Chapter 13 Midnight Confrontations
Bright neon lights illuminated the night sky, while the roar of motorcycle engines, fast-paced music, and excited shouts merged into a cacophony of deafening noise.
Alison stood at a three-way intersection, blocked by four drunken thugs reeking of alcohol.
"Can't believe Number Seven dropped out mid-race."
"Shit, I bet a thousand bucks on him. Lost everything!"
"Well, hello pretty lady. Want to come have a drink with us?"
Passersby glanced over, then turned away with practiced indifference, continuing on their way. A few troublemakers whistled crudely at Alison.
Alison sidestepped the approaching hand with disgust, gripped the man's shoulder, and with a swift motion, threw him against the wall, eliciting a painful cry.
The remaining three, now enraged, surrounded Alison, throwing wild punches and kicks.
Alison dodged nimbly, precisely driving her elbow into one man's chin, then bent low, spinning halfway around to grab an empty bottle from the ground, smashing it against another attacker's knee as he swung his fist.
Before the last man could react, she delivered a side kick to his abdomen, leaving him clutching his stomach as he collapsed.
Alison brushed the dust from her sleeves, preparing to leave, but the four thugs continued cursing. Already irritated from losing track of Matthew, she decided these four had conveniently presented themselves as outlets for her frustration.
A few minutes later, Alison stood with her foot on one man's chest, holding a phone she'd confiscated from him. "Call the police. Confess what you did."
The thug, nursing his painful injuries, dialed the emergency number and whimpered, "Help! We harassed a woman and she beat us up!"
At one in the morning, Oliver finished his overtime work and left the lakeside office, heading home. He stopped by the police station on the way, needing to sign some paperwork after deploying a dozen officers to secure a crime scene earlier that day.
Seeing Alison at the police station, Oliver thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.
Alison still wore the light blue chiffon blouse he'd seen her in earlier, but the decorative ruffle at the collar had been torn loose and hung limply across her chest. Her jeans were stained with dust and strange marks, and her hair was disheveled.
Behind her, three officers were escorting four bruised, handcuffed thugs.
"What happened?" Oliver strode toward Alison, carefully observing her eyes, no signs of an episode.
"Good evening." Alison hadn't expected to see him and waved in greeting.
"These drunks tried to harass the lady—sexual harassment, attempted. They met someone they couldn't handle. Got beaten up so badly they called the police themselves," the officer explained with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
One of the thugs protested, "It wasn't my idea! She would've crushed me if I didn't call!"
"Shut up, have you no shame?" The officer kicked him lightly. "Go squat over there!"
Alison gave Oliver an innocent look, spreading her hands. As an officer called her over to file a report, Oliver stopped them. "Wait."
Alison turned back, puzzled.
Oliver took her face and turned it left, revealing a slight cut on the right side of her jaw. He told the officer, "Get a first aid kit and treat her wound."
"Thank you," Alison said, surprised by his attentiveness, flashing him a bright smile.
Oliver remained impassive. "No wonder you're always tired. Your nightlife is quite eventful."
"A student went motorcycle racing. I was trying to stop him," Alison calmly accepted his teasing, running her hands through her messy hair and tying it into a simple low ponytail.
"A student from the Thomas Special Program?" Oliver frowned.
Alison nodded. "Matthew."
"Him? Was he having an episode?" Oliver asked.
"No episode. He was just out having fun." Matthew had joined a street race, and Alison had watched him disappear down the track. She'd planned to wait at the finish line, but Matthew had spotted her and dropped out mid-race. Unaware, she'd waited half an hour at the finish line, only to end up being harassed by the thugs.
The thought irritated her—a whole evening wasted.
Being Friday, she'd been on edge all day, but nothing unusual had happened.
"I notified Steve, who called Matthew's family. He's already home," she said.
"Your dedication is truly surprising," Oliver remarked.
Missing his sarcasm, Alison replied, "Steve said the same thing."
Thirty minutes later, after Alison completed her report, she saw Oliver still in the hallway and hurried over. "You haven't left yet? Were you waiting for me?"
"Don't flatter yourself." Oliver started walking with long strides, then stopped and looked back when Alison didn't follow.
Alison caught up. "Could I get a ride with you?"
Oliver didn't refuse.
Once in the car, Alison fastened her seatbelt, adjusted her position against the backrest, and closed her eyes, preparing to sleep as if it were routine.
Oliver disliked her presumption. "Is my car your bed now?"
"Your car induces sleep better than an actual bed," Alison's voice was heavy with fatigue. "Don't disturb me. It's only about fifteen minutes to my place. I need to catch a quick nap."
Oliver felt annoyed and considered waking her, but his eyes fell on the red antiseptic covering Alison's facial and hand injuries. Resigned, he started the car. "This is the last time."
Twenty minutes later, Alison woke to find the car parked across from her apartment. She patted her cheeks to revive herself and thanked Oliver.
"Are you doing this deliberately?" Oliver studied her with a cool gaze. "Many women try various tricks to get close to me. At least three have pretended to fall asleep beside me. They think appearing defenseless is somehow seductive. They fantasize I'll steal a kiss, then they'll open their eyes, our gazes will meet, hearts racing, in some romantic, intimate moment."
Alison raised an eyebrow. "Stealing kisses only indicates poor self-control and weak morals. It has nothing to do with romance."
She looked at him warily. "Did you kiss me while I was asleep?"
Oliver clicked his tongue in exasperation. "Of course not."
The first time he'd exposed a woman's pretend sleep, he'd touched her lips with an object, watched her eyes open in expectation, then disappointment and embarrassment, while he laughed. But by the second and third occurrences of the same trick, he felt bored.
Alison was different, though. He couldn't read her thoughts.
In the dim light of the car, complex emotions flowed through his normally cool, confident eyes. Alison felt amused and, recalling their afternoon conversation, teased him. "You must have had your heart broken, probably by your first love. You don't trust women in intimate relationships, which is why none of your romantic relationships last."
She hit the mark precisely. Oliver was momentarily stunned, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel.
Alison unbuckled her seatbelt. "You probably don't realize it's your issue. You brand every girlfriend as a liar. They might just be flirting, but you see ulterior motives. I suggest asking Helen for psychological counseling. Your next relationship might last longer."
"Shut up!" Oliver snapped, embarrassed and angry.
Alison belatedly realized her words were too offensive.
Oliver had driven her home late at night, let her sleep, and she'd repaid him like this.
Before she could explain, Oliver angrily ordered her out of the car, floored the accelerator, and sped away.
St. Thomas Academy gave students only half a day off on Sundays, with evening classes resuming after dinner.
Alison entered the classroom precisely on time, noticing Matthew's empty seat. Another absence.
When she asked Steve, he explained that Matthew had been in a motorcycle accident Friday night. His right hand was fractured, and he'd be absent for at least a month.
"I want to visit him," Alison looked directly at Steve, brooking no refusal. "Please give me Matthew's home address."