Michael sensed Karen’s hair tickle his shoulder. Her left foot brushed up against his leg as they lay still in bed, neither of them yet ready to acknowledge that they were wide awake. Feeling her shift her position, Michael turned over, to buy himself more time to think. The situation was untenable, that much was clear. He had been seeing Ana almost every day for well over a month while still stringing Karen along. He figured that for as long as he wasn’t sure that he could persuade his girlfriend to leave her husband, his fiancée would be his safety net. Besides, as much as he wanted Ana all to himself to better enjoy their torrid affair, something inside him still craved Karen’s nurturing affection. Being suspended between a loving fiancée and a passionate mistress gave him the empowering sensation of being the sole king, winning a chess match against two queens.

In a recent conversation, Karen had asked him about his career plans: “What happens if you don’t find a decent job in French this spring?”

“I’ll probably get into real estate or some kind of some kind of business with flexible hours,” Michael had an instant reply in reserve.

“Must you always have a backup plan for everything?” Karen didn’t know whether she should be impressed with or apprehensive about her fiancée’s resilience.

“Hey, I was born with a backup diaper,” he replied with a cocky smile.

Although not one prone to worrying, that morning Michael felt slightly on edge. Karen and he were supposed to celebrate the two-year anniversary of their first date. He knew exactly what to expect. Karen insisted upon observing certain rituals on special occasions, which also included their birthdays, Valentine’s Day and New Year’s Eve. She’d hide little gifts for him all over the house. He found ties, love notes and chocolates inside the kitchen cabinets, in the laundry hamper, under his pillow and in his desk drawers. Although Karen considered this gesture thoughtful and romantic, it made Michael feel like she was marking her territory. Then they’d have dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants in town, ordering only hors d’oeuvres since the entrées, which ran about fifty dollars a plate not counting drinks and dessert, were prohibitively expensive. Last but not least, they’d engage in a ritual that he later regretted having invented: writing down a list of their favorite moments together that year.

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He came for her, the other wolf. She had seen him fall through the air, and though she had not heard him smack into the ground she knew he must have been hurt when he landed. He did favor one hind leg—maybe the other had broken on impact. He did not mewl or whine as he slinked through the shadows, his muzzle twitching as he sniffed for her.

When he found her she was barely conscious. Her breath came in and out, in and out, shallow draughts of air wheezing in and out, in and out of her lungs. It was not even panting, but the labored breathing of one about to die.

She had silver inside her. She was poisoned and she was done for. He did not waste time greeting her, but fell upon her at once with a vicious snarl. With his powerful jaws he tore at her, pulled her apart. He ripped open her guts and they spilled with a rank smell across the broken road surface. He tore off her leg and threw it into the darkness like so much poisoned meat.

The pain was intense, but she could not complain or fight him off. She lacked the energy to even raise her head. He tore and bit and ripped her apart and she could only experience it passively, as if from some remove.

Somehow she knew that he wasn’t killing her.

That he was saving her.

“Baby, meet me at my place at one o’clock, okay? We’ll have the whole afternoon to ourselves. Karen’s putting in some overtime at work,” Michael whispered excitedly into the phone as soon as he heard his girlfriend’s voice.

Ana glanced at her watch. It was twelve thirty already. She quickly slipped on a pleated skirt, her white shirt with the rounded collar and a pair of Mary Jane shoes. Without even thinking about it, she had chosen the schoolgirl outfit that her lover preferred. She dabbed on some perfume behind her ears, even though Michael didn’t like it. He feared its scent might arouse not only his desire, but also Karen’s suspicions. She put on some lip-gloss, then changed her mind and removed it with a tissue. It would be pointless given all their kissing. Her heart raced. And how could it not? Breathless excitement each and every time they met. Hours of intimate conversation. Such a handsome, supportive, gentle, calm and romantic lover. Michael was exactly what she had longed for all along, only better. She hadn’t even fathomed someone so thrilling, something that felt so right.

Michael slipped on his periwinkle tee shirt, since several women had commented on how it brought out his chocolate eyes. No deodorant or cologne were necessary. He opted for the minimalist approach: the fresh scent of organic soap. He brushed his hair only with his fingers, sweeping his long bangs to the side, away from his serene forehead. As he gazed at himself in the mirror, Michael took pride in his own fuss-free good looks. Some people have to work so hard just to look average, he thought, his own fiancée coming to mind. Others are born with it, he observed, thinking of himself and his new girlfriend.

