Part 7 (1/2)

”What was that?” she asked.

He could feel her body tighten under him. ”What was what?”

”I heard a noise.”

He listened for a moment, hearing only the distant sounds he had come to accept as normal. ”What did you hear?”

”A voice,” she answered nervously. ”It was right outside.”

”I don't hear anything.”

”I swear I heard it,” she insisted. ”Can we check it out?”

d.a.m.n it.

His l.u.s.t turned to aggravation. He reluctantly pulled his hand away from her and started to get up. He found his flashlight lying across the floor, its arc of light casting shadows on the flaps. He scooped it up. Get this over with as quick as you can, he told himself. He didn't think there would be anyone outside, and if he calmed Sam down he might be able to get her back in the mood.

He brushed aside the tent flap, stepping into the dark. The forest sang around him, a chorus of insects chanting an uncanny rhythm. Very little moonlight filtered through the trees. The bright white bulb from his flashlight was the only true source of light.

They had camped right on the trail where the foliage was pushed apart, the ground pounded flat by repeated foot traffic. Brandon wondered how often the trail was used and by whom. As he scanned, twisting the flashlight to the right, shadows moved left, stretching and curling through the leaves. Sam appeared beside him, scanning through the foliage also. As he strained to hear, an animal call howled slow and sad.

”Where did it come from?” he asked.

”It sounded like it was right outside.”

His eyes followed the bright shaft of light, trying to spot any detail. He could not make out subtle shades of color, and the whole forest seemed to form a single large ma.s.s before him.

”There's n.o.body here,” he said. ”We would've heard them leaving if they went into the forest.”

Sam's anxiety was unrelenting. She spun slowly, gazing in all directions. ”I don't think we're alone.”

He felt on edge, like ants crawled across his skin. Why does she have to do this now? Can't we get five minutes of peace? If we weren't in this f.u.c.king jungle we'd both be sleeping on a nice mattress, soft sheets, maybe a little wine.

In truth, Brandon knew what she was feeling. He felt it, too. It was the same paranoia they had both been experiencing since they crashed into the swamp the day before-that sensation of being watched. Only, he had not seen or heard anything. If there had been someone out there, he would have noticed something, wouldn't he?

”There's n.o.body out here, Sam. Just try and forget about it.”

”How can you be so sure?”

”Let's go back inside,” he insisted, his voice rising. Maybe he was just frustrated from the interruption. Or maybe the jungle was getting to him. ”Something isn't right. This place is freaking me out.”

He grabbed onto Sam's arm, meaning to guide her back into the tent, but she pulled back resisting him. He tugged her arm more forcefully, dragging her toward the tent. He wanted to be done with all of this nonsense. He wanted to be far from this place. If they had not crashed, they would be in a town somewhere on a nice bed, not in a hot, sticky disease-ridden jungle.

He barely noticed the look of surprise on Sam's face as he shoved her inside.

”There's n.o.body out here,” he cried. ”It's just the forest and the animals. You didn't hear anything.”

She fell on her bottom, legs twisted in front of her. She watched him, mouth agape, as he moved into the tent crawling toward her on his hands and knees. She was giving him that look again, like she didn't recognize him.

It was really beginning to p.i.s.s him off. I'm your husband, for Christ's sake. Stop being so ridiculous.

”It's just a forest, Sam,” he persisted. ”A forest.”

”I don't like this,” she said as he got closer. She crawled forward, trying to move around him. ”I want to get out of here.”

Brandon grabbed her as she moved past, wrapping both his arms around her slender waist. He pushed his body weight onto her, driving her to the ground.

”I don't want to stay in here with you,” she cried. She squirmed, pulling at the floor with her hands, using her energy to crawl forward.

He climbed fully on top of her, pinning her shoulders down with both of his hands and lying across her back.

”Get off me!” She struggled frantically.

But he had the advantage. As her body twisted, it b.u.mped and rubbed against him, and he found his thoughts returning to the l.u.s.t he had felt only moments before.

Why would she run away from you? She's being a real b.i.t.c.h. Don't let her go. Make her stay.

As she tried to get up on her knees, he felt her backside push into his waist, tightening against him. He felt his blood rus.h.i.+ng and his heart pounding. He pressed his knees down on the backs of her legs, further pinning her in place.

”Brandon?” Sam cried, her struggling slowing.

His chest was on her back. He moved his hands off her shoulders and down her body, feeling the back of her ribs and the soft flesh of her sides.

”Brandon. Please.”

She can't resist you. The thought was strangely satisfying. Every kick she made urged him on, fueling his aggression. And why not? It's her fault. She kissed you first. She's the one who's letting her imagination run away on her. She's the one who crashed the plane into the G.o.dd.a.m.ned forest. She always seems so tough. But she's not even fighting back. It's because she knows she's wrong.

Sam whimpered.

He stopped. His hands held in place at the sides of her waist. His heart still beat wildly, and he could feel blood throbbing in his ears. He was so angry-hateful even.

He looked down at his wife. What the h.e.l.l am I doing? Sudden fear replaced the aggression in his heart. What were these thoughts going through his head? Was he really about to rape his wife?

He closed his eyes in a wave of shame. Oh G.o.d. What the h.e.l.l am I doing? ”Something's wrong,” he said, trying to control the quiver in his voice. ”Something's really wrong.”

At a poker table, Brandon prided himself on being completely in control of his actions. He did not overreact and didn't let negative emotions get the best of him. Now all of his efforts at self-discipline had just been thrown in his face.

”I don't know what I'm doing,” he whispered. He climbed off her. He half-expected her to bolt out of the tent.

She sat up and turned to face him. ”You're scaring me,” she whispered.

”I-I'm sorry,” he muttered. ”I don't know what's going on. I don't know what I'm doing.”

”I think it was inside you,” Sam whispered. ”I think it's in me.”

He s.h.i.+vered, despite the humidity. The chill was internal. None of this made any sense. ”Maybe there's something out here,” he said.

She ventured closer, studying him in the gloom. She put a tentative hand on his shoulder. For a moment, the anger welled up, and his first instinct was to slap her hand away. That instinct was wrong. This was Sam, his beautiful wife. He had no reason to be angry, to distrust her.

”It's still out there,” she whispered. ”It's in here too.”