Huntress

I find the thing with stories is that they rarely have a true beginning.

Seeing as we don’t really know the beginning of the world as we know it, it’s kind of hard. Mine could start in any number of places. My birth, for example.

But, well, that would take too long. Way too long. So I’ll start it on a Tuesday.

More specifically, from the point on that Tuesday whereupon my best friend’s jaw dropped, as I stepped cautiously into the cavernous, empty church hall where her band was practicing on the small stage within. She didn’t stop singing, or anything. But her eyes definitely widened.

The song ended, which I took as my cue to put my fingers in my mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle of appreciation.

“Thank you, everybody; we’re Bitterly Yours, in town… well, whenever we feel like it,” Mitch, a guitarist, leant into his microphone to say.

Chloe rolled her eyes and, turning off her microphone, jumped down the metre or so to the floor.

“New song?” I asked, genuinely impressed.

“Yeah. I call it ‘The Whore and the Fool’,” she informed me airily. “Mitch thinks it’s about him. It’s not. More importantly, what did you do to your hair?”

I ran a hand through my new haircut self-consciously. “Uh… got it trimmed?”

She circled me, staring at my head. When she eventually came back into my line of sight, her expression was thoughtful. “Trimmed. Right. Well, I like that you kept it long. But I can’t believe you dyed it black!”

I shrugged, scratching my neck where little bits of cut hair still caught. “Mouse brown just seemed so boring…”

Chloe went to say something else but was drowned out by rhythm guitarist Mitch suddenly deciding to try out a new riff.

“Can you not, Stewart? Trying to have a conversation here!”

“Trying to have band practise here!” he retorted.

I couldn’t help raising my eyebrows. Tristan, the drummer, was in the process of getting up and drinking an enormous amount of water, patently not practising at all. He then gave me a wink and took his shirt off.

Honestly. Tell a guy you might like them once and they totally overreact. I’m not going to swoon, for God’s sake.

Jamie, the lead guitarist, noticed as I looked away and shook his head. “Tris, just put the poor girl out of her misery.”

Tris shook his head and then cocked it to one side. “But her suffering is adorable.”

Now it was Susie’s turn to interrupt, frowning at her bass amp. “You’re an asshole, Tris. Quit embarrassing her.”

She put her guitar away and jumped down to come toward us. “Don’t listen to him, and quit blushing. It’s the only reason he does it.”

“I’m not,” I protested.

She looked over her shoulder back to the small stage, where the boy in question was now standing, shirt in hand, a combination of water and sweat sticking bits of his short blonde hair to his face.

“On the sly, I totally don’t blame you,” she told me.

“Can you girls get your lazy butts over here and actually help pack up? Scouts will be here any minute,” Jamie called. “Last time we weren’t out by six Janet got pretty mad.”

“I’m packed up, they need the mic,” Chloe called smugly. Susie grumbled and went to shove her amp into a dusty corner with the broken nativity scene.

From outside, the yelling of small children slowly infiltrated inwards. As quickly as they could, the guys packed up their stuff and came to meet us, guitars in hand and sticks in back pocket.

“So…” Mitch said. “Anyone for pizza?”

Susie shook her head, making her dark curls bounce. “I can’t, Jack’s picking me up. I’ll see you guys later.”

I shrugged. “Dad doesn’t care what time I get back.”

Chloe nodded, as did Jamie and Tris.

“Pizza it is then.”

We made our way toward the two cars. Tris unlocked his, an old white sedan, and opened the back door to get a clean shirt. Jamie popped the boot of his mum’s station wagon and slid his guitar in reverently. Mitch’s went on top.

“Shotgun!” Chloe called, getting in Jamie’s car. Because I was the smallest, I had to sit in the middle seat.

“Thanks, Chlo.”

My legs were perched on the raised part between the side seats and my shoulders had literally no room. Although, I had to admit… sitting between two sweaty, long-limbed guys gets infinitely more acceptable when the one you happen to be more or less in love with puts his arm over your shoulders.

“I like your hair,” Tris whispered in my ear, covering his mouth with his hand like we were little kids telling secrets.

Brief shivers caused goosebumps to rise down the side of my neck and I smiled, a blush rising to my cheeks. “Um…thanks.”

Unfortunately the arm-to-shoulder contact only lasted for the duration of the car ride. When we eventually found a parking spot he was the first one out and I could breathe again.

As the others made their way into The Ice & Slice I noticed my shoelace was untied and somehow stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I bent down to peel it off and tie it again, which meant I didn’t notice the shaky, uncertain feet until they were right in front of me.

I straightened. “Can I help you?”

The guy was about my dad’s age, give or take a few years, and he was a mess. He looked me up and down, holding out a creased picture that I couldn’t see. It gave me an equal opportunity to take in his ripped work pants that I supposed were dark green at some point, once-blue flannelette shirt over a dirty t-shirt that looked like it could have possibly been spattered with blood. He was unshaven, with dirty hair, and the most piercing green eyes I’d ever seen.

“Are you Diana Everard?” he asked, voice husky.

Taken by surprise and thoroughly freaked out, I nodded. “Do I know you?”

