surprised,” he admits.
He shakes his head. She certainly doesn’t come off as a lawyer. But he wonders what a lawyer would look like in the last hours of the night at a dive bar. This woman just occasionally cut a line with her bar membership card before snorting another hole into her brain.
She laughs lightly, then shakes her head too.
“Well, I have the title, but I just lost the first job I got out of law school,” she admits, stopping short of an explanation and flicking her shame-filled eyes down to her hands.
He can tell she wants to talk about it. She is looking for a companion to unload on, but it won’t be him. No, she won’t find any empathy or thoughtful advice over here. He has infiltrated her broken world for sport, and he’s only interested in his own games tonight. She looks over at him but quickly turns back to the window once she sees that he isn’t going to press for more information.
“So where exactly do you live?” She shifts uneasily in her seat, feeling the weight of her spontaneous decision. “Should I be nervous that you’re turning into the woods right now?”
She clears her throat nervously but turns it into a forced chuckle. He smiles, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him.
“No need to be nervous, esquire. I live a bit off the beaten path.”
A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, but her nervous energy lingers.
“You live down here?”
“Not down this particular road, but close enough.”
He keeps his eyes focused in front of him. The road before them is dark, unlit, and bumpy. A swamp emerges on their left, and menacing cypress trees knit together like a screen to their right.
“So why are we going down this way if you don’t live here?” she asks, posturing bravado. She clutches her seat belt like it’s a weapon.
He pulls into a dirt patch near the swamp and cuts the engine. Finally, he smiles over at her.
“The air is so nice tonight. I thought we could go for a walk,” he reassures.
“It’s, like, pitch-black,” she protests but can’t help but follow like a lamb to slaughter.
He smiles, walking toward her. He can see her stiffen as he strides into her space. He leans forward, and she sucks in a quick breath just as he reaches into the open car window to snatch a flashlight. He wiggles it in front of her face and then clicks it on. The inorganic sound cuts through the silence.
“Not anymore,” he says with a wink, taking her hand in his.
Somewhere in her brain, she can feel herself in danger. Her body tenses, and her pupils dilate. Together they stroll into the deep darkness stretched out in front of them. The only light is the moon, which is close to full. Its light is bright white and gives the whole area a slight glow. She is gripping his hand. She clings to it as a child would cling to their parent’s. He squeezes it in a simulated show of comfort. They walk in silence for a few minutes, both examining the terrain around them, though for completely different reasons.
“It’s actually kind of pretty out here. It’s still really creepy but pretty.”
She startles at a twig snapping in the distance, and her body instinctively leans closer to his out of fear. He can’t help but smile at the irony. He is far and away the greatest threat to her safety in this bayou.
“Yeah, but all things worth considering are an amalgamation of scary and beautiful. How boring it is to fit into only one category.”
“I bet you assume I don’t know what amalgamation means, huh?” She pauses and looks up at him, smirking in a way that makes her look more attractive than she did in the badly lit bar.
He grins back, waiting for her to continue walking. She shakes her head as they make their way toward a wooden bench by the water. It’s crudely cut and clearly handmade, but somehow also inviting, making the filthy swamp look peaceful. They sit side by side and look out at the moon’s reflection on the surface of the murky water.
“I passed the bar exam, you know. Believe it or not, cleavage doesn’t correlate with intelligence.”
She is smiling good-naturedly. He doesn’t respond right away, taking a moment to feign scratching his leg to feel for the holster holding his hunting knife firmly in place near his ankle.
“Guilty.” He straightens up, casting his eyes on her. “You are a good example of the dangers of judging a book by its cover.”
She laughs softly, playfully bumping her shoulder into his. “That’s a strange compliment, but I’ll take it.”
“How generous of you.”
“How could I really be mad at that face?” she admits, and places a hand on his left cheek, turning his face slightly to meet hers. She closes her eyes and begins to move forward, initiating a kiss. He hesitates only slightly before moving to close the distance, almost touching her lips with his own. Once he can feel her breath meet his, he speaks softly.
“You should run.”
The words slither out of his mouth. Her breath hitches, and she smiles nervously. She keeps her face close to his but pulls back just slightly to look into his eyes.
“What?”
“You heard me correctly.”
Her smile drops quickly. She pulls back and lets out a puff of incredulous breath.
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
He can almost feel his eyes darken as he bends down to slip the knife from its place on his ankle. He holds it up in front of him, inspecting it and admiring the moonlight bouncing off the blade. She is paralyzed where she sits, her eyes flicking from him to the weapon. He can see regret flash across her face like a movie trailer.
