by Simon Hawke
“When I woke up, I was in my own bed,” she continued, holding on to his hands. She shook her head. “My parents never said a word about it. They act as if the whole thing never happened. But it did.”
And they knew it too, she thought, and they blamed her for it and never forgave her, either. They acted as though what she put them through, which was, of course, the way they would have thought of it, could possibly compare with an experience as terrible as the one she’d had, so terrible that her mind had blocked it out.
“All I want to do is just forget it,” she said, “but I can’t. I’ll never forget that horrible face! Never!”
The headlights on the car suddenly went out and she jerked as if struck.
“What’s that?”
They turned around, looking back toward the car, but there wasn’t anyone in sight.
“Damn it, it’s the battery,” Ricky said. “I charged it yesterday, but it must not have taken.”
They walked back to the car.
“It may just start anyway,” he said, somewhat dubiously. “Let me try.”
He opened the door, got in, and turned the key, but it was dead as a doornail.
“We’re gonna have to walk back,” he said, getting out and putting his arm around her protectively. “It’s okay.”
He looked at her and could see that she was shaken, but her eyes were shining and she looked incredibly relieved. It suddenly occurred to him that she had been afraid he’d pull away from her, afraid that he wouldn’t understand and that he’d shut her out after he found out what had happened, as if it were her fault that some sick bastard had . . . My God, he thought, no wonder she’d been acting that way every time he tried to touch her! She had been violated and the assault had been upon the very core of her being. She felt unclean and was terrified that he would perceive her that way and want nothing more to do with her! Sweet Jesus, he thought, did she really think I’d turn my back on her just because she had been hurt? Did she really think I wouldn’t be there when she needed me the most?
Perhaps it was a corny gesture, but he offered her his arm. And it was exactly the right thing to do. With a smile, she hooked her arm through his and together they started back down the road.
Chapter Six
Chuck and Chili were slumped in indentical postures on the couch, heads arched back, mouths open, dead to the world. “Zonked,” as Chuck would have put it. Vera and Debbie sat on the other couch staring with bored expressions at Andy and Shelly, who were juggling. Shelly was juggling three apples while Andy juggled oranges, each concentrating intensely as he attempted to outdo the other. Neither Debbie nor Vera could believe that the evening had degenerated to such a mundane level.
“Do you give up?” said Shelly, concentrating fiercely as he juggled his apples.
“Not on your life!” said Andy, whose competitive drive led him to enter any physical contest, no matter how absurd. “You give up?”
“Never!” Shelly said.
Vera and Debbie exchanged helpless glances. “I know how to stop this,” Debbie said, smiling.
She got up off the couch and walked slowly over to Andy’s side, stopping right next to him and sliding up to him as he kept his eyes on the oranges.
“I can think of much better things for you to be doing with your hands,” she said in a husky voice, smiling and sashaying over to the stairs. Andy promptly allowed to oranges to drop.
“You win,” he said to Shelly as his oranges thudded to the floor and he hastened to follow Debbie up the stairs.
Shelly glanced around, saw that Andy and Debbie had departed and that Chuck and Chili were still asleep, then he looked at Vera nervously and smiled. “I guess that just leaves you and me . . . sort of,” he added, awkwardly.
Vera watched him juggle. “You really are very good at that,” she said, anxious to change the subject.
She turned back to tend the fire with the poker. Shelly stopped juggling his apples and watched her for a moment, licking his lips nervously as he saw the way her jeans stretched tightly over her ass. God, she was so damned beautiful . . . He took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge.
“Vera . . .” he started, hesitantly, “you and I have gotten to know each other a little today.” He gulped. “I like you. I like you a lot. I . . . I was thinking that maybe . . .”
Vera came up to him quickly and gently placed her hand upon his mouth, covering his lips with the tips of her fingers. “I don’t think so,” she said, trying to say it as gently as she knew how.
Shelly dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling his face burning with embarrassment. He felt like an idiot.
