'Til Death

In all the scenarios my overactive imagination conjured, this was never one of them. I’ve had doomsday thoughts of a pedestrian bridge like this, but it always involved dark and stormy weather at dusk, or the middle of the night. Never a seventy-five-degree summer afternoon, without a cloud in the sky. This kind of day is reserved for the daydreams of grandeur surrounding a first kiss, or marriage proposal. But this is not that.

As I reach the bridge, I look over my shoulder, my heart pounding, tears and dirt covering my face. My foot catches on something, flinging me forward. My knees hit the bricks across the threshold, seconds after my right palm. A searing pain shoots up my arm, eliciting an involuntary shriek.

Shit, shit, shit! She’ll know where I am now.

Blood blooms on my knees. My right wrist won’t respond to my brain’s direction, so I push myself up with my left, lurching forward. I duck, holding my arm against my abdomen. Crossing this bridge seemed smart, but now I’m exposed. At least she can’t drive over it. It’s wide enough for a golf cart, but not my boyfriend’s—fiancé’s—vintage Mustang. The one she stole after shoving Adam’s unconscious body in the back seat.

This was supposed to be a perfect day. It was perfect. Adam’s plan was impeccable, bringing me here for the weekend. Our gorgeous lakefront vacation rental, the quintessential setting for all things romantic. We had sex last night on a blanket in the backyard, with the night sky painted in stars, the crickets serenading us. Without his stalker—or so we thought.

This morning, we sipped coffee in the Adirondacks on the dock, with the water lapping the shore.

“Look at the pelicans,” Adam had said, pointing across the lake.

When I looked back at him, beaming from witnessing my favorite birds, he was kneeling, a ring box in his palm.

“I was going to do this at dinner,” he said, his words shaky. “But I can’t wait any longer. Now is perfect. You’re perfect.”

I slid from my chair to my knees, tears pricking my eyes. Grabbing his t-shirt, I yanked him to me, our lips colliding. Our bodies tangling, as we stripped the few clothes we had on, this time risking exposure to whoever else was up early on the lake.

“You didn’t answer,” he whispered, kissing his way down my stomach, pausing to look at me from between my legs.

“You didn’t ask,” I gasped, arching my back with anticipation.

He licked the sensitive spot he knew would elicit a groan from me, then said, “I need you. To marry you. Do you need to marry me, too?”

“Yes,” I answered.

He nuzzled against me, sending electricity through my center.

I cried, “Yes, yes, yes!”

Now, I sob, “No, no, no!”

My lungs burn, competing with the pain in my arm. And the break in my heart.

I tuck behind a narrow protrusion in the center of the bridge.

There’s a door. A maintenance closet? But the handle won’t budge.

“No, no, no,” I mutter, wrenching it, desperate for it to magically unlock.

A car revs near the bridge. His Mustang. Then the car door slams. Her heels strike the pavement.

“Come on out, Miss Lucy. You have something that belongs to me,” she calls in an eerie singsong voice.

I glance down at my left hand that’s holding my right wrist, the blood from my injured palm drenching it, and the emerald engagement ring.

It belongs to me, not her. The emerald was picked for me. Because I couldn’t stand the idea of a diamond—too traditional, and too full of conflict.

I press my back against the narrow door, attempting to hide myself in the frame. Something in my back pocket stabs me. The picklock … her picklock. I stole it from her, because I needed something to defend myself. The only damage it could do though would be too little, too late. A scratch, a stab to her eye … but she’d stab me with her butcher knife first.

Spinning toward the door, I squat down, pressing my right elbow under the handle and willing my left hand to take over the dominant’s job.

It must be true, what they say, about acute awareness and super strength kicking in when you’re fighting for your life, because the lock clicks, and the handle turns. I step in, then gently close the door, engaging the lock as the dark engulfs me.

The clacking of her heels gets louder as she approaches, pausing briefly near the door. She touches the knob, and I stop breathing. My heart thrums as I hear her tapping the metal railing.

“Did you jump?” she calls. “No, that would mean death, and you’re still thinking you can live through this.”

The clacking restarts, becoming fainter with each step she takes away from my hiding space.

On shaky legs I unlock the door and gently ease it open.

Her back is to me. She’s at the other end of the bridge. Opposite the car. For the first time since she attacked, I’m the one closer to Adam—my love.

I sprint from my hiding place, not bothering to be quiet. There’s no time.

She’s behind me. Yelling. Catching up.

Skidding to a stop at the idling Mustang, I fling the driver door open and climb in. Behind me there are faint, raspy breaths.

He’s alive!

I throw the car in reverse as she reaches us. Her eyes grow wide as I shove it back into drive and press the throttle.

Her body slams into the hood of the car. I stomp on the brakes, back up again, and her body falls to the ground.

I imagine retrieving a crowbar from the trunk, then smashing it into her skull. It’s a vivid thought, but I refrain, because the one thing I want more than her dead, is to save Adam. To keep my love alive.