Blind Rage - Chapter 12

Thursday, July 24, 1997, 10:02 am

Boerne, Texas

George spotted his ex-wife’s blue Camry in the driveway when he pulled up to his house, and he wondered if Lucy had been waiting long. The thought brought conflicting emotions.

Barely four months had passed since their divorce was final, and a bitter part of him hoped that she’d sat outside for hours. But he conceded that if she had, she would be pissed off.

Getting out of the truck, he offered a wave to Lucy Martinez when she slid off the hood of her car. But he stayed beside the truck, ready to make a quick getaway if things got ugly.

Her hands dropped to pat down the back of her jeans, and George’s gaze dipped to admire her legs. The dark denim fit her like a second skin, as did her black T-shirt, the front bearing a cracked and faded Harley-Davidson logo.

Her silken black hair was braided, and the tip of her ponytail was tucked into her back pocket. If she unbound her hair, it would sweep down to the middle of her thighs.

As she walked up to George’s truck, she pulled off her sunglasses to reveal bright grey eyes. This was a trait that seemed unusual given her curly black hair and dark bronze coloring. But George knew from looking through Lucy’s photo albums that bright eyes were not so unusual for her family.

George averted his gaze to keep himself from staring. Her eyes were traps, and he had already fallen into those traps far too often.

She was just as pretty as the day he’d first met her, but her beauty hid a fiery temper, and after less than a year of marriage, George bowed out of the nightly arguments as gracefully as he could manage.

Lucy got the house, the car, half of his salary, and one of his dogs.

It was the other dog that kept George returning to his home every day. Rosa refused to let Max stay at her house because the border collie wouldn’t stop growling at her.

She had declared, “If it growls all the time, it must be an enemy.”

Or rather, her berserker said it. Max had brought out the worst in Rosa, causing her to turn red as her body swelled. Her berserker didn’t leave until the dog did.

So, George had to stop by the house to feed Max, change his water, and spend at least an hour playing.

It wasn’t the dog’s fault that he could sense the cat in Rosa, or that he didn’t care for her scent. So George tried to show that he still loved his dog, even if they couldn’t live together for a while.

This was punishment enough, and now he had to put up with Lucy too.

Tucking the earpiece of her sunglasses into the collar of her shirt, Lucy pointed to Max, still barking and dancing in the backyard. “Your neighbor called me. Max was whining all night, and he’s keeping everyone up.”

George slouched his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So...when did you get here?”

“About two hours ago.”

George suppressed a cringe, glancing toward the border collie who trotted and leapt along the fence. The dog was happy to see him, eager to play chase.

Max kept calling, “Master! Play!”

The dog had to wait, because his ex-wife looked ready to play piñata with his balls first.

Or, she had. Once she’d gotten closer, her narrowed eyes opened in a look of uncertainty. Her body posture shifted as she dropped out of full combat mode. George wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he couldn’t talk.

He was stunned because he’d never seen Lucy calm down once she was angry. Seeing it for the first time, he wasn’t sure how to react, or what to say to keep her calm.

Lucy sounded confused as she asked, “Where have you been staying?”

“Out on the lake. I’m working with an FBI agent, Gavin Lebowitz.”

A smile lifted the corners of Lucy’s mouth. “What would the FBI need with you?”

“I’m helping to track down a wild animal near Rosa Delgado’s property.”

Lucy’s lean face filled with concern. “How is she?”

George sighed. Of course Lucy had already heard about Rosa’s panic attack in the grocery store. “I want to say that she’s starting to get better, but...”

Lucy nodded, murmuring, “Yeah.”

She looked back toward the dog. “If you aren’t making it a permanent thing, I could take Max back home with me. I’m sure Pixie would love to see him.”

George nodded, smiling gratefully. He couldn’t believe his luck. He was going to get away from an encounter unscathed. “Is it all right if I play with him for a few minutes first? He’s so wound up right now, he’d probably tear up your car on the ride back.”

“Sure, run him around a bit.”

Lucy trailed several steps behind George, and when he glanced back, he noticed how the puzzled look in her eyes didn’t match her relaxed smile.

He stopped at the gate, turning to offer her a questioning look. “Is everything okay?”