But then he qualified somewhat. Ana was attractive, he mused, recalling her doll-like features and petite frame, but not gorgeous like him. He’d be more desired by other women than she’d be desired by other men, he did a quick comparison as if he and Ana were engaged in a competition. A surge of self-confidence intoxicated him with a sense of his superiority. Women fall so easily for my boyish charm, Michael thought, his hubris somewhat tempered by the boredom of predictability. Ana, however, seemed more of a challenge to him. He was attracted to the combination of vulnerability and strength he saw in her. Michael tabulated Ana’s qualities, both the plusses and the minuses. But even the minuses seemed like plusses in his eyes, since he was keenly aware that her weaknesses could be turned to his advantage. She’s childlike and naïve, yet also educated and astute. She’s pretty without being too beautiful, like the kind of women most men drool over, who get a big head as a result. She’s pliable without being a pushover, the image of Karen suddenly popped into his mind, then quickly disappeared. She’s independent and headstrong yet also vulnerable and needy. It’s as if something has long been missing from her life and, fortunately, I was there, in the right place at the right time, to fill in the void. Or maybe it was fate, who the hell knows? Michael speculated. It sure felt like it to him, in that instant. When the doorbell rang, he rushed to open the door. At first, all Ana could see was a pair of dark eyes locking her gaze, then flowing all over her. Michael put his index finger to his lips to indicate that they shouldn’t dispel the magical complicity of silence. He led her by the hand into the bedroom.

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Silver. Silver silver.

Silver in her body. Silver in the moon. Silver bullets that smacked the ground and whined away into darkness.

She ran—silver. Silver silver silver. Silver everywhere, she could smell it in the air. The only thing she was afraid of.

The wolf was very much afraid.

The wolf was terrified.

The wolf ran.

Silver. It came down like evil rain from the helicopter, bullets blasting away at the earth in the rhythm of her panting thoughts, of her laboring heart.

Silver silver silver silver silver.

She dashed around the side of the pond, her paws splashing in horrible water thick with toxic runoff. The helicopter bobbed and twisted on its rotor and came after her. She ran so slowly—her body ready to give out. Still the bullets came down, invisible rays that would cut through her. Cut her to pieces.

In the distance the other wolf howled. He was closer, much closer. Still too far to help.

She ran. Bullets tore up the ground to her left, to her right. The spitting gun up there could not seem to hit anything it aimed at, but she knew she had just been lucky so far. One of those bullets would hit her, eventually. And then she would die.

Michael parked his car in the lot closest to Zanzibar, the restaurant where he and Ana had agreed to meet for lunch. Although usually fearless, he felt strangely nervous, as if this single encounter would determine everything between them. He checked his watch. The hour of their rendezvous was approaching. He hesitated between allowing their relationship to take its natural course, whatever that turned out to be, and taking charge of the situation, which conformed better to his nature. A sense of fatalism displaced his ambivalence. I’ll follow her signal, he resolved.

As he opened the car door to get out, he saw Ana walking towards him. Her face was flushed with anticipation. She doesn’t look like a woman who wants to be just friends, Michael told himself. As she approached to kiss him on the cheek, he moved his mouth slightly to the left and planted a kiss on her lips. He savored the minty flavor of her tongue. She’s just brushed her teeth for me, Michael noted, feeling emboldened by this little detail. Before Ana had time to pull away, his hands were already upon the straps of her tank top. He lowered them to expose her breasts, which he hungrily greeted with his mouth.

When Ana began to protest, Michael instantly moved up, his mouth once again planted upon hers. Since that act didn’t put a stop to the flutter of her nervous movements and semi-coherent objections—“Michael,” “married woman,” “my kids,” “husband,” “restaurant,” “in public”—with one swift motion he swirled her body around and pinned her hands upon the hood of his car. His torso held hers in place while his lips became glued to her ear. “Don’t worry, nobody can see us here,” “He never has to find out,” “We’re all alone,” he enticed her. Yet all she heard, all that truly mattered to her at the moment, was his low murmur, “How I want you, Ana, my love.” Then suddenly the soft caresses were replaced by quick slaps on her bare skin. She was struck by the clement brutality of that gesture. He had not used full force. All she sensed was the titillating contrast between his tenderness and roughness. “Au, why did you do that?” she cried out. Michael delivered his reply with the heat of his breath: “So you’re trying to make my life more difficult?” he said tugging demonstratively at the lowered layers of protection--panties, pantyhose and skirt—that separated his body from hers.

