His gaze continued to hold mine like a powerful magnet, refusing to let go. “What about the holidays?”
I shifted in my seat. An uncomfortable heat came over me as if there was a fire burning underneath my chair. “I…um told them I was going to my friend Lena’s house for the holidays.”
He cut his eyes to the side. “Your friend Lena who now lives in California. The one you never talk to anymore.”
A guilty pang went through me at the thought of how I’d ghosted Lena. But how did Victor know that I hadn’t been in communication with her? Was he tracking my phone?
Oh, who was I kidding? Of course, he was.
Not so lovely feelings about my situation rose inside of me. But I pushed them down, determined to make Operation Good As New a success.
“What did you think of dinner?” I asked, scrambling to change the subject. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes.” Just one sign. No “thank you” included.
But again, progress. This was way better than him sitting across from me in the back of a Bentley, threatening to destroy my family if I didn’t accept his ten-year prison sentence.
I guess that’s why I raised my hands and started signing as I spoke again. “Thank you. This was nice for me. It’s been a little lonely here.”
More than a little, really. I didn’t realize how starved I’d been for company until he showed up.
Victor’s eyes flicked away, then came back to me. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I enjoyed dinner too. It was very informative.”
Wait, had he just told me he enjoyed our dinner together with more than a bare minimum of signs? My face split into a happy grin.
Victor stood up and held out one hand to me while signing with the other, “Come.”
My stomach flipped, releasing a ton of butterflies as I took his hand. But I couldn’t say I wasn’t excited for this part of the evening too.
I’d kept my nose in those books while I was at college. But unlike Lena, I also knew how to let my hair down when it came time to party.
My father had been right, not just about black guys but American ones in general. They didn’t mind some junk in the trunk, especially when it came to hooking up. I’d never made time for a serious boyfriend, but I’d gained a lot more experience since Victor. I enjoyed sex, and I’d come to expect it at least once or twice a semester.
But this past year, it’d only been me and the handheld “back massager” I’d picked up at Bed Bath & Beyond. I was more than ready to get it on with someone who didn’t buzz when he was taking care of me.
Had I been mad about him showing up out of the blue earlier? Now I was beginning to think that my absent husband just might be the wedding anniversary gift I’d been needing.
I was actually smiling as he led me back into the house and through the kitchen. I even called out a cheery good night to Yaron, who was standing in the living room door as we headed toward the stairs—
I stopped short, goosebumps suddenly breaking out across my skin.
Wait….Why was Yaron in the living room?
He’d always made a big deal about not coming into the house unless I needed help with something like carrying groceries. I almost always only made dishes that didn’t require a knife because those were impossible to eat standing up with Yaron in the driveway.
Besides, it was after eight. That was when the night guard I’d never formally met was supposed to come on duty.
So what was Yaron still doing here then?
The question lodged in my throat, and a bad feeling came over me just as Victor let go of my hand.
“Come, I want you to watch this,” he signed. His face was a work of stone above his hands.
Then he headed into the living room.
Leaving me, his possession, to follow.
9
I didn’t want to follow. But in the end, I did, like a puppet on his string.
Yaron had pushed the couch back up against the wall the living room shared with the front hall. He’d made an empty space in the middle of the room. But why? Why?
“What’s going on?” I asked Yaron for some reason, even though it was Victor who’d told me to come in here.
Yaron didn’t answer. Just looked away. Like he was too afraid to talk to me now. He’d been wearing his usual suit earlier. But now, he only wore an undershirt.
“What’s going on?” I asked again, this time gathering the strength to direct the question at Victor.
But Victor didn’t answer either. He simply walked into the freshly opened space and stood directly in front of Yaron. And nodded.
No words were spoken or signed. But somehow, Yaron seemed to know exactly what to do.
He pulled a phone out of his back pocket and, with shaking hands, pressed his finger into its touch screen a few times.
After he was done, Victor pointed at the phone. Then pointed at me.
Yaron came over to me but stopped at least three feet away.
“He wants you to hold this,” he explained to me.
He held out the phone to me, and I took it. There was a three-minute timer going on the phone. A countdown. But to what? I didn’t understand.
Then suddenly I did when Victor threw the first punch, which Yaron just narrowly missed.
Fighting…they were fighting! Some kind of mix between martial arts and bare-knuckle boxing. What the hell?
More than thirty seconds had come off the clock by the time they started, and Yaron dodged and weaved like a pro for the next minute. I began to hope that the countdown would conclude before anyone got hurt. But then Victor connected a hit, kneeing him in the gut.
Yaron staggered. And it was all over after that. I spent the last thirty seconds watching Victor coldly eviscerate him. Landing hit after hit.
Yaron didn’t last long under the assault. He fell to the ground, and with more than thirty seconds to go, Victor raised his foot to….
I don’t know what, but it was right above Yaron’s face, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t let Victor hurt him, possibly end his life.
“No!” I screamed, charging forward. I shoved Victor and sent him tumbling onto his back.
I caught Victor just enough off-balance to make him fall. But he wasn’t down for long. Like something out of horror martial arts film, he arced up with more core strength than I could have ever imagined and came right back to his feet.
“Get out of my way,” he signed. “There is still time on the clock.”
“Who cares about the clock!” I yelled back at him. “I’m not going to let you kill him!”
An old-fashioned car horn sounded somewhere in the distance. The timer going off, I dimly realized. I must have dropped the phone when I charged forward. But I didn’t dare to move from where I was standing.
Victor went over to where I dropped the phone. He’d just gotten into a knock-out fight with Yaron, but he hadn’t even broken a sweat. His movements were precise as he bent and picked up the phone, almost elegant. No shaky hands for Victor as he stopped the old-fashioned horn from blaring.
God, how many people must he have hurt or worse before to be this damn unbothered after nearly beating a man to death?
He pocketed Yaron’s phone and signed. “I’ve set the timer for three more minutes.”
He made an upward motion with his hand. And like a zombie, Yaron rose to his feet. Swaying, but weakly dragging up his fist for another three minutes of fight.