The Things We Do to Our Friends(49)

One residence had a pumpkin still sitting outside from Halloween. It had started to rot, the stringy flesh graying where it had been cut and the fanged mouth collapsing, so the face looked like a gummy, drooling animal.

I winced. The hacked-up face reminded me of the unfortunate events of last Halloween. The boy from the bar. An arm pincered under my heel.

Tabitha and I had agreed on a specific time, and I was early because I wanted to be prepared and to work out the best place to lie in wait.

Her instructions were that I’d just need to be nice and close to the house, on the other side of the street, so that I’d see them come up to the front door. Once I was there, I hovered behind some bins, trying not to be too self-conscious even though there was no one else around at all. The place was so quiet at that time of day, just before people started coming home from work. I stamped my feet to stay warm, feeling quite relaxed about the whole thing. Tabitha trusted me, and I’d been given an easy job. It was just a case of taking a few photos.

I heard them before I saw them. They came from around the corner, walking toward the house.

I could almost believe that she was amping up her performance for me, becoming louder and louder, more of a caricature of herself. She was laughing vigorously already, then her laugh morphed into a rather frightening high-pitched peal.

In one hand, she had her handbag. I remember thinking for a second that it was odd she’d brought such a large bag with her. She threw her entire body erratically from side to side with gusto, in a way that was very clever because it made her look a little unpredictable and drunk, but I knew she wouldn’t be, because she so rarely drank much.

I felt a small quiver of fear in my chest. He was large—not fat but extremely muscular. If anything happened, he’d be a tricky opponent. Tabitha, usually the tallest in the room, looked so slight compared to him.

I didn’t take my eyes off them for a second. She moved in closer and grabbed his hand in hers, letting it go again, letting him reach back out to her to draw her in. I wondered why he didn’t mind her doing this, being so open when anyone could see them together, but I realized when he stumbled forward that he was entirely out of it. Maybe more than drunk.

They stood there, outside the house in the driveway, and there was some privacy. Still, I had a perfect line of vision, and I could see both of them, as well as a small, wooden rocking horse in the window that looked like it was moving to and fro. He was swaying too, next to her, in a suit and a shirt unbuttoned at the neck.

He was very hungry for her—I could see that. He saw what we all saw in Tabitha. Probably found her mildly annoying, yet also irresistible.

There was almost a pause; she had her hand on his arm. She looked out away from him and toward where I stood. Although she couldn’t possibly see me, I took it as a sign to take a picture.

Snap.

I took the first shot. Her hand up close on his face, stroking his chin as he leaned in.

Captured—the way he was using his body to close himself around her that gave her the appearance of a china doll, like she might break if he kept bearing down on her. There was so little fat on her, and I thought, as they stood there, what would I do if he grabbed her? If he grabbed her neck hard and she screamed? No one would hear and I’d have to be the one to save her because, of course, I’d go to her rescue. Suddenly I remembered the flash and, cursing, I turned it on.

Snap.

Another picture with her face almost touching his, and then it all happened so quickly.

He looked out into the dark to see where the flash had come from, almost locking eyes with me. I froze, watching Tabitha. I saw that she had a flask in her hand like the ones we brought along to lectures. She held it in front of him, offering it to him, it seemed.

Then she threw the contents of the flask into his face.

The liquid splashed all over him, into his eyes. It looked like water, and for a moment I was confused: why would Tabitha throw water in his face?

A second passed and then the sound he made was long and low and primal, like the howl of an animal caught in a trap. It rang through the quiet streets. I was sure someone would hear, but it was one of those streets where no one ever came out to check on their neighbors. He clawed at his face, rubbing frantically at his eyes, and then he bent at the waist, as if the act of standing up had become too much. I thought he might crumple to the ground entirely. Instead, he reached out toward Tabitha, grabbing at air—because she was gone. It was just him and the rocking horse, still swaying in the background.

I hadn’t been able to stop staring at him. I’d almost forgotten about her, then seconds later she was next to me as I stood there, frozen, and she tugged hard at my sleeve. She was bright and alert and not drunk in the slightest, clutching her bag to her chest with her other hand. He’d fallen to the ground at this point.

“Come on, quick!” She let go and darted in front of me, taking off at top speed away down the street.

What else could I do?

He was still on the ground and I could have helped him. I willed him to get up, and for a moment I thought I might stay, but I’d be kidding myself if it was out of kindness. It was more from the need to see what on earth she’d done to him.

I followed her instead; of course I did.





40


We ran south, down identical streets. Quick turns left and right until I lost track of where we’d come from. She was my shining beacon as she threaded from sidewalk to road. We started to pass people, and she weaved in and out without care. I tried to keep up, pushed myself so I wouldn’t lose her, and we were fast in our getaway. Just as I was starting to reach peak exhaustion, she suddenly swerved right off the road. I followed her down steep steps slick with the damp cover of fallen leaves, until she stopped under a shelter.