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“Okay,” Balfour said. His voice matched him perfectly.
Gruff, but not too low.

“Okay what?” she asked.

He gestured with the gun for her to climb out of the truck. Chey studied his face. There was no smile there anymore. He’d had his fun, and he’d won his game. Now he was just going to finish her off so he could collect on his contract. It was over.

Chey lifted herself from the ceiling of the cab with her arms and legs. Then with a sudden inspiration she threw herself forward, against the windshield. She didn’t weigh all that much and she had little strength left to add to her momentum, but it was enough.

The truck screamed as metal tore apart from metal. Welds popped, rivets shot out like bullets. The whole massive multiton body of the truck scraped forward. Broken rock tailings rolled away, out from under all that mass, and the truck jumped forward as if it were moving on rails. Balfour’s eyes went wide and he fired through the windshield. Chey couldn’t see where the bullet had gone. A second later the truck rumbled forward, gaining speed, and smacked right into him. He was carried forward as the vehicle tilted down and fell into the water with a noisy splash and one extended bass note of metal folding in on itself.

The windshield had become the floor. Chey lay sprawled across it, groaning with pain. The fall had hurt, but not in such a way that it mattered—not in any way that could kill her. She rubbed her forehead and then opened her eyes.

During the past few days, Ana couldn’t work. No matter how much she tried to focus on painting, she was distracted by thoughts of Michael. She recalled his long eyelashes shading the mischievous glimmer of his dark eyes. The curve of his jaw, well defined and masculine, still invited her to trace it with the tip of her fingers. His full lips still tasted like the strawberries they had shared for lunch. The smell of his hair when he drew close to kiss her, with its fresh scent of soap free of any overpowering fragrance, still made her feel weak at the knees. And his voice—low, quiet and hypnotic—still echoed in her ears. She closed her eyes, hoping to draw the curtain on this fugue of memories. In the tranquility of darkness, however, they became more vivid, making her heart race with thoughts of him. Even the love songs on the radio, no matter how corny and trite, triggered in her a dreamy mood that dissipated her concentration like smoke.

Ana didn’t know what attitude to adopt towards her own emotions. On the one hand, she hoped that, magically, their relationship would become one of those platonic romances of the heart and soul that famous poets wrote about during the nineteenth-century. On the other hand, every time the phone rang she jumped to answer it, hoping it was he. She’d have liked their friendship to deepen without gaining momentum, returning to a level of ambiguity that would excite them without troubling her conscience or unsettling her life.

When the phone rang, Ana hastened to pick it up after only one ring. “Hello?” she answered breathlessly.

“Have you been out jogging?” she heard Michael’s friendly voice.

“No, I just ran to the phone hoping it was you,” she confessed.

For a second, Michael was caught off balance by her frankness. “You might be disappointed. I didn’t call to buy another painting,” he quickly recovered.

“Oh, I don’t care about that.”

“Good,” he approved. “Because I was calling to see if you might be interested in meeting me somewhere for lunch tomorrow.” A little ambiguity of location never hurts. Who knows? She might even agree to come by my place, he speculated.

“I’d love to. I know this really good restaurant on State Street. It’s called Zanzibar. Have you heard of it?”

All right, I guess it will have to be somewhere else, Michael conceded. But there’s no reason why a little action couldn’t follow lunch. “Sure. I’ve eaten there a couple of times. How does noonish sound? We could meet in front of the restaurant.”
“Sounds good.” After she hung up the phone, Ana’s emotions oscillated between anticipation and apprehension. She was glad that she’d get to see Michael again. But she feared that the dangerous course their relationship had taken could not be easily reversed. I can stop this now, she nevertheless told herself. I could call him back and tell him that I can’t make it to our lunch date. Or I could go out to lunch with him and act friendly, without crossing any boundaries. I’ve done this so many times with men before. Why am I behaving so differently with him? Am I ready for more? Ana wondered, not really sure yet what “more” meant, yet not able to calm the restlessness within.

