Like she did eighteen months ago?
Okay, first off, we don’t know if it was the same woman.
So two women stopped in front of your house in the exact same spot and stood like statues?
It was possible. Or maybe it was the same woman. Maybe she liked looking at houses. Maybe she was into architecture or something.
Oh yes, the ever-desirable architecture of the seventies suburban split-level. And if her visit was totally innocent, why did she run away?
I don’t know, Marc, but maybe—and this is just a stab in the dark—maybe because some lunatic chased her?
I shook the voice away and started running again, looking for I-don’t-know-what. But when I passed the Zuckers’ house, I came to a halt.
Was that possible?
The woman had simply disappeared. I had checked both exit roads. She was not on either one of them. So that meant, A, she lived in one of the houses, B, she was hiding.
Or C, she had taken the Zucker path in the woods.
When I was a kid, we sometimes used to cut through the Zuckers’ backyard. There was a path to the middle-school fields. It was not easy to find, and Old Lady Zucker really didn’t like us going through her lawn. She would never say anything, but she would stand by the window, her beehive hair glazed like a Krispy Kreme, and glare us down. After a while, we stopped using the path and took the long way.
I looked left and right. No sign of her.
Could the woman know about the path?
I sprinted into the blackness of the Zuckers’ backyard. I half expected Old Lady Zucker to be at her kitchen window, glaring at me, but she had moved out to Scottsdale years ago. I don’t know who lived here anymore. I didn’t even know if the path was still there.
It was black-hole dark in the yard. No lights were on in the house. I tried to remember where exactly the path was. Actually, that took no time. You remember stuff like that. It’s automatic. I ran toward it and something whacked me in the head. I felt the thud and fell on my back.
My head swam. I looked up. In the faint moonlight, I could see a swing set. One of those fancy wooden ones. It hadn’t been there in my childhood, and in the dark, I hadn’t seen it. I felt woozy, but time was key here. I leapt to my feet with too much bravado, reeling back.
The path was still there.
I headed along it as fast as I could. Branches whipped my face. I did not care. I stumbled on a root. I did not care. The Zucker path was not long, maybe forty, fifty feet. It opened into a big clearing of soccer fields and baseball diamonds. I was still making good enough time. If she had taken this route, I would be able to spot her in the recreational expanse.
I could see the smoky haze from the fluorescent lights drifting down from the field’s parking lots. I burst out into the opening and quickly scanned my surroundings. I saw several sets of soccer posts and one chain-link backstop.
But no woman.
Damn.
I had lost her. Again. My heart fell. I don’t know. I mean, when you thought about it, what was the point? This whole thing was stupid, really. I looked down at my feet. They hurt like hell. I felt a trickle of what was probably blood on my right sole. I felt like an idiot. A defeated idiot, at that. I started to turn away. . . .
Hold the phone.
In the distance, under the lights of the parking lot, there was a car. One solitary car, all by its lonesome. I nodded to myself and followed my thoughts. Let’s say that the car belonged to the woman. Why not? If it doesn’t, well, nothing lost, nothing gained. But if it did, if she had parked here, it made sense. She parks, she goes through the woods, she stands in front of my house. Why she would do any of this, I had no idea. But for right now, I decided to go with it.
Okay, if that was the case—if that was her car—then I could conclude that she had not yet departed. No flies on me. So what had happened here? She’s spotted, she runs, she starts heading down the path. . . .
. . . and she realizes that I might follow.
I almost snapped my fingers. The mystery woman would know that I had grown up in this neighborhood and thus might remember the path. And if I did, if I somehow put together (as I had) that she would use the path, then I would spot her in the opening. So what would she do?
I thought about it and the answer came pretty quickly.
She would hide in the woods along the path.
The mystery woman was probably watching me at this very moment.
Yes, I know that this argument barely reached the level of flimsy conjecture. But it felt right. Very right. So what to do? I gave a heavy sigh and said out loud, “Damn.” I slumped my shoulders as though deflated, trying hard not to oversell this, and started trudging back through the path to the Zucker place. I lowered my head, my eyes swerving left and right. I walked delicately, my ears alert, straining to hear a rustle of some sort.
The night remained silent.
I reached the end of the path and kept walking as if I were heading home. When I was deep in the thicket of darkness, I dropped to the ground. I commando-crawled back under the swing set toward the path’s opening. I stopped and waited.
I don’t know how long I stayed there. Probably not more than two or three minutes. I was about to give up when I heard the noise. I was still on my stomach, my head raised. The silhouette rose and started down the path.
I scrambled to my feet, trying to stay quiet, but that was a major no-go. The woman spun toward the sound, spotting me.
“Wait,” I shouted. “I just want to talk to you.”
But she had already darted back into the woods. Off the path, the woods were thick and yep, it was plenty dark. I could lose her easily. I was not about to risk that. Not again. Maybe I couldn’tsee her, but I could stillhear her.
I jumped into the thicket and almost immediately hit a tree. I saw stars. Man, that had been a dumb move. I stopped now and listened.
Silence.
She had stopped. She was hiding again. So now what?
She had to be nearby. I considered my options and then thought, Ah, the hell with it. Remembering where I had last heard a noise, I leapt at the spot, spread-eagle, my hands and legs stretched to the max so that my body would cover as much territory as possible. I landed on a shrub.
But my left hand touched something else.
She tried to crawl away, but my fingers closed tight around her ankle. She kicked at me with her free leg. I held on like a dog digging his teeth in.
“Let go of me!” she shouted.
I did not recognize the voice. I did not let go of her ankle.
“What the—let go of me!”
No. I got some leverage and pulled her toward me. It was still too dark, but my eyes were beginning to adjust. I gave another tug. She rolled onto her back. We were close enough now. I was finally able to see her face.