“Now, run!” He yells the last word at her, never once turning to meet her gaze as he does.
Out of his periphery, he can see her take off into the darkness as a choked sob escapes her mouth. He stands as well, giving her a moment before walking in her direction. There’s nowhere for her to go. He brought her to a dead-end trail, lined with swamps and completely surrounded by barbed-wire fencing. The parks department’s efforts to keep the alligators out has now locked her in with the real predator. Her options are to face him or swim.
He knows this place well. His father used to take him here often to hunt feral hogs when he was young. He was taught patience on those evenings that they spent together, waiting for hogs in this secluded playground. Somehow, they managed to carry out their illicit excursions without incident from local law enforcement. It’s a pleasant memory, watching over the swamp as night fell.
Hunting at night is a lesson in fear. It teaches you to control your instincts and accept the unfamiliar sounds that slither out from hidden places once the sun goes down. Night dwellers know that the silence is a myth. It is always loudest at night. He’s able to distinguish between each of the hundreds of different sounds that make up this nightly chatter. A real hunter can tune it all out to listen for its chosen prey. Tonight, his keen ears tell him he’s on the right path. Of course, he has no interest in hunting hogs now. He puts into practice the countless skills he honed out here with his father in a different way today. He’s since found a far more exciting prey.
Through the cacophony, he hears a twig snap to his right. He can tell that she has stopped running. He would be able to hear her running. He walks softly, allowing the earth to absorb every step before placing the other down. He smiles as he strides.
“Calm down, Tara! Did you know that the meat actually tastes worse when the animal displays extreme fear before slaughter? Something about the lactic acid breakdown.”
He hears her stifle a sob. Her breathing has become loud enough to make out clearly over the din.
“Oh, Tara. I don’t want to eat you!” He laughs now, stepping over a fallen branch. “It’s interesting though, right? Do you think we’ve even tasted meat at its finest? After all, how could any animal be completely serene before its death? You’re enjoying my little fun facts, aren’t you, Tara?” He yells into the darkness when he reaches her name.
She’s running again. He can hear her take off through the brush. He hears her stumbling footsteps and ragged breath move farther away from him. Her panic is detectable even in the murky darkness that surrounds them both. He breaks into a sprint too. He lets the branches whack his face as he sails through the familiar terrain and enjoys the unbridled rush of an old-fashioned chase.
Ahead of him, Tara might as well be blind. He can hear her stop and start several times as she attempts to navigate the pitch black that spills out in front of her. Endless minute noises give away her location. Then, suddenly, the commotion stops. He stops with it. He stands in the middle of the trees and listens. She’s hiding, he assumes. She doesn’t know yet that he knows these woods well. He knows where a scared little piggy would take cover. He breathes in the crisp night air and tilts his head back to look up at the sky. It is vast and clear, framed by the cypress tree branches that reach out to cradle it.
He pulls the night-vision glasses from his pocket and allows his eyes to adjust. He also learned from his father to use thermal imaging equipment to stalk alpha predators that similarly reveled in the night once the last bit of light slid beneath the horizon. His world is green and focused now. A wall of trees stretches out in front of him, punctuated by small swampy areas and natural rock formations.
“Tara!” he calls out, shattering the silence. “I can see everything, Tara. If you try to run again, I will shoot you.”
He’s lying. There is no gun in these woods. He says this to increase her panic. He’s accelerating her fear response, strong-arming her amygdala into sounding the alarm that something threatening is nearby. He has to wait only a few seconds before her hypothalamus will trigger her sympathetic nervous system into giving away her hiding spot. Her heart is beating faster now, lungs opening to suck in as much oxygen as they can, increasing her alertness but creating much more noise as her breathing quickens. He focuses on that breathing now. He begins to follow it. He imagines her crouching in the muddy forest, trying to ignore the creatures that make their way onto her bare legs uninvited. It’s got to be torture for a girl like her. She’s been ripped completely out of her element and fully immersed in his.
He gazes at his surroundings through his glasses. Everything in his view is cast in a sickly green hue, but to Tara it’s as dark as the inside of an executioner’s hood. He moves, called by her breathing as it becomes choked and frantic. She can hear him coming toward her, but she can’t see him, no matter how hard she tries to focus her eyes. She can feel the fear take over her body like it’s replaced the blood in her veins.
