Peripheral Vision: A Supernatural Thriller(22)

Sarah, finally breaking her paralysis, whipped around to protect herself. She crossed her arms in front of her body in a fleeting attempt to shield herself.

Wright stepped in closer to Sarah. “Manners, man. Come on. I’m sorry about my friend. He gets too... excited, sometimes.” The tall man gestured with his hand for Morris to back up. “So, what brings you to our little town?”

“I’m just checking some things out.” Sarah replied coldly.

“Well, we’ve been checking you out, strutting about town... and we like what we see.” Morris laughed. His eyes were bloodshot and he smelled of old, dying ditch weed.

Sarah was cornered between the two men and the pool table. Her eyes frantically searched for Nick at the bar. There was now a crowd of people surrounding the one loan bartender pouring stiff drinks and popping bottle tops. But Sarah couldn’t see Nick in the crowd, and it seemed no one in the crowd could see her. They might as well be a world away, her mind informed her.

Wright followed her eyes. “Who you lookin’ for? We’re right here, baby.” He grabbed Sarah’s chin, his boney fingers gripping her flesh, and turned it back towards his face. “I said, I like what I see.”

“Don’t you touch me!” She swatted his hand away.

Morris let out a loud belly laugh, and Wright, after the momentary flash of anger slipped from his face, joined in.

“Oh, she’s feisty!” Wright whispered and then he suddenly stopped laughing and this time grabbed Sarah’s arm. His fingers dug into her skin as he pulled her next to his rigid body. He smiled a big, yellow, toothy smile at Sarah as he pressed up against her. “I like that.”

And that’s when the shattering beer bottle exploded a beautifully violent cloud of brown glass on the wall behind Wright’s head. It sounded like a gunshot.

“Get your hands off her!” It was Nick.

He stood on the other end of the room with his arms at his sides. His eyes were cold and expressionless, but his right hand was opening and closing repeatedly. At that moment, Morris and Wright’s expressions changed. The confidence seemed to spill from their faces and onto the floor. Their hands were no longer on Sarah, but instead up in the air as if to say, hey it wasn’t me. I didn’t do anything.

“Sorry brother... we didn’t know she was with you...” Morris fumbled over his words.

“Now you know. Apologize.” Nick stood there not moving and barely breathing.

“I, I’m sorry.” Wright said quickly.

“Yeah, sorry, lady.” Morris repeated.

The two men quickly turned and backed away from Sarah-their hands still in the air. Once they were past the pool table they quickly made their way to the exit and out the door.

Sarah was amazed at how quickly they left. It was like the two men had just almost stepped on a poisonous snake, and expected it to strike at any minute.

Nick moved to Sarah, his expression softening. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I was only gone a minute. Did they hurt you?”

“No. I’m okay. Just shook up I guess.”

Nick wrapped his arms around her. “Are you sure?”

Sarah looked down at her arm. She could still feel the tall man’s cold fingers on her skin, but no bruises, no scratches.

“I’ll be okay.” She looked at Nick. His eyes were watering. She could see the red anger behind the tears. “Nick, it’s really okay.”

Nick nodded and looked back towards the exit. His right hand was still opening and closing into a fist-opening and closing.

“Do you know them?” Sarah asked.

“Don’t worry about them. They won’t bother you again. Promise.”

“Ok.” Sarah said as she reached down and placed her hand in his. She squeezed his hand. “Nick?” In response, Nick closed his fingers around Sarah’s hand and looked away from the exit. “Thanks.” Sarah said with a smile. She forced the smile- that was true, but she was regaining a calmness holding Nick’s hand, and she was thankful for that. “You’re my hero.” She whispered and squeezed his hand.

Nick smiled. “Are you hungry, Sarah?”

“Starving.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

●



Nick and Sarah sat across from each other in a booth at Saint Paul’s Restaurant. Paul Robinson wasn’t really a Saint, but his food was the best in town, and when you go all in on a bet, there’s no going cheap. Nick’s Dad had taught him that-one of the few good things he’d learned from the old man. Nick hadn’t predicted getting into a conversation about his late father with Sarah, but judging by their little unexpected run in at the bar, nothing was going to be predictable tonight.

“So you started working with your father when you were only ten? That’s impressive, Nick.”

“He actually had me with him on job sites even before that, but that’s just because school was out and there was no one around to watch me.” Nick took a drink of his beer and slowly shook his head. “And I don’t know if being a carpenter’s assistant in Homewood, Nebraska is impressive or not, but it kept me out of trouble, and taught me a skill other than football at least.”

“Don’t be so humble, I’ve seen your work. You’re good.”

“Thanks. I enjoy carrying on the family business.”