The Night Swim(18)
Have you ever heard of the “fight-or-flight” response? It’s an instinct hardwired into humans to either fight or flee from danger. Except turns out that “flight or flight” isn’t the whole story.
Experts now know that when faced with extreme danger from which we can see no way out, humans freeze. Just like lizards freeze in the hope their camouflage will protect them from a predator. That’s why it’s now called the fight, flight, or freeze response.
So from what I’ve learned, K didn’t run. She didn’t hide. K froze. Right there on the path as the man came closer. When she saw his face, a rush of relief would have run through her. He was a familiar face, a senior from school with a nice-guy reputation.
Harris Wilson has darkish hair that flops over his forehead. That night, he wore a denim jacket over a gray T-shirt and black skinny jeans. According to a phone interview I did with him several weeks ago, he told K that she shouldn’t be walking there alone.
“And you should?” she responded.
“Probably not. I thought I’d keep an eye on you. Make sure you get home safe.”
“I don’t need company,” she replied. “It’s no big deal. You can go back if you’re scared.”
She walked off, leaving him behind for a second until he caught up. Silence followed until K asked how he ended up at Lexi’s party. He said he and a friend heard about the party on Instagram and decided to check it out. The friend wanted to stay. He thought the party was boring and left.
Eventually, the path came out alongside a neighborhood playground surrounded by hedges. Harris lived diagonally opposite the playground. K lived three blocks away.
They hung out in the playground, rocking gently on adjacent swings as they talked about Lexi, and the party, and school.
Harris had a flask of bourbon in his jacket pocket. They shared it. It burned her throat, but it made her drunk again and restored the euphoria she’d felt at the party.
They listened to music on Harris’s phone. He showed her funny memes. They drank more whiskey. Between the two of them, they finished the flask.
Emboldened by the alcohol, Harris kissed her. He said she kissed him back. They messed around for a bit. Nothing serious. When he tried to take things further, she pulled away and pushed off on the swing until she was airborne. He said he was going home to get a joint from his bedroom. Remember, his house was right across the road.
“I’ll wait for you here,” K promised. She put her head back and stared at the stars as she swung through the air, while Harris ran home, leaving her alone in the playground in the middle of the night. The wind whooshing into her ears would have been so loud that she probably didn’t hear footsteps approach until the intruder was standing right there.
What happened next is at the center of the trial that starts next week. We’ll talk about it in the next episode of Guilty or Not Guilty, the podcast that puts you in the jury box. I’m Rachel Krall.
13
Rachel
Rachel pulled the fleece hood of her sweatshirt over her head before climbing out of her car in a nondescript street in Neapolis. It was after 11:00 P.M. Most people in the neighborhood had turned in for the night.
Bedroom lights shone dimly behind pulled-down blinds on the upper floors of houses. The lights of a TV set flickered from a window as Rachel turned a corner onto the next street. She counted three houses, all shrouded in darkness. The fourth house had a light turned on above the garage. She walked toward the light and then down a path alongside the garage into the back of the house, where a glass sliding door had been left unlocked.
Kelly Moore’s father, Dan, was sitting on the leather armchair in the corner of his office. His eyes were closed and his hands were pressed together against the profile of his face as if he was deep in thought. He had light hair, dark blond with a sprinkling of gray, and a tanned face. Laugh lines permanently crinkled the corners of his eyes.
When he opened them to greet Rachel, his pale blue irises were filled with bewilderment and exhaustion. He’d taken his daughter Kelly’s rape very hard. Rachel knew this because she’d spoken to him on the phone half a dozen times as she tried to convince him to meet with her.
Rachel pulled off her sweatshirt hood to reveal her slightly rumpled shoulder-length auburn hair. Her cheeks were glowing from the nighttime walk.
“Sorry about making you park a block away.” He stood up abruptly and quietly shut the door that connected his home office to the rest of the house. “I didn’t want anyone to see your car near our house. People talk. Especially now.”
Dan Moore’s office mirrored his personality. Everything was arranged with razor precision. There was a sitting area with a wide-screen television on the wall, a leather sofa, and two armchairs. On the other side was an L-shaped desk and metal filing cabinets. The walls were decorated with photos of his wife and two children and his naval service, all arranged with geometric precision. He was neat, disciplined, and clearly took great pride in all he’d accomplished. Especially his family.
It had taken Rachel weeks to convince Dan to talk to her. It was easy enough getting the defendant’s side. Scott Blair and his family had done several media interviews. Even though their new trial lawyer had banned further interviews, the Blair family still worked the media by drip feeding leaks from their inner circle. Leaks that were designed to whip up sympathy for Scott and portray him as an innocent young man who was the victim of a vindictive girl.