The summer was almost over. Nevertheless, the day was extremely hot, and Marc thought that this was probably the last time he would enjoy a rush of cold wind. He’d start hating it soon enough, he was sure of that. The weather forecast announced it was going to rain later in the day, and the cold front was approaching rapidly. Any kind of wind would become an unwanted hassle then. Marc spent the early afternoon of September 19th in the beach bar, resting his eyes on the empty beach.
He had no idea in the world how he was going to make it until October 1st in this place, in the empty summer camp, surrounded by the howling wind and all those suspicious, freaky sounds of animals from the forest nearby. Marc solemnly decided to cut down on the alcohol. Actually it was not much of a decision, since all the stores within five miles were closing in three days anyway.
He, or any man for that matter, couldn’t drink enough alcohol to make it worthwhile for any of those store owners to consider keeping their places open for additional weeks. They got rid of most of the booze by selling it to the local community for the annual fish party with its corny and predictable name: “Farewell to the summer.” The weather was going to get much worse soon, it was more than obvious. A flock of clouds was heading in his direction, and he watched them colliding chaotically, and as he thought, slightly neurotically. The wind shifted, and blew in from the sea. Marc sighed and slowly ran a hand through his brown hair. He reluctantly paid the bill, and waved to the waiter. The waiter never waved back, in his mind he was already someplace else.
He went back to the camp to meet the new guests, probably the last ones this season. Once he saw them, he was more than a little surprised. Especially when he saw her. They both looked happy and satisfied, full of energy, and even more full of themselves. She was quite tall, with the body of a fitness fanatic. Marc estimated that she was in her late twenties. She might have been thirty, but not much more than that. Her dress was pretty long, but he didn’t have to see more to know that she had a pair of great legs.
He introduced himself and extended his right hand for a hand shake. She looked at the hand for a moment, and shook it formally, without a smile. Marc didn’t like that, but he hadn’t said anything. He turned then toward her husband, and nodded slightly. Her husband was few years older, probably in his mid-thirties. He was a tall man, way over six feet. Marc thought this guy stood six foot three at least, and weighed no less than two thirty pounds. He was smiling, but that didn’t make him look any less dangerous. Marc gave him the keys, and returned to his bungalow.
Marc couldn’t stop thinking about this woman. He just couldn’t help himself, and the fact that he hadn’t been laid a single time in all of the five months he’d worked here, didn’t help much. He had no intention of ever getting back to this place once the season finally ended. From now on, he would avoid this resort. He decided never to visit this place again, and never to come near, if he could help it.
“It is time for me to have some fun,” he thought, smiling a sinister smile. He considered the stature and pure brute strength of the object of his desire’s husband and suddenly winced. Concerned, but not entirely discouraged, he almost forgot that lunch was ready. He sipped lukewarm chicken soup from an old mug and slowly got up from the chair. He turned on the radio and found a station with chamber music. This kind of music had always soothed him. He walked to the window and looked at their bungalow. The curtains were completely drawn, not letting even a single ray of light in.
“They gotta be fucking,” he thought with a mixture of excitement, envy and indignation. “Some people have it so easy, without pain and effort”, he contemplated bitterly. He took a bottle of beer from the fridge and drained half of the bottle in a single long, hungry gulp. The radio was playing one of the countless Chopin’s Nocturns when Marc turned it off, and left the bungalow. He took another glance toward their window, and went to the town.
At 5 pm the wind was quite noticeable, and by 6:30 it could no longer be ignored. The smell of grilled fish reminded him vaguely of the beginning of the summer when he first came here. At that time this place seemed calm, gentle and pleasant to live in. After a few hundred arrogant and ungrateful guests he changed his mind. He ordered a new beer and drank it slowly, and almost lazily. He chased the beer with a brandy. A dry, bitter taste, but a compelling one. He drank it in a single gulp, and swallowed with a grimace.
After he got fired in the bank for coming drunk to work one time too often this seemed like an ideal opportunity to start over; this appeared to be a job where nobody could control him. At least not as much as in the bank. The heat from the shot of brandy rushed through his body, and he finally began to feel better. At that moment, the couple from the camp passed next to him. She had seen him, and the disdain in her eyes was obvious. He knew her husband had spotted him, too. He heard her high-pitched laughter, and he would bet his six-months salary that it was him she was laughing at.
“This insult can not just be washed away! Not even with another double brandy,” he thought angrily. He looked at the sea in a state of a semi-trance, feeling as if he was floating. He couldn’t stop the waves of uncontrollable wrath. He thought of those five months in the camp and his whole body shook from feeling the lost time. The time he could never get back. He clenched his teeth, and managed to look away. He had probably never felt so alone in his life. His eyes blinked before looking away.
“She will pay for this arrogance,” he thought, and smiled drily. He felt better immediately . “Now the fish will tastes much better,” Marc grinned. “I am going to need a lot of energy tonight.” He was laughing loudly now, feeling a serenity he hadn’t felt for a long time.
When he came back to the camp in the evening, he felt calm and ten years younger. He opened another can of beer and waited. The old clock was ticking lazily, creating music in harmony with the rain drumming against the window. He tapped his fingers on the table in rhythm, taking larger and larger sips. He was calm. He was a man on a mission.
The old wooden clock on the wall struck ten times, and Marc was becoming nervous and perturbed. The storm was getting worse, and the husband never moved from the bungalow. Marc remembered how big this guy was, but he didn’t care anymore. The door suddenly opened and Marc was almost blinded by the bright light. When the big guy finally left the place, Marc refused to waste a single second.
He sprinted toward the bungalow, carried on the wings of anger, longing and half a dozen beers he had drunk. He pushed the door ajar. “Arrogant bitch did not even close it, she expects him to get back quickly,” he vaguely concluded. He dismissed the thought and went into the bedroom. Any sense of caution he still had left now completely faded out of his system.
She glanced at him, and inhaled sharply. Her body jerked abruptly, and her eyes had filled with terror. Marc enjoyed the fear in her eyes, he found it thrilling. If he could, he would’ve enjoyed it for hours, but there was no time for that. Without saying a word, he pushed her to the wall and tore off her dress.
“Get away from me,” she screamed, pushing him away. He didn’t say anything. The words were no longer important. He pressed against her more firmly, noticing how her breathing gradually changed. She tried to hit him with her left knee, but he blocked it easily. Marc held her firmly against the wall as he entered her. Her resistance weakened and her screams were transformed into sounds of pleasure. She whispered something he could not understand.
They continued increasingly fierce, and Marc had forgotten all about the husband, and even more so, he forgot all about the caution. With a sudden slam of the door husband rushed in and grabbed Marc’s shoulder. Rapidly and quite easily he threw him into the air, almost as he were a rag doll. Marc landed on the floor, half-unconscious, not really aware of what was going on. He covered his face with his hands, but her husband continued on beating him. He kicked him all over his body, and Marc started losing consciousness.
At one moment, the husband stopped beating Marc. There was a moment of silence. A moment of peace. A fly flew by. His eyes were fixed somewhere over Marc’s head. His eyes were filled with disbelief, and soon the void followed. It lasted only for two or three seconds, but to Marc it seemed like hours before the husband’s lifeless body fell to the carpet just a yard away from Marc’s head.
He lay dead, his body sprawled on the carpet. His empty eyes revealed nothing. The massive kitchen knife shone in his back. The knife flashed and reflected the lightning from the dark-grey sky. Marc glanced at the woman.
She absently wiped her hands. She looked at Marc, helped him to his feet and with a gleam in her eye she put out the light.