He hears her stumbling through the branches and underbrush and pauses momentarily to listen. The bayou will do its best to help him, but it will try even harder to trap her. She runs toward the dirt path they came down earlier, splashing water as her feet pound into the earth below. She has no idea that she’s running farther into his cage.
He runs toward her now, bursting from the tree cover into the open expanse of the dirt path. She hears him and turns to digest what little the moonlight reveals. Her face is lit with terror. Jeremy smiles widely, stalking toward her with the knife unsheathed. And Tara, now exposed, screams as she breaks into a clumsy run. It’s like she’s running through sand. He seizes the opportunity to gather two tennis-ball-sized rocks from the ground.
“Duck!” he yells out, startling her enough to stop and cover her head instinctively.
He throws one of the rocks with as much force as he can muster. It connects with the back of her leg, making her crumble to her knees in an unnatural way. She wails in pain and shock, frantically reaching for the source of the blow. He throws the second rock. It ricochets off her skull with a sickening crack. She falls to the ground, now clutching her head.
“Stop! Please stop!” she cries out.
But he doesn’t. He slowly walks toward her broken body in the middle of the path. As he crouches down next to her, she swats at him aimlessly. He catches her hand by the wrist, holding it up to the blade in his. He feels her pulse racing under his fingers and then drags the blade across her palm. She screams, trying to pull her hand back with everything she has left. As her screams turn to sobs, he smiles. He’s in control again.
“Is someone out there?” A man’s voice echoes out through the night, snapping Jeremy back to attention. Flashlights appear at the far end of the dirt path.
“Are you hurt?” a second voice calls out.
Jeremy can see the shapes of the two men entering the path. He claps his hand over Tara’s mouth before she can cry out for help, but panic starts to creep into his veins. They heard Tara. He didn’t scout out this location ahead of time tonight. He had acted on impulse, and he didn’t consider the hunters sitting in the very same ground blind locations that he had once occupied with his father.
“We aren’t here to hurt you. We’ll get you help,” the first man continues gently, swinging the beam of his flashlight toward them.
Tara’s eyes are wide, silently screaming out to these men, but they can’t see her. Not yet.
A pang of frustration rings through Jeremy’s chest as he weighs his options. In the end, there is only one path forward.
Still muffling Tara’s mouth with one hand, he lifts her chin to look at him. He takes one final second to relish in the moment when their eyes lock before hearing her would-be rescuers rush closer. He quickly brings the bowie knife across her neck, slicing deeply from ear to ear. As soon as the blade releases from her flesh, he drops her to the ground and takes off running. She sputters and gurgles behind him, and the men rush toward the sound. Deep, disjoined breaths heave from her tattered larynx as they arrive at her side. The wound spans the entire length of her neck, and it’s deep. They bark orders at each other, one of them calling for an ambulance and the other frantically trying to slow the bleeding. It won’t do much good though. Jeremy is sure he cut her carotid artery. She will be gone within minutes as her body forcibly pumps its own life force from her wound into the dirt.
He runs, not stopping as the chaos unfolds behind him, propelling himself farther and farther away with each bound. He dives into his car and flicks off the headlights before peeling away in a cloud of gravel and dust. He uses the night-vision goggles to guide him as he makes his way back to the main road. No other cars follow. The men are too busy trying to save a woman seconds from death.
Jeremy just drives, flicking the headlights back on and removing his eyewear when he’s put enough space between them. He opens the glove compartment where his phone sits and presses play on a random playlist. “Pretty When You Cry” by VAST plays loudly, and he takes in a deep, calming breath. Today was a bad day. In his brain, he knows he should have just stayed home. He should have dealt with the repercussions of his last miscalculation before piling another mess on top of it.
He’s sure Tara will die. But it’s the sloppy execution that bothers him. He dove into the water without even checking the depth. He was foolish and impetuous. He acted on animal impulses and ignored his prized brain. Without a thought, he swerves the car toward the side of a dark road, throwing it into park as dust swells around the headlights. He pounds his fist against the steering wheel, wails on the vinyl surface like it holds a treasure locked inside. When his hand throbs and his breath is heavy, he sits back in his seat and screams. All his stress and frustration, all his dissatisfaction and hunger erupt in a primal scream on the side of a dark, dirt road deep in the Louisiana bayou. Tears roll down his face, and he lets them cool his burning, dirt-covered cheeks.
His chest heaves as he throws the car back in drive and barrels toward his home. He turns the music up loud, hoping it will drown out his thoughts. The barrage of sound only fuels the anger he can no longer control. As he speeds down the road ahead, he knows his days in this place are numbered.