Tales From the Midnight Shift Vol. 1

by Mark Allan Gunnells

  “Hey there, little lady,” he said in a singsong tone of voice, advancing on her slowly.

  She cringed, seemingly trying to pull herself into an even tighter ball, as if she could make herself disappear that way. The whimpering became louder, more a keening wail. Troy found the sound incredibly gratifying.

  “Now, now, this can actually be fun if you just go with it.” He knelt down in front of her. She was sweaty and smelled like maybe she hadn’t showered in a week, but she was also damn good-looking. About twenty-five or so, if he had to guess, a little on the thick side but Troy liked bitches with a little meat on their bones. He reached out to brush some of the hair out of her face—

  —and that was when the bitch struck.

  She batted his arm away and lashed out, catching him right in the nose with the heel of her hand. The pain was unexpected and explosive, blood gushing from his nostrils like twin crimson waterfalls. He fell back on his ass, too surprised to immediately react. The bitch kicked out, her foot slamming into his chest and sending him flat on his back. His head rapped hard against the floor, sending a jolt of electric pain down his spine.

  The bitch was on her feet now, and he figured she was going to make a run for the door. Wouldn’t do her no good, Deacon had it locked up tight, but he was going to have to make her pay for hurting him like this. And on camera too. Maybe this part could be edited out or something. As she neared him, Troy grabbed the bitch’s ankle and jerked her foot out from under her. She fell straight forward onto her stomach then rolled away.

  Troy was on his feet in an instant, closing in and making a grab at her. She ducked under his arms and came up behind him, driving an elbow into the small of his back. The pain was intense and drove him to one knee, but when she got close enough, he swiveled around and backhanded her so hard that she fell to the floor again, a welt already rising on her cheek.

  “Stupid cunt,” he spat, his voice sounded oddly wet and nasally. He thought maybe the bitch had broken his nose. “I’m gonna bust you up big time.”

  He started toward her, but she suddenly pushed up on her hands and lashed out with her right leg, landing a solid kick right to the balls. A strangled cry leaked from Troy like air from a deflating balloon, and he dropped instantly to his knees before keeling over on his side.

  The bitch stood up and walked around him, staring down at him with a fierce expression. He kept waiting for Deacon to bust in here and put a stop to this, but he was still waiting when she raised one leg and stomped down on his neck. He heard a crack then his body below the neck seemed to go dead. He tried to move his arms, his legs, anything, and panic began to set in when he realized he couldn’t.

  The bitch stood right in front of his face, and all he could see were her feet. Her toenails were painted a pale shade of pink. Suddenly she kicked him in the mouth. He felt several teeth break loose of his gums, and he spat them out like shards of glass, blood seeping out to puddle under his head. He wanted to cry out for mercy but had no voice.

  She kicked him in the face again. And again. And again.

  She kicked him at least a dozen times before he lost consciousness.

  * * *

  Courtney was kneeling by the body, feeling for a nonexistent pulse, when she heard the door scrape open behind her. She turned to find Deacon standing there, looking dazed.

  “Did he admit it?” she asked. “Did he admit he killed my sister and it wasn’t just some sex-game accident?”

  Deacon nodded.

  Courtney stood, kicked Troy in the face once more for good measure, then walked over to the man with the scar along his jaw line. The two embraced. Courtney wept softly into his shoulder. “Thank you for helping me with this.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you, babe.”

  Courtney went up on the tips of her toes and kissed Deacon, a hungry, passionate kiss. “Did you get it all on film?”

  “Every second of it.”

  “Good, my folks will want to see this.”

  THE MORE THINGS CHANGE

  “He’s staring at me again.”

  “Who?” Jessica said, trying to pry her Algebra book out of the chaotic mess that was her locker.

  “The new guidance counselor.”

  Jessica followed Troy’s gaze and saw Mr. Feldman standing down at the opposite end of the hall, just outside the administrative offices; the guidance counselor did in fact seem to be looking directly at her friend with a rather intense expression of concentration.

  “Maybe he’s got the hots for you,” she said with a giggle.

  “Well, he does seem a bit on the swishy side, but he’s not my type at all.”

  “Why not? I think he’s kind of cute.”

  “He’s majorly old, like at least 35. His hair’s already going gray, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I wonder if it’s going gray everywhere,” she teased, slamming her locker shut.

  “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to find out.”

  Laughing, the two friends headed for the stairwell. Mr. Feldman watched until they disappeared around the corner then retreated back to his office.

  * * *

  Friday, just after the final bell of the day as Troy was making his way to the nearest exit, he heard someone calling his name. Turning, he found that creepy guidance counselor that always had his eye on him standing over by the water fountain. Troy considered just ignoring him and continuing on his way, but in the end he fought against the tide of departing students until he stood before Mr. Feldman.

  “Hello, Troy,” the man said in a prissy voice. “My name is Lance Feldman.”

  “Yes, I know.” When the counselor didn’t immediately say anything else, Troy glanced pointedly at his wrist (which did sport a watch) and said, “Can I do something for you? I’m supposed to meet some friends after school.”

  “I was just wondering where you got your shirt.”