“Look,” said Vera, feeling sorry for him, “I’m going outside for a few minutes. And when I get back, we’ll talk, okay?”
She turned and walked out the front door, onto the porch. Shelly moved over to the living room window and watched her for a moment as she sat down on the porch steps.
“Sure, we’ll talk,” he said, a world of bitterness in his voice stemming from a lifetime of rejection. “Bitch.”
Vera ambled down the porch steps to the front walk leading to the driveway. The sun had gone down and the night was cool. She took a deep breath and sighed, unaware that Shelly was watching her with desperate longing through the living-room window. He really wasn’t a bad guy, she thought, even if he was a bit of a nerd. He’d shown a lot of guts at that convenience store with the bikers. Still, she thought, just because he wasn’t a bad guy was no reason for her to give in to what was obviously a fairly potent sexual fantasy he was having about her.
What was it about guys, she thought, that they couldn’t seem to think about girls in any other terms except as potential sexual conquests? They either wanted to take you to bed or they didn’t. That’s all there was to it so far as they seemed to be concerned. Friendship? Forget it. That’s what other guys were for, right? When it came to women, guys either wanted to ball them or they didn’t and girls would either put out or they wouldn’t. It really didn’t seem to be any more complex than that. How the hell could they expect to have reationships with women if they weren’t even willing to accept women as individuals, with wants and needs and feelings of their own?
Damn it, she thought, I like Shelly. At heart, he really is a decent sort of guy, but why do I have to feel guilty just because I don’t want to sleep with him? Why does my acceptance or rejection of him have to come down to whether or not I’ll go to bed with him? That’s just not fair, she thought.
Maybe she could explain it to him. She didn’t know if he would understand, but it was certainly worth a try. Look, Shelly, she imagined herself saying to him, just because I don’t want to go to bed with you doesn’t mean that I don’t like you as a person. It doesn’t mean that I’m rejecting you. Don’t you see that by putting me in that position, you’re putting me in the same unfair position that people have been putting you in all your life? They’ve looked at you and seen a kid who was overweight and they never bothered to look beyond that to find out who you really were. Well, it can be exactly like that for someone who looks the way I do. Have you ever thought of that? They look at me and all they see is a pretty face and a terrific body. Not that I’m complaining, but there’s a lot more to what I am than great legs, a tight ass, and nice tits. Just as there’s a lot more to what you are than chubby cheeks and love handles. You’d like me to see that, to recognize that there’s more to you than what you look like on the outside, but at the same time, you don’t seem to be willing to give me that same consideration!
When you look at me, Shelly, she imagined herself saying to him, what do you see? My pretty face? My tits? My legs? My ass? Do you think about who I really am, or do you think about what’s between my legs? What do you really know about me, anyway? Can’t you see that you’re victimizing me the same way people have been victimizing you? You like the way that feels? No? Then why are you doing it to me?
She sighed and continued walking down the path leading to the lake. The male
thing was especially hard for a young Hispanic woman. She had to deal with the whole Latino macho trip. In order to preserve her virtue, her desirability as a potential mate, she had to be a virgin. Yet, at the same time, she was subjected to countless assaults upon her virginity, and the rules of the game were clearly defined. It was all right for the guys to do whatever was necessary, short of outright rape, to try and get between her legs, but the only way that she could maintain their respect was to continue to resist them. If she relented and gave them what they wanted, she could be regarded as nothing more than a cheap slut. Anglos pulled the same kind of number, only in a much more subtle way.
Maybe she was expecting too much of Shelly to think that he could ever understand. He was probably in there right now, feeling sorry for himself and thinking that she was a bitch because she wouldn’t respond to him the way he wanted. And what about what she wanted? Or didn’t that matter? She felt like going in there and asking him if he’d still feel the same way if she were about fifty pounds heavier. Somehow, she doubted he’d look at her quite the same way then. Well, Shelly, she thought, it works both ways, you know.