Lucy nodded, “Uh-huh. I’m fine.”

Warning bells went off in George’s head, and he opened the gate, stepping into the backyard to get some distance. He almost closed the gate and latched it.

He couldn’t help but react in fear. “I’m fine,” meant an explosion was imminent, and he’d heard the phrase far too often to ever believe it.

He knew it rarely meant what he thought the words should mean, but he’d never stumbled onto a way to diffuse the loaded verbal bomb. Every time, Lucy would blow up in his face if he said anything else.

And then again, she would explode if he said nothing at all. He had to say something, even if it was just to ensure that the explosion was smaller.

Offering a thin smile, he lofted out an easy question, “Are you sure?” Her brow wrinkled and he quickly added, “You just seem worried about something.”

The space between Lucy’s eyebrows flattened before she nodded. “I’m just confused. You...you smell different.” She tittered and looked down. “I guess that sounded stupid.”

“How did you mean?” George asked. “Do you mean I smell sick?” He grinned at her when she looked up. “Or maybe that was a hint that I need a bath?”

Laughing with him, Lucy shook her head. “No, not like—it’s not a bad change. You just smell different.”

She started walking closer, and her smile fell as her expression became uncertain.

George was still grinning like an idiot. He barely noticed Max jumping up to push on his thigh with both front paws. The dog wanted to play, and he had no idea of the potential disaster looming in the air.

But even while George’s brain screamed, Get some space, you moron! he stood with one hand resting on the gate, and the other on top of the metal fence post.

He couldn’t help himself. Lucy was never so pretty to him as when she looked uncertain. He wasn’t sure why, but subconsciously he associated uncertainty with a chance to help. In that way, he could perhaps prevent her from being angry all the time.

The plan had never succeeded, but after a year of living with her, George’s brain was wired to that one expression. It worked in much the same way that Pavlov’s dogs were wired to drool when a bell rang.

So he froze, and when she was standing in front of him, he asked, “How different?”

Lucy leaned in close, sniffing the front of his flannel shirt over his chest. She rose up on the tips of her toes while she sniffed his shoulder, and then his neck.

George had to tighten his grip on the fence post to keep himself from grabbing her waist to pull her close. He’d been alone since divorcing her, and the sudden animal instinct to take her was intense.

His whole body was rigid, and his pants quickly became too tight. The only thing that stopped him was the thought, Is one night of pleasure worth the hell of the next fight?

It wasn’t, which is why he kept his hands to himself.

Lucy stepped back and her lips parted to let go of a shaky breath, exposing her fangs briefly.

She recovered her composure and closed her mouth, and then her lips flattened in a confused, strained smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’d become a dog.”

George’s brain did a somersault. Leaning his head over, he said, “What an odd thing to say.”

Lucy tittered again, avoiding his intent stare. “I know, isn’t it?”

***

Thursday, 10:20 am

Rachel walked through the hall, returning to her room with a fresh cup of coffee. She paused to shut her door and sip from her mug, and her mouth tightened in a displeased grimace as she swallowed.

Rosa had no clue how to make decent coffee, but suggesting a new blend made her mad. Even making her own coffee in a smaller machine wouldn’t work. Rachel hadn’t tried yet, but she could already imagine Rosa huffing and asking, “What’s wrong with my coffee?”

Rachel answered the question with a thought, Your coffee is like a racist joke. Mostly tasteless.

Still Rosa was the alpha female, so if she wanted weak drip coffee as the house blend, Rachel had to muddle through as best she could until better living arrangements could be made.

She set the mug on her desk and sat down in front of her computer, cracking her knuckles before she opened the chat window and started tapping out a greeting to her friends.

One of the names in the public chat room was SecretNerdyMan, a handle for her coworker, Lucas Carmichael. He sent a private message, which opened in a separate window. Did you get fired, or are you slacking off and calling in sick?

Leaning over, Rachel wrote, Neither, but thanks for the concern. I’m just handling equipment for a temporary HQ. It’s all very hush hush, and I’d have to kill you and eat you if I said anything else.

There was a long delay before Lucas wrote, There are some good kinds of eating.

