by Phoef Sutton
Well, now he was caught and suddenly he wanted to take it all back. He’d never thought about what it might mean. Oh, he’d pictured disgrace and looked forward to the messy dissolution of his marriage, but this was a crime. If this went wrong, and it wouldn’t have to go too wrong, it could mean prison. And prison as a child molester. Oh, he knew that wasn’t what he was, but that’s what it would say, in black and white, in the papers, for everyone to read, for his mother to read, for God’s sake. And he wouldn’t be able to stand prison, it would kill him, it would kill him sure as anything.
He felt something wet on his tongue and realized he was crying. He stood up and pulled a brown paper towel from the dispenser and wiped his face. He walked back to the auditorium and glanced down the hall as he did so. There was no one there, no one else in the whole school. Oh, football practice would start in the gym in a few hours, but that was on the other side of the building. He opened the door and walked back onto the cool stage.
He crossed to the cage and sat down on the floor by the trap door again.
“Well, you’re right,” he whispered, “I can’t call the police. What do you want me to do?”
There was no answer.
“I mean it, I’ll give you anything I can. And I promise I’ll never do it again. Just don’t say anything, okay?”
There was no answer.
This wasn’t fair of her. On top of everything else she shouldn’t tease him.
“Okay?” He asked again.
He rattled the door. Again there was no response. He took the key from the top of the metal shelf and unlocked the padlock. He took a deep breath, then swung the door open.
There was no one in there.
SIXTEEN
He dropped the trapdoor shut again and leaned against the light board. She was gone. Had it finally happened; had he ignored a problem and seen it just go away? Maybe she really had been afraid of his threats after all. It was possible. Maybe she’d decided turning him in was too much trouble. That would be just like kids today. They had no sense of moral integrity, bless them.
But how had she gotten out? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think there was another way out of that place. Maybe she was still hiding up there, waiting for him to go away.
He walked to the center of the stage and looked up at the lights. They were too blinding for him to see anything around them. He went back into the booth and turned them down, then looked again. Nothing to see up there, but with so many shadows how could he know for sure?”
He called out, “Are you there?”
No answer.
She had gone. He didn’t have a thing to worry about. Of course, she might have gone to the police, but would they believe her? The first thing she’d have to admit when she told her story was that she’d broken into the place. He’d say he found her there and had threatened to call the police – or make that threatened to call her mother, that sounds much more understanding. Then she said he’d better not or she’d tell this ridiculous story. He’d just laughed and tried to talk sense to her. Then she ran off and to tell the truth he’d forgotten about the whole thing, it was so absurd. The police would believe him. Oh, they’d have to ask a few questions, talk to Jenny…
Ryan started to sweat again.
Jenny would lie, but that bitch was right, she wouldn’t lie well. And, God save him, she might get some idea of helping him, saying something they hadn’t agreed on. Even if she didn’t, there’d be this look in her eye, they’d know she was hiding something.
Damn him, why had he picked her anyway? Now Laura, there was a girl who could lie with conviction. Between Laura and him, this chick in the ceiling would be expelled and on probation in no time. What had possessed him to fall for an innocent like Jenny this time? Good lord, for the first time he realized that this was the sort of girl who might even get depressed and tell her mother what was going on.
Then what would happen? The mother would make her turn on him. And then what? What if she testified? Jenny could really look like a child when she wanted to. He could picture her sitting on the witness stand, crying and whining about how he’d seduced her, maybe even saying a few nice things about him that would only make it all sound worse. And they’d all believe her, and what could he say? “Gentlemen of the jury you haven’t seen her play the woman. You haven’t had her giving you the eye, egging you on. You haven’t seen her naked.” They’d put him in prison.
Losing his job, his wife, his kids, that all might be something of a relief. But prison. And he’d heard how they treated juvenile off enders there; he’d heard it many times.
He heard someone stirring up in the ceiling.
“Is somebody down there?” she called out.
He didn’t answer. He walked, as quietly as he could, back into the lighting booth. He picked the padlock off the floor and latched the trapdoor shut again.
He sat back against the metal cabinet and waited for her to come down. He lit a cigarette and listened. He could hear her scrambling around up there, like an oversized rat. She called out again, “Is anybody there? Floyd? Carl?”
He felt a twinge of worry – were there more of them? A whole gang of them up there, perhaps? But no, if she’d come with anyone they’d deserted her now. He took another drag on the cigarette, thinking that he’d quit soon. Quit smoking and drinking. And no more students, he’d swear off them for good. Especially the bad liars.
The trapdoor jarred. He jumped when he saw it and dropped the cigarette onto his lap. He snatched it up quickly, without a sound. He could hear her on the other side. “What the fuck?” she asked.
The door shook again. He saw the tips of her fingers probe under the door, feeling the latch. The door shook once more, even more violently this time. Now she was kicking it and he watched the latch with apprehension. Just how strong was it? He wondered as he watched it vibrate and rattle.
It was as if she hadn’t expected it to be locked. But what would have made her think he’d leave it open? He wondered. The kicking stopped, dwindled down to a few ineffectual punches. He heard her heavy breathing, heard a little whimper. She was getting tired of being in there. He put out his cigarette and leaned close to the door.
