Anna
The helicopter ride back into the city is somehow colder than the ride we took a few days ago. I don’t reach across and touch him and he doesn’t reach over and touch me. The weight of what we’re going to do sits between us. I don’t recall ever having been so nervous, so scared. The helicopter thrums through the air, trembling and gliding, and I try to imagine a future in which Samson and I are together, but none of this craziness is happening around us.
Because, I reflect, that’s what I want. I want for Samson and I to be together. Already, I struggle to imagine a life he is not a part of. I want to back to the veterinary center and I want to go on with my ambitions and I want to fulfill the dreams I’ve worked so hard for, but I want Samson there with me along the way. I come back to the field and the turnstile and the yapping, jumping dogs. I come back to it in my mind, but I’m not alone anymore. Samson and I walk into the field together. He gathers the dogs up in his arms and smiles over the head of a Jack Russel as it laps at his face. He laughs, and I laugh, and for a moment the sound of the helicopter falls away, the reality of the plan falls away, and we are in that field, we are at peace. I wish was there now, wish I was there with him and the dogs and the nature and the peacefulness of it all. I wish instead of landing back in the city, we landed somewhere far, far away, somewhere people weren’t trying to hurt us, somewhere things weren’t so complicated.
And then my mind moves from this precious image to Dad, and my blood runs cold in my veins. Dad always interfering, always doubting, always hurting. It’s a confusing coldness. I know that if Dad had not hired Samson, Eric would’ve killed me. But that’s the thing about parents. You can be thankful for them and hate them at the same time, wish them closer and wish them farther away. He saved me, in a roundabout way, and yet I resent him for it. I try to find a way through this jungle of thought, but I fail. He loves me; I tell myself that again and again. He obviously wants to protect me. But in doing so he declared loudly and without hesitation that I am wrong, that my decisions are wrong, that everything I do is wrong. He makes me into a teenager again, as I sit here lost in thought, a teenager who lives in constant fear of his knife-sharp words.
Then, as the helicopter surges over the glittering nighttime lights of New York City, I think of River, Samson’s ex-girlfriend and the woman who orchestrated our meeting. Even my feelings toward her aren’t as cut-and-dry as they should be. I should hate her, unflinchingly. She wants me dead, she wants my man dead. But when I think of her, it’s not a bloodthirsty killer I see, but a wounded woman, a woman tortured and raped for two years by a psychopath. If I had gone through what she did, I don’t know if I could have come out the other end unchanged.
All of it is confusing. Nothing about it is simple. I find myself wishing I could feel just one way, anger or resentment or hate or love, just one of them, instead of this confusing medley.
Then Samson is setting us down and we’re climbing from the helicopter, one step closer to our plan, which will, if all goes well, banish River from our lives forever.
Our lives, I think, and I know that will never change, not now. It will be our lives forever.
###
“The queen hath returned!” Elle cries when I enter the changing room.
It’s odd to think that it’s been only a few days since I last saw her, it seems like a lifetime. So much has changed. I feel like a different woman as I walk past my fellow cheerleaders, smiling and returning their greetings. Samson has become an integral part of my life, has changed me, and walking into these familiar surroundings highlights that in a way nothing else could. I join Elle at the end of the room, standing near our lockers.
“So,” she says, and the roar of the crowd filters into the room, loud, shaking, “you’re back.”
She smiles and I return the smile. I have to pretend like everything’s alright, I know. Samson’s words echo in my mind. I’ll know what to do. I have to trust him, and yet I can’t believe that I’m back here when there’s a psychopathic killer out there gunning for me. And soon I’ll be out in the court, cheering, smiling like a loon and waving my pom-poms.
“I’m back.” I smile, as I undress and begin changing into my cheer outfit. I wonder if they’re up there now. I know that Samson is, watching, waiting. I’m bait, I think. He’s using me as bait. But I agreed, didn’t I? I’m not going to back out now, no way. I’m going to see this thing through to the end, soldier on, march confidently out there and pretend that everything is fine.
“Are you okay?” Elle asks quietly. She puts her hand on my shoulder.
For a moment I am confused, and then I realize. To the other girls, it must seem like I took time off because of the corpse, the shock of finding my ex-husband in the trunk of my car. Even now, the girls are uncharacteristically quiet. I feel their eyes on me, all of them watching, trying to be subtle and failing. They’re listening, I know, trying to figure out if there’s any drama or gossip to be had.
“Oh, fine.” I laugh, and wave a hand as though nothing is wrong. “It was just a shock. That’s all. I’m over it now.”
“But the police interrogated you, didn’t they?” Elle presses.
I sigh, and then immediately regret it. Sighing makes it look like there’s something wrong. I turn to her and smile my brightest, fakest smile; the smile of a cheerleader. “Oh, that was just a mix up,” I say. “They got the wrong idea. That’s all. There’s nothing to worry about.” My voice is artificially cheery, but that’s nothing new in this room. Most of the women in here are artificially cheery, it comes with the territory of being a cheerleader.
“Well, that’s good to know,” Elle says, taking her hand from my shoulder.
Soon, we are all changed into our cheer gear. The crowd roars and cheers and claps and chants and I know that somewhere, up there, Samson stands among them. He stands among them and he watches, watches for River and her goons, watches and waits for them to reveal themselves when they see me. That is our plan: dangle me before them like bait and wait for the killers in the crowd to break cover.
I’m nervous, it’s true, but I also trust Samson. I know that he is skilled at what he does and that he cares for me. That brings me more comfort than anything. Samson cares for me and he’d never let anybody hurt me.
But what if he can’t stop them? A voice whispers. I don’t want to listen to it but I can’t ignore it, either. Despite my trust in him, I know that he’s a man. A brilliant man, a strong man, a deadly and skilled man, but a man all the same.
Just be brave, I think, echoing his words to me in the cabin. Just be brave and patient.
I take a long, deep breath, clearing my mind, and then Elle taps me on the shoulder. A sense of déjà vu grips me; it wasn’t so long ago she was tapping me on the shoulder to bring me out of a different reverie.
“It’s show time, girl!” Elle smiles.
“Okay,” I mutter.
Heart thumping, palms soaked with sweat, legs threatening to tremble so badly I don’t know if they’ll do as I command them during the cheer, I make my way to the exit of the changing room, following the line of the other girls.
All too soon, we are walking out into the bright lights of the arena, into the gaze of thousands of cheering, clapping NBA fans, and into the glare of the hidden killers within the crowd.
I plaster a smile on my face. Elle is right.
It really is show time.