The Bottom of the Sea

Part 30: Jake

Seven o'clock couldn't come fast enough. Now that I signed the divorce papers, I was free of Autumn, finally. I no longer care what or who she did, as long as she stayed the fuck away from me. I had my own life to live now, with a possible new career and an interesting new friend.

Sarah had changed so much since she first moved to town, and not just the obvious. She seemed so delicate back then, like a scared rabbit — that's how little I knew her. I treated her like shit when we first met, something I was deeply ashamed of. I had a hate on for the world and lashing out was my way of dealing with it. The first time I saw the hurt in her eyes — hurt that I caused — I knew I had to go back to therapy. I thought it was a bunch of bullshit before, but I'll never forget the look on her face, and I knew I had to go back and really try this time. It was a look I never wanted to see again.

Therapy helped me work through my anger and I felt like l was on my way to being a better person. Part of that included doing what I really wanted, which was going back to law school. I'd finish my degree and start my own law practice in Locke's Harbour. It's all I ever wanted, and I could do it this time, I knew I could. For the plan to work, I needed Sarah to take over as editor — hopefully, permanently. I hoped she was into the idea.

The weekend we spent together was the happiest I'd been in a long time, chaste as it was. I learned things about her that shocked me. I never met a woman like her and I looked forward to spending time with her. Would it move beyond friendship? Who knew. Anything was possible.

I left the lawyer's office and turned to walk to my car when I paused on the sidewalk, suddenly pulled out of my pleasant thoughts. All day I'd had a creeping feeling, like someone was stepping on the back of my shoes or breathing down my neck. I glanced around, but everything looked normal on the busy downtown street. A sharp wind came off the harbour knocking me back a step and blowing my coat open. I shivered and buttoned it up; Halifax was always colder than home.

The sky was a deep navy; the days were getting dark earlier and winter was closing in, my favourite season. I started walking when my phone pinged. I saw the text from Sarah and my heart kicked up in my chest just a bit.

So, what do I wear to this place? I take it that my sweatpants with the stretchy waistband are a no-go?

The text made me smile. She looked cute in her stretchy waistband pants.

"Nothing too dressy. Wear whatever you want," I texted, then stopped short in the street, almost causing the man behind me to collide into my back. Something suddenly felt very wrong. "Sorry," he said as he passed by, even though it was my fault. So Canadian.

The blow came out of nowhere. A shock of pain to the back of my skull made the world go black and my knees buckle. I saw a spray of fireworks in front of my eyes and I wondered what happened. I thought it might have been a chunk of concrete that fell from a building and hit me until I felt an arm around my neck and I was being dragged backwards into the alley.

I shook my head, willing it to clear. It felt like a red-hot band of fire was stretched across my forehead squeezing hard, but my thoughts began to settle, and I told myself to stay calm. "I have money," I said, in a voice that didn't sound like my own.

I heard a guttural laugh behind me and smelled something like rotting flesh, or an infection and I gagged. "So do I," he said, still laughing. He sounded like he had a throat full of gravel. I looked down and saw he had a crowbar in his other hand and the realization that I was in deep shit hit me like a bucket of ice water.

He had me at a disadvantage, and I had to think of something. "Play dead," a voice inside me said, maybe from some action movie I'd seen. I went limp and pretended to pass out.

"Oh no Pretty Boy, fun and games aren't over yet." He positioned me on the ground and took a slow walk all around me. He was wearing brown cowboy boots, I noticed, looking up in time to see him raise the crowbar over his head. I had one shot and I made my move, sweeping his legs out from under him and grabbing for the weapon.

He fell to the ground and let out a grunt as the air went out of him. He was big, but I was bigger and by now, I was pissed. He was wearing an eyepatch, so I got on top of him and turned him over, punching him in the eye, over and over again. He squealed like a pig and I was able to wrestle the crowbar away from him and give him a sharp crack in the ribs with it. He howled and rolled from side to side.

I got up and hit him again, this time on the back and he grunted in pain. "Not today, asshole," I said, throwing the crowbar aside with a clang. I'd held my own in plenty of bar fights during my younger days, and this guy fought dirty by jumping me, the fucker. At least I had him down for the count.

My head throbbed and I wobbled unsteadily on my feet. I felt around and couldn't find my phone; it must have fallen during the fight. I turned to scan the ground and he was on my back in seconds, tackling me with a strength that seemed superhuman.

"Two can play that game, fuckface," he said, turning me over and punching me in the head. I saw the fist coming down over and over, but I felt nothing. Blood seeped into my eyes, and I tried to block the blows and take one more swing at him, but it landed on his shoulder and he laughed it off.

I saw Sarah's eyes then, crystal blue like the sky just after sunrise. I saw stained glass windows, the view from my kitchen window at night when the stars come out and my grandmother's small, creased hands.

The crowbar came down on my leg and I heard a crack and then pain like I've never felt before. Then, everything went black.