  Troy looked down at himself. He was wearing a simple black T imprinted with the logo of an upside down pink triangle and the words “HATE IS NOT A FAMILY VALUE” blazoned across the chest. “I got it at the Hot Topics in the mall over in Greenville. Why, you want one?”

  The counselor’s posture stiffed and his nostrils flared slightly; Troy thought maybe he’d hit a nerve. “Do you really think that’s appropriate apparel for school?”

  “Well, it doesn’t have any curse words on it or obscene pictures, so what exactly is the problem?”

  “I just feel perhaps school is not the proper forum for such controversial political statements.”

  “What, are you suggesting hate is a family value?”

  “I do think the underlying message could be considered offensive by some.”

  “No one seems to be bothered by it but you. I’ve been wearing this shirt for two years now, since I was a freshman.”

  Mr. Feldman took a deep breath and cut his eyes from side to side, as if expecting to find that traffic in the hall had come to a standstill so everyone could eavesdrop. When he was apparently satisfied that no one was paying them any attention, he leaned toward Troy and said, “I’m just trying to look out for you. A boy like you, you draw too much attention to yourself and you could have a really tough time in high school.”

  Before he could stop himself, Troy barked a sharp laugh right in the counselor’s face. “Thanks for your concern, Mr. Feldman, but I’m fine. Perhaps you should just mind your own business.”

  Before the counselor had time to respond, Troy turned and walked off.

  * * *

  Troy was eating lunch with Jessica when Brent Fletcher and Joel Harmon sat down on either side of him. Brent was quarterback of the school’s football team, Joel a linebacker. They both had broad shoulders, thick necks, and matching crew-cuts (except Brent’s was a light blonde, Joel’s a deep black). They could almost pass as brothers as well as teammates.

  “So what are you two ladies gabbing about?” Brent asked.

  Troy munched on some fries then smiled at the quarterback. �
�The usual. Guys with big dicks.”

  “So talking about us then,” Joel said and wheezed his asthmatic laugh.

  Jessica tipped him a wink and said, “Not according to what I heard from Susie Essman.”

  “How would she know? She’s never seen it.”

  “Say what?” Brent said, leaning over the table to glance at his friend. “I thought you said you’d been slipping it to her for months now.”

  Joel seemed flustered and stammered a moment before formulating a response. “Yeah, well, you see, we always do it in the dark, so she’s never actually seen it, you know.”

  Jessica smirked. “Well, you’d think at the very least she’d be able to feel it.”

  “Not if it’s as microscopic as she claims,” Troy said.

  Joel flung a fry at Troy. “What do you know about it, queer?”

  “What do I know about having a small dick? Not a thing; why don’t you teach me a little something?”

  “Oh, I’m going to teach you something in a minute. How’d you like it if I pounded your ass?”

  “Hmm,” Troy said with a wag of his eyebrows. “Is that an offer?”

  “Forget I said anything,” Joel said, holding his hands up as if in surrender and scooting his chair back.

  Brent nudged Troy with an elbow. “Hey, I heard you flunked that quiz in American History.”

  “Yeah, what of it?”

  “I was just thinking, maybe you could blow Mr. Jenkins for extra credit, raise your GPA if you’re good enough.”

  “Gee, you know I would but my jaw’s still kind of tired from blowing your father.”

  A surprised laugh escaped Brent like a gasp. “You’ve got a smart mouth, you little fag. Maybe someone should punch you in it.”

  Troy looked at the quarterback appraisingly. “I don’t think you can take me.”

  “How about the both of us?” Joel said. “We’ll double team you, and not in the way you wet-dream about.”

  Troy was about to deliver a perfectly constructed retort when behind them a sharp voice called out, “Mr. Fletcher, Mr. Harmon, to the principal’s office right this minute!”

  Troy glanced over his shoulder and there was that damn Mr. Feldman. It was almost like the counselor was stalking him or something.

  “What’d we do?” Joel said with a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

  “I will not stand for you two blowhards harassing a weaker student.”

  “Weaker student?” Troy said with a frown. “You talking about me?”

  The counselor just glanced at Troy but didn’t respond, instead continued addressing the two football players. “To the principal’s office now, march!”

  “But we were just horsing around,” Brent said. “Honest, we didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I know what I heard, and that kind of bullying will not be tolerated in this school.”

  “No one was being bullied,” Troy said, feeling a blush coming into his cheeks. Not from embarrassment, but from anger. “We were just talking sh…I mean, talking trash. You know, the way guys do. I was giving as good as I got, I think. We were just goofing on each other.”

  “Troy, you don’t have to defend these guys.”

  “Seriously, Mr. Feldman,” Jessica broke in. “The four of us sit together at lunch almost everyday. That’s just how we talk.”

  The counselor stood there for a moment in silence, arms folded across his chest as he looked from Troy to Jessica to Brent to Joel then zeroing back in on Troy. “You sure these guys weren’t harassing you?”

  “I’m positive. We’re all buds here.”

