Regan Wolfrom: After The Fires Went Out: Coyote

“ I claim this tasty pink taco in memory of Antoine Lagace.”

Baptiste wears his guilt like a chastity belt. He’s afraid that if he starts living again, like really living, that he’s doing his wife and daughter some kind of disservice.

It doesn’t matter what you could have done or should have done…you can’t let it ruin your life.

Because ruining your life doesn’t do anything for anybody.

It just makes you less fun to be around.

We were pretty sure that Livingston had a concussion, but he seemed otherwise okay. If anyone could stand to lose some brain cells and somehow become more likeable, he’d be the guy.

It seemed a good two weeks too early to me, but today Fiona decided that she wanted to prep the spiles and the drill and the ATVs, and try her hand at sugaring off one of the maple trees. She invited Fisher Livingston first, and he said yes; I guess he likes the idea of someone wanting him around.

Sara and Gwyneth decided to go with them, and naturally Matt chose to tag along, too; it was a good idea for him to be there, and he took the Mossberg to keep them safe.

They also took a serious amount of liquor to stay warm; I had a feeling that they weren’t actually too concerned about whether or not the sap had started to run.

With all of them gone, Kayla and I were alone in the cottage, and for the first time since Sara had come home.

And she didn’t waste any time.

“I want you to come upstairs with me,” she said.

I was confused. “You do still hate me, right?”

“I don’t hate you, Baptiste. Come upstairs. Actually…give me five minutes, then come upstairs.”

It’s not like I didn’t know the right choice. No matter what you want to do, you know what you ought to be doing.

I watched the clock for the longest five minutes of my life.

Then I went upstairs.

I checked my room first, out of habit, but she wasn’t there.

Then I heard the shower.

I went back to my room and sat on the bed.

I stuck my right hand below the waist of my boxers.

I didn’t really want the wait, the anticipation…she didn’t need to get all spic and span for me.

The water stopped, and after a minute or so the door opened, and she started walking down the hallway.

She continued down the hallway, past my open door.

She was on her way to her room.

I got up and followed.

“One more minute,” she said.

“Come on…”

“Count it down, Baptiste.”

I managed to wait a full twenty seconds.

I found her lying on her bed with the covers thrown off onto the floor. She’d even pulled the bottom sheet off the mattress.

She was wearing a white t-shirt and nothing else. Then I recognized the shirt, ripped and dirty with the faded maple leaf. It was the shirt that Sara had been wearing in Livingston’s trunk.

The roll of silver duct tape was there, beside her vibrating egg, and so was a dirty bunch of cloth, lying on the bare mattress.

“You’re wearing her shirt,” I said.

“I know.”

“That’s a little fucked up.”

“Don’t ruin it. Just tape me up. Tape me up and have your way with me.”

“Have my way with you?”

“Shut…the fuck…up.”

I grabbed the rag. It was the same one from Livingston’s trunk. I stuffed it into Kayla’s mouth.

I wrapped the tape around her head, trying to match how Livingston had done it to Sara.

It felt wrong.

But Kayla wanted it so badly.

I rolled her onto her back. Her skin was freezing.

I pinned her wrists.

I thought I heard footsteps.

I stopped.

“Someone’s here,” I said.

Kayla just moaned.

I got up to close the bedroom door.

And then I saw Sara, standing in the hallway with a handheld in her hand and her mouth wide open.

She was looking at me, but then she looked at Kayla.

She dropped the handheld.

It hit the floor and broke into several pieces.

There was no longer a reason to close the door.

At first she’d just seemed angry, but not all that surprised, like she’d known it would just be a matter of time before I ended up with Kayla again.

Then she saw the duct tape wrapped around Kayla’s mouth.

And then she saw the t-shirt.

Her face changed. It wasn’t anger.

She began to sob.

“This is what you wanted? You wanted to force me?”

“It’s not like that.”

“You already had me…”

“Sara…I’m sorry…”

She turned and ran toward the stairs.

Kayla was muttering through her gag.

I pulled off the tape.

“Fucking fuck that hurts,” she said.

“Do you not get what just happened?”

“Relax. It’s fine.”

“What?”

“I’m willing to share, Baptiste. This is news to you?”

“I just broke her heart.”

“She’ll get over it. She loves you. And you love her.”

“I need to go after her.”

“No…you need to finish what you’ve started.”

“This isn’t funny, Kayla.”

“Neither is taping a girl up and not fucking her.”

I stuffed the wad of cloth back into her mouth. I rewrapped the tape around her head. Then I rolled her back onto her front and taped her wrists.

“Is that nice and tight? All done?”

She nodded.

“Good. Now I’m going after her.”

I stood up to leave.

She moaned.

I took another look at her.

She moaned again.

I climbed back onto the bed.

I picked up the vibrating egg and I finished what I’d started.

The maple syrup crew came home a little later.

Sara wasn’t with them.

“She didn’t come find you?” I asked Matt.

“We haven’t seen her,” he said. “Kayla called her on the handheld and told her to head back.”

“Kayla called her?”

“Yeah. Said the two of you’d arranged a bit of a surprise for her. What was it, anyway?”

“Oh, shit…”

I threw on my boots and grabbed my SIG.

I had no idea which way Sara had gone.

I went up to the junction with Nelson Road, to check for fresh footprints in the snow; she’d gone that way before.

But there weren’t any footprints there.

I saw some tracks heading up the trail to Ant’s sugar maples, so I followed them. All footprints, no ATVs…but as it hadn’t snowed in three days it could have been from some other time.

As I neared the graves, I saw sharp paw prints in the snow. Two sets of them. Two coyotes.

They were headed up the trail, following the various bootprints.

I passed by the burial plots and the sugar maples; one set of bootprints had kept on across the frozen stream, and the coyotes had crossed, too.

The trail moved north, out of the clearing and back into the trees, the last batch of trees before the highway and the burnt forest beyond.

I reached the firebreak.

And then I found her.

She was lying in the snow, on her back.

The coyotes were hovering over her.

I pulled my SIG and shot them both.

They’d torn her open…her neck, her hands, her chest.

They begun to strip her body like it was nothing more than a chunk of meat.

I took my SIG and shot both coyotes again.

And I shot them again.

But I knew I had to save one round.

She’d loved me. She’d given me all of herself.

And I’d hurt her. Over and over again.

And now I’d done this.

There was no way to fix it. There was no way to bring her back.

I took the barrel of my SIG and slowly pushed it into my mouth, past my teeth, pointing it up toward my brain.