Andy rolled from side to side experimentally in the net hammock, feeling it sway beneath him. There was a dubious expression on his face as he looked up at Debbie, standing over him.
“How do we do it?” he said.
“Well, first we take off our clothes,” she said, with a perfectly straight face, “then you get on top of me or I get on top of you.”
He grimaced wryly. “I know how to do it. I mean, how do we do it in a hammock?”
With a sly smile, Debbie removed her blouse. “I think you can figure something out,” she said.
“I’ll think of something,” Andy said as she came into his arms and the hammock started to sway from side to side.
Chuck stirred groggily on the couch in the living room. He glanced over at Chili, out like a light as she sprawled back against the couch next to him. He grinned. Good shit, man, he thought. It zonked both of us right out. He glanced around the room. Except for him and Chili, there was nobody else around. The room was dark and the fire was starting to die down. Stretching lazily, he got up off the couch, threw some more logs onto the fire, and went out the back door. He walked the short distance to the outhouse, opened the door, and pulled the light chain inside. The yellow bulb came on, and he looked around at the interior of the outhouse, grinning at the graffiti written on the walls. HELP! I’M BEING HELP PRISONER IN THE OUTHOUSE, one said. THROW DOWN A CAN OF AIR FRESHENER AND A ROPE! He chuckled, then turned around as he heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel behind him.
“Shelly?”
No answer.
He couldn’t see very far into the darkness. He shrugged, went into the outhouse, closed the door, and sat down. He pulled a joint out of his shirt pocket and lit up, inhaling deeply. As the first blast hit his lungs, the whole outhouse seemed to shake.
“Heavy shit!” he said, taking the joint out of his mouth and gazing at it appreciatively.
Then the outhouse shook again and he realized that it wasn’t the dope. Someone was leaning on the outhouse wall outside, rocking it back and forth violently.
“Who’s there?” Chuck shouted, feeling slightly alarmed. “Shelly, if this is another one of your tricks . . .”
A moment later, he was pulling up his pants and bolting out the door, looking all around angrily. There was no sign of anyone, but the door to the barn was slowly swinging closed, as if someone had just gone inside. Damn that Shelly, Chuck thought, him and his constant screwing around. Suddenly he turned and almost jumped out of his skin when he bumped right into Chili. He gave out a startled yell.
“Aaah!”
“It’s just me!” she said.
Chuck exhaled heavily. “Between you and Shelly, I’m lucky I haven’t had a heart attack already!”
“What’s butterbull up to now?” asked Chili.
“I don’t know,” said Chuck. “He just ducked into the barn.”
Chili grinned. “Come on, let’s give him some of his own medicine.”
She took his arm and pulled him toward the barn. As they entered the dark building, every shadowy form within suddenly looked ominous to Chuck. He started to get an attack of paranoia.
“I don’t think he’s in here,” he said uneasily, backing away slowly toward the door.
Chili made a face and grabbed his arm, pulling him back in. Chuck suddenly wasn’t sure that it was Shelly who had gone into the barn. He hadn’t actually seen him . . .
“Hey, maybe that wasn’t him, Chili . . .” he said nervously.
“Sssh!” She held a finger to her lips, and with her other hand, she picked up an iron crowbar. She crept forward and pushed open one of the stalls.
She brought the bar up as if it were a baseball bat and leaped into the stall with shrill yell. But the stall was empty and she dropped the bar, disappointed that Shelly wasn’t there.
“I guess he must’ve left,” she said, with a shrug.
“Come on,” said Chuck, anxious to get out of there. He didn’t know why, but he had a sudden powerful feeling that they were not alone. He half expected someone—or some thing—to come leaping out at them from the shadows.
“Let’s get out of here!” he urged her.
She turned and smiled at the frightened expression on his face. She put her arm around him and hugged him close. “I’m not going to let anybody hurt you,” she said.
“Gee, thanks,” said Chuck wryly. “I feel a lot better.”