  Mr. Feldman looked unconvinced, and it seemed he may send the two jocks to the principal’s office anyway, but then he uncrossed his arms and said, “Fine, I’ll let it go…for now. But I’ll be keeping an eye on the whole bunch of you.”

  After the counselor had walked off, Brent whistled softly and said, “Jesus, what’s that guy’s damage?”

  Jessica shrugged and took a sip of chocolate milk. “I don’t know, maybe he just needs to get laid.”

  Nodding, Joel said, “Yeah, I hear a bad case of the blue balls will make you grouchy as hell.”

  “You would know,” Troy said with a smile.

  “Fuck you, knob-gobbler. I get plenty.”

  “Your hand doesn’t count,” Brent said.

  The four of them started laughing and went on with their lunch, the creepy guidance counselor forgotten.

  * * *

  Troy felt like there were dozens of eyes tracking his passage even though he was the only one in the hallway. It was just always so embarrassing to be called to the office over the intercom system, especially the guidance office. The only people who got called to the guidance office were manic-depressive Goth chicks who cut themselves or maladjusted geeks the administration was afraid would pull a Columbine. And yet mere moments ago, right in the middle of American History, he had been summoned like some kind of social defective.

  Pausing outside Mr. Feldman’s door, Troy considered just turning tail and going back to class, but he knew if he did he’d get into serious trouble, and with the Homecoming dance just around the corner, he couldn’t risk anything that might lead to him being grounded. He knocked on the door, heard the counselor call “Come in,” and stepped into the office, closing the door behind him.

  “Ah, Troy,” Mr. Feldman said from behind his desk. “Good of you to stop by.”

  “You say that as if I had a choice in the matter.”

  The counselor smiled and ignored the jab. “Please, have a seat.”

  Troy did as instructed, sitting hunched over with his legs crossed, his posture stiff and closed off. He waited for the man across the desk to say something, but when Mr. Feldman remained silent, just looking at him, Troy finally said, “Is there a reason you called me to your office or did you just want to have a staring contest?”

  “I wanted to discuss the incident in the cafeteria yesterday.”

  “Oh, you mean when you had that total spaz attack with me and my friends?”

  Mr. Feldman leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desktop. “Troy, you don’t have to pretend with me. Straight talk only in this room.”

  “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, dude.”

  “Come on, you don’t have to cover for those jocks that were hassling you.”

  “No one was hassling me. I told you yesterday, we were just fooling around like we always do, seeing who could come up with the best insults.”

  The counselor’s smile was smug and condescending. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know you’re probably intimidated and a little afraid of those jerks, but I can help make sure they don’t give you anymore grief.”

  “It’s like you’re not even listening to a word I say,” Troy said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I’ve known Brent and Joel since kindergarten, they’re two of my best buddies. Hell, they helped me get on the team.”

  “You’re on the football team?”

  “Well, not exactly, but I’m the mascot.”

  “Mascot?”

  “Yeah, I’m the one in the bulldog outfit dancing around during pep rallies and games.”

  “And you think that means they accept you as one of their own?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Troy exclaimed, realizing a second too late that he’d dropped the F-bomb, wondering how much trouble he was going to get into because of it.

  But the counselor acted as if he hadn’t heard it, instead stood and walked around to lean on the edge of his desk. “Troy, I think you may be less resistant to the help I’m offering if I share a little about myself. Did you know that 17 years ago I was a student at this very high school?”

  “Yeah, heard after you graduated you went to college then worked up north until recently.”

  Mr. Feldman nodded. “My mother grew ill, Alzheimer’s, and I decided to move back to town to take care of her. I have to say, at first I wasn’t crazy about coming to work here, but
then I realized I could really do some good, help students like yourself, save you from some of the hardships I went through.”

  “I don’t need any help.”

  The counselor just laughed at this. “Troy, I’m going to level with you and hope you don’t find this revelation too shocking. I’m gay.”

  “The hell you say,” Troy deadpanned.

  “It’s true. And so I know firsthand the kind of hell this high school can be for students who are different. I was tormented mercilessly for four years, called every name in the book, pantsed in the hallways, had my head dunked in a toilet, after gym class one day some of the guys held me down in the showers while they directed scalding hot spray at me. At a pep rally one time, I was dragged under the bleachers and beaten so badly I had two broken ribs. So when I graduated, I got as far away from this place as I could.”

  Troy was silent for a moment, taking in what he’d just heard. “Look, Mr. Feldman, I’m sorry about what happened to you when you were my age, I really am, but I’m not sure what any of this has to do with me.”

  “I’m just trying to make you see that I know what you’re going through because I’ve been through it myself, and I’d imagine it must be so much worse for you because you’re out of the closet. It must make you a target for every Neanderthal at this school.”

  “No offense, but what century are you living in? Things might have been like that a million years ago when you were a student, but times have changed since then.”

  The counselor snorted a humorless laugh. “Times haven’t changed that much.”

  “Okay, so maybe things aren’t perfect, but I don’t have any of the problems you did. I have plenty of friends, no one gives me a hard time, and if anyone tried to dunk my head in a toilet I’d kick their ass up and down the hall. I’m not the little victim you seem to want me to be, I’m not the victim you were.”