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Her arm grew tired with alarming quickness. It wouldn’t hold her weight for long. She looked down and saw a three- meter drop to muck and probably submerged rocks. Her feet kicked wildly, looking for purchase that just wasn’t there. They knocked and hit against the side of the overturned truck. Maybe—maybe if she could get them inside the driver’s window, which she saw was rolled down—maybe then she could—

The truck rumbled as if it were coming back to life. She heard clattering footfalls above her and knew that Balfour had climbed up on top of the dead vehicle. He stopped suddenly as the truck dipped forward. It had been dumped unceremoniously on the heap with no effort given to finding balance or stability. Now, disturbed after a long rest of many winters, it rocked in its bed.

With a creaking, tearing sound, as of metal being pulled to pieces, it lurched a few centimeters forward. The motion was enough to send Chey swinging. She clutched hard to the side mirror but knew she had only seconds before she would have to let go. Already her palm and all the joints of her fingers burned. Her left hand flailed to find something to hold onto.

One last effort. It was all she had in her. She brought her legs up as if she were on a trapeze and swung, hard, for the window of the truck. Her feet went through into darkness and then the lower half of her body followed. Her hand let go without warning and she nearly fell, but she braced herself with her legs and slithered inside the truck’s cab like a mouse disappearing into a hole.

The truck moaned and slid forward again, dipped forward a millimeter at a time, with rocks and bits of debris pattering away with every grudging incremental motion. Then it stopped. Was Balfour still on top of it, clutching on for dear life? She was sure he must be.

Karen’s fingers ran rapidly over the computer keyboard. “Michael Rogers,” she typed in her fiancé’s name into the search engine. She found about half a million entries ascribed to that name, 99.9 percent of which, she surmised, weren’t about him. Having neither the time nor the patience to look over all of them, Karen narrowed down the search to “Michael Rogers,” “Detroit, MI.” She quickly located nearly a hundred entries on her fiancé. She read each and every one of them carefully, sifting through for some personal information that could function as a hook to liven up their conversations. For the past few weeks--in fact, ever since they got back together--Michael struck her as exceedingly absentminded. Although he still asked her about how her day went, often she had to repeat the same information several times and call out, “Earth to Michael, Earth to Michael!” before he actually paid any attention. Which left Karen completely baffled, since she was telling him things that, in her estimation, he should have been happy to hear.

She was taken aback, on the previous evening, when her announcement that she had lost the extra weight was greeted by an empty stare and a flatly delivered “Great.” That’s it? Karen asked herself, upset by Michael’s obvious lack of interest. She had to remind herself to calm down before she said, in her best impersonation of a suggestive voice, “If I lose five more pounds, I’ll be fitting into that sexy black lace teddy you gave me on Valentine’s Day.”

A vision of Ana in the black negligee crossed Michael’s mind. “I’m impressed by how consistent you’ve been with your exercise program this time around,” he remarked.

“Yeah. I’ve been doing four hours of exercise a day. I divide it up between cardio, yoga and weight lifting, so that it doesn’t get too monotonous,” she replied, encouraged by his sign of approval.

“How are your knees? Do they still hurt?” He listlessly shifted the food upon his plate.

“No. I’m giving them a break by swimming instead of walking this week, remember?” Karen couldn’t believe her eyes. Here he was swishing around the meal that had taken her over two hours to prepare. Earlier that afternoon, she had made him fresh yellow fin grilled tuna with seared potatoes, green beans, tomatoes, black olives, anchovies and garlic, covered in a fancy Dijon vinaigrette. Now all that was left of her culinary masterpiece was the dark yellow sauce mixed with the colorful vegetables making a chaotic abstract expressionist painting upon the whiteness of the plate. “Don’t you like the fish? It’s very fresh,” she assured him.

“It’s delicious,” Michael said, demonstratively taking a bite. “But I’m not that hungry. I had a big lunch.”

“Where did you go?”

“I went to this Greek restaurant on campus where I had some bhabha ghanoush,” he conveniently incorporated the actual meal he had with Ana.