When he saw Delilah in the shabby downtown used bookstore, she was thumbing through a firearms magazine while punching the keys on her phone with her thumb. He considered skipping the reunion but her shape and the element of surprise got the better of him. He approached her from the rear, admiring the view as she moved down the aisle. I wish I had a swing like that in my backyard, he said. Fuck off, she barked back, un-phased and continued dumping letters into the device without giving him a glance. Is that any way to treat an old admirer?
Hatchet?
She said and craned her neck around to find his bearded grin beaming at her. How's my favorite brainiac? It took a few seconds for her blank expression to produce a smile of her own, as sneering and perfect as ever, and she let the magazine fold closed and placed it on the nearest rack and pushed the phone into her back pocket then landed a perfect right hook across his burly jaw.
Reeling, he couldn't help but laugh. She spun and stomped out of the store with Hatchet following her to her small Japanese sports car, begging her to stop. She opened the door and dropped inside and within seconds she had turned the corner in squealing escape. Hatchet stood with a foot in the street, working his jaw in a jagged orbicular motion. He watched a touch of white smoke the car had produced drift like a dying ghost across the intersection to decay in the afternoon shadows of an alley. She seems upset, he said to himself. Just as he stepped out of the street, Delilah's car came barreling around the opposite end of the block in the same reckless fashion, coming to a jarring halt next to him. The passenger door window lowered with a servo buzz.
Get in, she told him. Promise not to kill me? he said as he reached for the door. Get in and shut up. She drove him the entire length of the city and pulled into the parking lot of Calvary Fellowship Church, the afternoon sun reflecting against the glass as sickly and green as he remembered it. She stopped under a tree, killed the engine and stared across the blacktop. Her tiny hands still gripped the wheel and he could hear them making the sound of stressed rope against the leather cover. Droplets of perspiration gathered on her temple near the thin beginnings of her dark hair, still damp from a recent shower. The lingering fragrance of shampoo found him vulnerable.
Hatchet took a moment to imagine her wet and naked then he unclipped his seatbelt and waited for her to initiate the exchange. He wondered when she had made the connection then he realized, even with full acceptance of her brilliance, how much he had always underestimated her. She knew what I had done the moment it happened, he thought. How could I have not considered her on the periphery? Then he wondered if she had struggled with going to the police. The only real question now was how she meant to proceed.
You lied to me, she said. I never lied to you, kept things from you but I never lied to you. Skip the semantics, Hatchet, you deceived me. I suppose I did. You suppose? How could I tell you anything? this could’ve been a major crime. It still is a crime. Technically if they don't catch me—. What did I just say about semantics? I'm sorry. Don't fucking say that! don't even try to apologize for this; you have no idea how difficult it was to go to Woody's funeral and sit there and look at his body and look at his family and... and not say anything to anyone. I have to admit, Delilah, you are the one piece of this that I didn't think through. You're goddamned right, you didn't; I nearly went to the fucking cops. Thank you for not doing that. I feel like doing it right now; that was my first instinct back at the bookstore. But you didn't, he said and willed her to look at him and her eyes contradicted the anger in her voice.
I almost told you, he said, I almost called you the night before all this started and asked you to run away with me to South America. Delilah's eyebrows jumped then she laughed and stopped herself but then started again and Hatchet began laughing with her. Pretty ridiculous, huh? he said. Umm, yeah, she said, failing to control herself, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Well, he smiled at her, at least we have that.
Once they had laughed themselves out, Delilah wiping comic tears from her eyes and Hatchet rubbing his now straining abdomen, they kept from speaking, both of them recovering and considering their respective positions as the virid gleam of the Worship Center weakened. If I had called you, he asked her finally, what would you have said? She looked at him and sighed, Hatchet, I gotta tell ya, she rolled her eyes and turned away from his sudden insistence, I would have given it some serious thought. Really? For about three seconds; as romantic and spontaneous as that would have been, Hatchet, no, I would have told you to go fuck yourself. And that's exactly what I did. Yes, you dumb asshole, you sure did.
Hatchet?
She said and craned her neck around to find his bearded grin beaming at her. How's my favorite brainiac? It took a few seconds for her blank expression to produce a smile of her own, as sneering and perfect as ever, and she let the magazine fold closed and placed it on the nearest rack and pushed the phone into her back pocket then landed a perfect right hook across his burly jaw.
Reeling, he couldn't help but laugh. She spun and stomped out of the store with Hatchet following her to her small Japanese sports car, begging her to stop. She opened the door and dropped inside and within seconds she had turned the corner in squealing escape. Hatchet stood with a foot in the street, working his jaw in a jagged orbicular motion. He watched a touch of white smoke the car had produced drift like a dying ghost across the intersection to decay in the afternoon shadows of an alley. She seems upset, he said to himself. Just as he stepped out of the street, Delilah's car came barreling around the opposite end of the block in the same reckless fashion, coming to a jarring halt next to him. The passenger door window lowered with a servo buzz.
Get in, she told him. Promise not to kill me? he said as he reached for the door. Get in and shut up. She drove him the entire length of the city and pulled into the parking lot of Calvary Fellowship Church, the afternoon sun reflecting against the glass as sickly and green as he remembered it. She stopped under a tree, killed the engine and stared across the blacktop. Her tiny hands still gripped the wheel and he could hear them making the sound of stressed rope against the leather cover. Droplets of perspiration gathered on her temple near the thin beginnings of her dark hair, still damp from a recent shower. The lingering fragrance of shampoo found him vulnerable.
Hatchet took a moment to imagine her wet and naked then he unclipped his seatbelt and waited for her to initiate the exchange. He wondered when she had made the connection then he realized, even with full acceptance of her brilliance, how much he had always underestimated her. She knew what I had done the moment it happened, he thought. How could I have not considered her on the periphery? Then he wondered if she had struggled with going to the police. The only real question now was how she meant to proceed.
You lied to me, she said. I never lied to you, kept things from you but I never lied to you. Skip the semantics, Hatchet, you deceived me. I suppose I did. You suppose? How could I tell you anything? this could’ve been a major crime. It still is a crime. Technically if they don't catch me—. What did I just say about semantics? I'm sorry. Don't fucking say that! don't even try to apologize for this; you have no idea how difficult it was to go to Woody's funeral and sit there and look at his body and look at his family and... and not say anything to anyone. I have to admit, Delilah, you are the one piece of this that I didn't think through. You're goddamned right, you didn't; I nearly went to the fucking cops. Thank you for not doing that. I feel like doing it right now; that was my first instinct back at the bookstore. But you didn't, he said and willed her to look at him and her eyes contradicted the anger in her voice.
I almost told you, he said, I almost called you the night before all this started and asked you to run away with me to South America. Delilah's eyebrows jumped then she laughed and stopped herself but then started again and Hatchet began laughing with her. Pretty ridiculous, huh? he said. Umm, yeah, she said, failing to control herself, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Well, he smiled at her, at least we have that.
Once they had laughed themselves out, Delilah wiping comic tears from her eyes and Hatchet rubbing his now straining abdomen, they kept from speaking, both of them recovering and considering their respective positions as the virid gleam of the Worship Center weakened. If I had called you, he asked her finally, what would you have said? She looked at him and sighed, Hatchet, I gotta tell ya, she rolled her eyes and turned away from his sudden insistence, I would have given it some serious thought. Really? For about three seconds; as romantic and spontaneous as that would have been, Hatchet, no, I would have told you to go fuck yourself. And that's exactly what I did. Yes, you dumb asshole, you sure did.
Edit 12.26.2018