He looked over his shoulder anxiously and shook his head. “No, no… your mother… I… look, never mind. It’s not important. Your garden, the yard – is there still a big blue pot in the corner?”

By now the others were giving me weird looks through the window of the pizza place. I nodded, thinking of the gargantuan turquoise pot in our backyard that hadn’t moved for two decades. “Uh... yeah, so? How do you know about that? Do you know my dad?”

Without warning he grabbed my arm. “You need to move it. Now. Today. Then dig directly under where it was. Do you understand?”

By now I would have agreed to anything just to get him off me. “Yeah, sure, ok. Whatever you say. Dig under the pot. Got it.”

He looked over his shoulder again and let go. Apparently, although I couldn’t see anything, there was something there. Something menacing, and terrifying. He stared at me with peridot eyes.

“Then call this number. You have to promise. Swear. It’s important.”

“Ok, ok, I promise. Can I go now?”

With no further words he thrust another filthy piece of paper in my hand, stepped back, nodded at me, and then sprinted off down the street.

“What the hell was that?” Mitch asked when I eventually stopped watching this guy run and stepped inside.

“I have no idea. He asked my name then told me to dig under a pot.”

“Weird.”

“No shit.”

I went to sit down on the padded wall seat near our table, pocketing the paper automatically. Dismissing what had happened as a hobo’s mindless rambling would have been a lot easier if he hadn’t known about the pot.

Or mentioned my mother.

Nevertheless, about five minutes later Chloe got up from her spot next to me to use the bathroom. Tristan was on her other side and most of what had happened faded a little when he scooted over.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, looking at the spot on my light cotton sleeve where smudged fingerprints proved what had happened wasn’t a screwed-up daydream.

I shook my head, and pushed the already rolled-up sleeve further up. “See? No bruises. I’ll be fine.”

There were no marks as yet, and he hadn’t been holding me hard enough to bruise. At the same time, though, I could still feel a slight pressure under the skin, like the grip was still there.

I shook it off as all in my head. He must have affected me more than I thought.

Soon after the topic of conversation stopped being humorous guesses about the identity of my mystery stalker, and turned to other things. I joined in enthusiastically, ever aware of the warm presence to my right. Maybe, the excitable pre-teen in my head whispered. Maybe.

The pizza came out and we all hungrily dug in, Chloe and I scrambling to get a slice before the boys ate it all. Soon the taste of warm cheese and sound of a favourite song on the radio drowned out any worries about insane homeless weirdos with inexplicable knowledge of backyards. In fact, by the ride home I’d totally forgotten about it.

All the lights except for one were off when we pulled up in front of my house.

“Thanks, Mitch,” I told the driver, while waiting for Tris to get out so I could.

“No sweat.”

I went to shove open our front gate but felt another hand on my arm. Tris.

“Hey, Di, can I have a word?”

Letting go of the gate, I turned, flicking a bit of black hair from my eye. “Um… sure.”

I leant against it and he scratched the back of his head, his usual confidence giving way to what looked like apprehension. Catcalls sounded through the car windows.

“Look… I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole about the whole you-liking-me thing…”

“It’s ok,” I assured him, butterflies beginning to dance in my stomach. “I never expected anything from you.”

He inhaled, held it, then exhaled a little. “Yeah… well, anyway, I’ve been thinking…”

Maybe…

“I’m not going to lie to you,” he told me. “I’m not, y’know, in love with you. But… well… you’re gorgeous, and smart, and funny as hell. If you catch me staring I’m probably thinking about kissing you, or… never mind. That – well, it doesn’t happen with anyone else, so… I guess what I’m trying to ask is, will you go out with me?”

My heart sped up a little and I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times, a little lost for words. My palms tingled and suddenly I was aware of how dry my lips were. This was way, way more than I had hoped for when he said he’d think about it.

“Can you just say yes?” Chloe yelled out the car window. “I need to wash my work uniform!”

I flipped her off and turned back to Tris. “You’re such a lawyer,” I teased gently. “Never asking a question you don’t already know the answer to.’

“I still have to wait for you to say it,” he reminded me with a smile.

“Then sure,” I replied. “I’d love to go out with you.”

Tris grinned and before I could react leaned down to kiss me quickly. His lips were warm and soft. “Awesome.”

Then Mitch honked the horn impatiently. Tris gave me an apologetic look.

“I’ll see you later,” I assured him, waving at all the car’s occupants. Jamie gave him a high-five when he got in the car and I watched happily as they drove away.

Humming the melody from the song earlier, unable to remember the words, I unlatched the gate and shoved it inwards, wincing at the metallic scrap it made. My dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway, so I wouldn’t have to explain my good mood.

I turned on the kitchen light as I went through, then the bathroom, and then the one to my room. It was barely dark, the days already lightening for the spring, but the house seemed empty and ominous in the half-light.

Soon after changing clothes I turned the TV on, and sat there waiting for Dad to get back. Troubled thoughts of green stares and frightened men were easily overshadowed by brown eyes, gorgeous smiles and bashful honesty.

In fact, I didn’t think about the pot in the garden, shovels or odd filthy men for the next few days.

I suppose in an indirect way that makes me to blame.