Rachel snickered and typed, This would be the bad kind, and would involve much chomping and screaming.

Lucas replied, I’m covering myself in crosses and shaking in horror. I shall ask no more.

Rachel was about to make a joking reply when she heard someone else typing with a furious speed.

It was the downside of having a heightened sense, she heard everything that everyone else was doing. Which should have been distracting, but no longer was after just two days to get used to it.

The flurry of keystrokes in the other room stopped, and Rachel’s curiosity got the better of her. She wrote, Hold on a second. I want to go check on a noise I just heard.

She was getting up when Lucas sent a message, DON’T OPEN THE DOOR!

Rachel laughed and thought, Where were you last week? I could have used a warning like, “Don’t go into the house!” Or at the very least, “Don’t accept the refill!”

Venturing into the hall, she sorted out that the typing sound came from Rosa’s room. Rachel debated with herself before she knocked. “Rosa?”

The typing stopped. “What is it?”

Opening the door, Rachel asked. “I just heard you typing, and I wondered what you were up to.”

“Just working,” Rosa said. “Is there anything you need?”

“Uh, no.” Rachel hung off the door, squinting at the screen to try and read what Rosa was working on. Rosa shut off the monitor, and Rachel huffed. “So, what do you do in here all day?”

“I work,” Rosa answered evasively. She folded her arms and scowled to make herself uglier. “Of course, I work better without distractions.”

“Okay, fine, I’m going.” Padding into the room, Rachel shut the door.

Rosa sighed and said, “You aren’t fooling anyone, you know.”

Grinning, Rachel snapped her fingers. “It was worth a try.”

She went back to her room, silently vowing, I will find out what she does.

***

Thursday, 1:30 pm

Dave got the bulldozer into position and lowered the bucket until it was skimming just above the ground. Then, shifting gears, he eased the dozer forward until the bucket was under the bed of his truck.

Dave raised the bucket until the truck was almost vertically inclined on the front. He drove forward a few inches, then stepped on the brake and shut his eye in anticipation of the crash.

It didn’t come, and the truck required several nudges before it would tip back onto the wheels. Once it was flipped upright, he used the dozer bucket to push the truck onto the rental trailer.

He shut off the dozer and raised his hand to his face. Slipping his fingers under his black eye patch, he scratched his cheek while reminding himself, I have to get used to the itch.

Dave jumped out of the cab, landing with easy grace and little sound. There was also no pain from his arm, which was odd because he would have sworn that he’d fractured it in the fight with the strange beast.

After a day of rest, it just throbbed faintly when he moved it. After sleeping for most of two days, he felt fine. He was just drowsy and hungry.

Extremely hungry.

He could also swear that he’d punctured his eye, but the milk-clouded orb was seemingly intact when he removed the bandages on day two. He just couldn’t see anything beside grey-tone blurs that confused him and threw off his good eye.

He suspected it would be permanent, which was why he needed the eye patch.

He was crippled because of the giant bear.

Dave allowed himself to think of it as a bear, but only because it had the same general shape and because he didn’t know a proper name for it. He knew bears didn’t have hands, and they couldn’t move so fast, nor jump so far in one leap.

He was pondering on what a proper label might be as he walked around the trailer to secure his decimated truck.

Fortunately, the hunting truck wasn’t his only vehicle, and so he’d had a way to get back into town. Learning to drive with only one eye had been interesting, and sometimes terrifying.

Getting up early that morning, he’d called in favors with some friends who handled construction equipment rentals. He borrowed a larger truck than his white Ford Ranger. He also sweet-talked his friends to borrow a trailer and a bulldozer for the afternoon.

The favors he was owed were nothing compared to what he asked for, and Dave would owe his friends for a long time. That they let him get away with the trade showed how much they liked him.

Once Dave had the ruined truck secured on the trailer, he drove to a scrapyard and signed over the title. An explanation would be needed for the condition of the truck, so he had a story ready before the clerk asked the obvious.

Eyeing the truck with a wincing expression, the old man asked, “What happened?”

Dave grinned with sheepish humility. “I was testing out a new gear shift and steering assembly. Damned steering column came loose, and before I had a chance to hit the brakes, the truck swerved into a field and flipped over.”

