The Day I Died

The shivery-chitter sound of leaves being swept and pulverized punctuated my every step along the uneven asphalt road. Although it was late, I had no reason to hurry. A blind woman doesn’t care about lengthening shadows or a lack of street lights, and the chill breeze of an unexpected cold front was no match for my quilted down jacket.

Seventy-eight steps from home, I smelled mint on the breeze, and I slowed down.

Puzzling. Gum, maybe?

No, peppermint. Like the little candies the boozers chaw on the way home to their wives, who in turn will pretend they don’t smell a whiskey funk lurking just under the minty veneer.

I stopped altogether. A second and a half later, the leaves stopped their swishing. Too late.

I scowled and turned my head just enough to point my right ear back the way I had come. I didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there.

“John Henry Whittaker,” I barked. “If you don’t stop followin’ me home, I’m gonna tattle to your wife about where you’re spendin’ your nights.”

I expected a nervous chuckle from the deputy, followed by an apologetic explanation that he was ‘just lookin’ out.’ Maybe I’d get a lecture about the nightmares that can befall an innocent blind woman walking home alone after dark. As though anything that interesting ever happened in Daybreak, Texas.

As though I wouldn’t welcome it as a change of pace if it did.

But no answer came.

Goosebumps prickled my arms. Three hundred thirty seven and a half people called the town home (half because Julie Abraham was pregnant again), and I couldn’t think of a single one who would stand silent after a calling-out like that.

Maybe an animal?

There were certainly plenty of critters brave enough to venture into town in search of food or water, but even the tamest doe would have scampered at the tone of voice I just took.

Besides, since when do animals chew peppermints?

My grip tightened into a fist on the handle of my walking cane. “Look. Whoever’s there, I can smell your stink breath all the way over here. So announce yourself or skedaddle, will ya?”

“I— I don’t want to hurt you.”

The voice was quiet but distinctly male. More importantly, it was unfamiliar.

A jackrabbit took up residence inside my ribcage, his big hind legs beating around for an exit. I ignored him.

“Good!” I forced a bit of bravado into my voice and squared my shoulders. “Cause I don’t want to hurt you, neither!”

“Please. I need you to listen to me—”

“What you need is to turn yourself right around and walk back the way you came.”

“Something is going to happen—”

“You’re goddam right something’s gonna happen—”

Something grabbed my arm.

I’ll admit the squeal I let out was a tiny bit girly, but I made up for it by taking up my walking cane in both hands and giving the owner of that voice such a whallop they probably heard the crack clear over to the Stop’n’Go.

With a yelp only a bit less girly than mine, he let go, and I took off at a run for my house (or any house, really, I wasn’t picky).

I hadn’t gone two steps before I was jerked back by a fist grabbing the back of my jacket.

I threw an elbow and felt it connect with the spongy muscle of a skinny midsection, along with a quiet “hurgh.”

He went down with his fist still tangled in my jacket, dragging me along with him. As I fell on top of him, my walking cane escaped my grasp and rattled away.

I cursed, but I had bigger problems. My attacker had got one arm around my middle, and the other was wrestling with my right arm to try and pin it. He was more wiry than strong, but he had the reach on me, and I hadn’t been in a good scrap since grade school.

In desperation, I managed to sink my teeth into his arm. I tasted arm hair, but it did the trick. He shrieked and let me go so I could scramble back to my feet.

Just when I thought I was home-free, something caught my right ankle.

I went down hard. The side of my head hit the pavement. Everything went a bit staticky, like the car radio when you drive out of range. I wanted to get back on my feet, but my limbs weren’t obeying orders.

“I’m so sorry,” I thought I heard.

Then, I guess I passed out because everything went away for awhile.

And that’s how I first met Louis Laroche.