As they turned and went outside, their arms around each other, the gate to the second stall inside the barn swung open and Jason stepped out, watching them with glittering eyes. The blood was pounding in his ears, filling them with a roaring sound as he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. His massive rib cage rose and fell as he breathed heavily, gulping in deep lungfuls of air to try and ease the tightness in his chest. The blood fever was upon him once again. He seemed to hear a small, insistent voice deep within his twisted brain, a voice that commanded him to kill. He stared at Chuck and Chili with utter loathing as they walked back toward the house. For the moment, they had escaped him.
But only for the moment.
Chapter Seven
Vera sat on the edge of the boat dock, dangling her legs in the water. It was so quiet and peaceful out on the lake, she didn’t really feel like going back inside and having it out with Shelly. She sighed. Why couldn’t he simply take the hint? Any other guy would have realized long ago that she simply wasn’t interesting in him, at least not that way, but Shelly couldn’t seem to get it through his head. He kept trying to push the issue, as if he thrived on rejection.
She kicked her legs back and forth, enjoying the feel of the cool water on her bare feet. I came on this trip to get away from hassles, she thought, to just enjoy a quiet weekend in the woods. She didn’t need this crap from Shelly. He wouldn’t be such a bad guy, she thought, if he would just relax and stop trying to show off and impress people, if he would just be himself. Why couldn’t he just . . .
Something grabbed hold of her leg.
She gasped, lurching forward, almost falling off the dock into the lake as a hand sticking up out of the water clutched her around the ankle, trying to pull her down. She screamed, and clung to the dock with all her might, kicking with her leg, trying to wrench herself loose, but she felt herself slipping . . . and suddenly the hand let go.
As she scrambled panic-striken back onto the dock, looking fearfully down into the water, a large figure in a black wet suit broke the surface of the water with a loud cry, brandishing a spear gun and wearing a white plastic hockey mask. Shelly pushed the mask back on his head and grinned at her.
“You’ve just learned a valuable lesson,” he said as she stared at him with stunned disbelief. “A beautiful girl like you should never go out in the dark alone.”
“Damn it, Shelly!”
She came at him furiously, meaning to strike him. But seeing the
expression on her face, Shelly quickly backed away.
“Why do you do these stupid things,” she said, in exasperation.
“I have to,” he replied defensively, raising his arms slightly as if to ward off a blow.
“No, you don’t have to,” she said, making a face at him and mimicking his tone.
“I just want you to like me,” Shelly said dejectedly, avoiding her gaze and looking like a dog that had been kicked.
“I do like you,” said Vera, with exasperation. “But not when you act like a jerk.”
“Being a jerk is better than being a nothing,” Shelly said, in a small voice.
“I never said you were nothing,” Vera protested.
“You don’t have to say it,” he said miserably. “I can tell.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “Shelly . . .”
He hung his head and walked away, looking like a big black seal in his wet suit. She sighed, shaking her head. God, he was truly hopeless, she thought. He acted like an insecure twelve-year-old who would do anything for attention. Like the boys who used to chase her all the time when she was a little girl. The teased her, pulled her hair, and acted like utter idiots around her because it was the only way they knew how to show they liked her. He was making her crazy. She went back to the end of the dock and sat down again, staring out at the lake and wondering if she was going to survive this weekend.
Shelly sat down on the porch swing and stared down at the dock, where Vera was sitting with her back to him. He felt like a jerk. She’s right, he thought miserably, a jerk is exactly what I am.
The idea had been to make her laugh, but it had backfired, as his ideas always did. He would imagine the whole thing in his head, the way it would go, complete with dialogue, as if it were a movie that he was directing. He would see it played out in his mind frame for frame. He would leap up out of the water in his mask and wet suit, Vera leaping back, frightened at first, then amused at the stunt and flattered by the trouble he had gone to on her account, but, of course, that was not how it turned out. These things never turned out the way he imagined they would.
