If Only She'd Loved Him

Chapter 50

Saturday, 12:30 pm

Sean pushed up his sunglasses, checking his map as he drove. He'd just gotten lucky: turns out he'd needed to take this turnoff to get to the lake. He was close now, another hour and he'd hit that water. Of course he still had to find Erik's cabin. That wasn't going to be easy. Sean had only been up here once before, last fall, and Erik had driven. But he knew the general vicinity. After all the two of them had hunted that wounded buck for over an hour.

Sean was tired. His feet were dragging in the muddy ground. His specially bought camouflage clothes itched like crazy, and his gun hit his back hard with every step. Not to mention the fact that his camouflage clothes were useless. Erik had taken one look at him, and laughed.

"Are you trying to look like GI Joe?" he'd asked. "Here." He'd handed him an orange vest and hat.

"But won't the deer see us?"

"Deer are colorblind," Erik replied, "hunters aren't."

Sean took the hint. He put on the neon orange. He'd felt like he was wearing a life preserver on land, and the hat made his head sweat. And now here he was plodding after Erik, and plodding, and plodding. All this work for some dumb animal that was going to die anyway. Finally he'd had enough.

"C'mon man, give it up. We'll find it after it's dead. I want a beer."

Erik turned cold eyes on him. "Go back if you want. Cabin's that way," he pointed to the left, "but you wounded that buck, so I have to kill it. I'm not going to let it suffer because of you."

The deer left a clear trail. Broken branches, stepped apart twigs and gummy red spots made it easy to find. Sean stumbled in front of Erik.

"It's my kill, my kill!" He shouted in excitement. Erik stepped aside, letting Sean plough ahead into the bush. Leaves scattered as Sean lifted his gun. The deer was down, laying on its side and panting. Sean's misplaced shot had blossomed red on its back. Already small black gnats buzzed around the seeping wound. Exhausted, the animal just lay there, chest heaving, waiting. Sean took up his gun and sighted on the fallen body, but as his finger pulled back on the trigger, the deer lifted its head.

Soft gentle eyes, amber liquid in the light, looked straight at Sean and held on. Caught in that gaze, Sean felt that nature had reversed itself. Predator held by prey. He became transfixed by their depth. Like an animal in headlights, he couldn't move. The eyes were enormous, powerful and primal. They drove into him. He found his hands trembling as he gripped his Winchester 30-30, a gun that proudly proclaimed it could take down a deer over a mile. Hunting the deer had been so easy: See it. Sight it. Shoot it. But the result didn't feel like glory. All he saw was pain and confusion. An animal was dying, and dying slowly because of him.

Sean turned his head away. He couldn't shoot the deer. He couldn't finish what he'd started. He didn't belong here in the woods. What was a kid from Long Island doing up here anyways? Sweat dripped from his finger, as he let it slip from the trigger. Crack! Sean's head rocketed back at the sound of Erik's rifle. Shot between the eyes, blood roiled, seeping into the white and tan fur. Erik poked it in the eye with a stick. No reaction. The deer was dead.

Sean looked at the dead animal, and saw only glass in its eyes. He was free of its spell. Check out that rack, it had to be at least fourteen points! He raised up his hand to high-five Erik. But Erik had already pulled out his hunting knife and was cutting deep into the fur. Sean's stomach began to heave; chunks of breakfast littered the ground. He looked down again and his apple Danish followed his sugar puffs. Erik flipped the deer over. Then, together, he and a still green Sean dragged the carcass back to the cabin. Later that day, he and Erik had roasted venison and drank half a keg. Sean didn't think about anything that night, except that life tasted good. The life he'd taken tasted just fine.