There was a partial lie in this statement because his clever remote assembly didn’t have brakes. When seated in the perch, he drove slow and stopped by shifting into reverse. Even in the cab, he had to drive slow to avoid rolling the top-heavy vehicle.

So braking from the perch had seemed like an unneeded luxury while he’d been sketching the initial designs. But brakes were not an optional feature according to the law for any roadworthy vehicle. The perch was supposed to be fitted with a brake cable.

So he lied, and the truck would be crushed into a cube or cut into scrap before anyone had time to double-check his story.

Dave pointed at the black eye-patch over his eye. “That’s how I ended up poking my eye out.”

The clerk shook his head. “You’re lucky you didn’t get killed.”

“You’re telling me?” Dave guffawed. “Man, I already know that.” Dave made small talk with the clerk while the truck was pulled off of the trailer. The small amount of cash he got for the truck was disappointing, but there was little he could say.

Really, he was damned lucky to be alive. He knew it, and he’d been sure to look up a few times just to say, “Thanks.”

He wasn’t sure if anyone heard him, and he didn’t care. He was just covering his bases.

The truck was a loss, but the trip to the scrapyard provided an explanation for the damage, and for his injury.

If the “snow birds” found signs of the crash when they returned home, Dave had a solid story. No, he wasn’t going hunting two months too early for white tail on someone else’s property. Because that would be illegal. He was just driving his truck to test some new jury-rigged equipment.

He returned to the field to load up the dozer, and then he took the equipment back to the construction rental company.

As an afterthought, he passed out the funds from the truck, declaring, “I still owe you big time, but this is a little somethin’ somethin’ to forget this ever happened.”

Dave got back into his Ford in the rental company parking lot, and he sat back, closing his eye while he ran down a mental checklist. No one could connect him to the area, and even if they could, he had a reason to be there.

It was okay to relax.

Or rather, it was time to get back to real work. Dave opened his glove box and grabbed an organizer, flipping through it to see if he had any jobs lined up.

Yes, Judith Owens, and she would be wanting the usual yard work.

He drove to his house to load up his lawnmower and weed-eater. The next stop was the gas station to fill the equipment and the spare gas can. He arrived at four, and if he were a salaried employee, he would have been fired.

But Dave was just a freelance fix-it guy. No one expected him to show up on time.

Instead of a lecture, Judith had an open beer waiting for Dave when he arrived. The old woman asked how he’d lost his eye, and he repeated the same story he’d told at the scrapyard. He spoke between sips from his beer, and Judith frowned and nodded in all the right places.

When he finished, she reached across the kitchen table to pat his hand, muttering, “Bless your heart.”

Dave finished his beer and went out to the yard to work. While he pushed the mower around, he started thinking about how to track the bear.

Anyone who heard his thoughts would have asked him if he’d snapped. They might think he was out for revenge, but in fact, he was not.

For most of his life, Dave had been trained as a hunter. His father and his uncles taught him how to find and follow tracks, and with their collections of guns, bows and crossbows, he had shot and bagged animals from all over the country.

He’d even been up to Canada one winter, and had managed to kill a six point buck. It was no thirty point buck worth singing about, but it kept meat in the freezer for half the winter that year.

Dave wasn’t big on trophy hunting. He was firmly in the camp of eating what he shot, and if he didn’t find something appetizing, he wouldn’t bother looking for it.

But, while Dave had slept through the days following the attack, he’d had dreams of hunting down the bear and confronting it. His victories came only after hard and bloody fighting, and then, through the trees surrounding the carnage, he would find the liger watching him.

The liger’s left eye was white.

Dave tried to chase after the liger, but soon the dream started over, and he was chasing the bear all over again.

 Through his dreams, the curse was strengthening his animal desire to hunt, and after years of tracking animals with no threat to himself, the fight with the bear promised a challenge that would tax him to his limits.

The hunting instinct in Dave was fired by the prospect of danger, of a real fight for life between himself and his giant prey. An animal that large would require a bigger gun than he’d been packing, and he wanted a rifle, something with enough stopping power to drop a charging elephant.

Funny thing was, he knew somebody with the perfect gun for the job.