“You ready to talk now?” he whispered.
“Who’s that?” There wasn’t any fear in her voice, only relief. That annoyed him.
“It’s Ted. Now do you want me to let you out?”
“Oh, thank God. Who the hell put a lock on this thing anyway?”
She was teasing him, he thought, bitterly. Asking pointless questions, refusing to be intimidated, even though she knew he had her trapped.
“Knock it off! Now are you ready to talk?”
There was a pause, then she answered in a doubtful voice, “Sure.”
“You’re not going to the police.”
There was an even longer pause, then, “No, of course not.”
“I want to believe you, I really do. Can you think of any way for me to be sure?”
Pause. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
He smacked the door with his fist. “Don’t laugh at me! I could leave you in there. It’s a three day weekend, do you want to be in there another two and a half days?”
“No,” she answered quickly enough this time.
“All right then. Tell me how I can be sure you won’t say anything.”
“I won’t, I won’t say a word.”
“Don’t lie to me. Even if you don’t go to the police, you’ll tell your friends, and rumors will start spreading and then all somebody has to do is ask Jenny and it’s all over…Not that I’m worried about myself, it’s Jenny, it would destroy her, she’s too young… Fuck it, I’m not going to prison. Now tell me, does anybody know you’re here?”
Another pause, then, “Yes, a lot of people, my mother, my brother, my boyfriend…”
“You’re not such a good liar yourself.”
She shifted around in there, trying to pry open the door a bit more. He slapped it shut.
“Listen,” she said, “you have to believe what I’m going to say, I really don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I can’t go to the police, I don’t know anything, I don’t know who you are or who Jenny is, I don’t have anything to tell anybody. I think maybe you got me confused with somebody.”
“How many people are up there?”
“Please believe me, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about!”
“Shut up, it’s too late for that.”
He stepped out of the booth to get away from her whining. He walked about in the black curtains, thinking about those names she’d called. Floyd. Carl. Did they know she was here? It didn’t seem likely, if they really knew wouldn’t she have used their names just now instead of bluffing weakly? But how cold he know for sure?
He heard a rattling sound from the booth. Let her get desperate; it gave him more of an edge. If only he could think what the hell to do with it.
Suddenly he heard a crashing sound. He wheeled around and ran back to the booth. The blow fell again, he saw the trapdoor shuddering. The crash again – she must be bracing herself against something and kicking with all of her might. Just his luck, she had to be a strong one.
He ran to the trapdoor just as the lock flew off. She pushed the door up – he kicked it down with all his weight, catching her hand as it tried to hold the door open. She screamed and pulled her hand back. He kicked the door again, savagely. He grabbed the metal cabinet and tipped it over against the trapdoor, jamming it in place. Gels and frames cascaded out of the cabinet, clattering onto the floor. One caught him on the forehead just above the eye. The cabinet crashed into the door, biting a chink out of the wood. He shoved it in further, wedging it between the door and wire mesh of the cage, which bowed out from the strain of the upended corner.
He hung onto the tipped over cabinet, breathing heavily. Through the pounding in his ears he could hear her crying in there.
“Shut up, I’m trying to think!” he snapped. “I’m trying to think of a way to get out of this without killing you.” He wiped some sweat from his eye and saw that it was blood. “But I’m not coming up with anything.”
SEVENTEEN
They walked up to the house that wasn’t Jesse’s and rang the bell until they were sure nobody was home.
Frank didn’t say a word as they walked back to the rental car. They’d taken Carl’s loaner because Frank’s car had been stolen a few weeks ago. One-armed guys have all the luck.
Frank slipped into the passenger seat and looked over at Carl. “Not here,” he said, “and not at your house. Now I’m going to have to ask you all the questions I didn’t ask you before, because I was afraid if I thought about it too much I’d wake up and you’d disappear. Are you under psychiatric care? Are you a sadist? Are you prone to hallucinations? Are you a hallucination?”
Carl could tell that Frank was half-joking, so he half-laughed. “No, no, no, and no.” But why should he take your word for it, Carl wondered. “I think we better call the police.”
Frank sighed, “I want this to be true more than anything in the world and I just barely believe you. What makes you think the police will?”
“We can try.”
“It would be so much better if we found her ourselves.”
“I don’t understand why she didn’t come back here. She finds herself in a car with a strange man. She must have been scared.”
“No, she wasn’t,” Frank said, quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“She was scared at first. But five or six blocks along, she forgot all about the strange man. All she’d know is, she’s driving a car she doesn’t know and she’s going somewhere.”
“Where?”
“What time was this?”
“Yesterday afternoon, around one.”
“Just in time for fifth period.”
Carl started the car and drove to the school.
Ryan was on his last cigarette when he realized that he couldn’t hurt her. It had been worse than pointless to threaten her. He rolled over on the couch and reached for the beer on his desk. Every ten minutes or so he’d hear her start up again – he could hear it all the way in the office now that he was listening for it. The kicking at the trap door, the calling out ‘Is anyone there?’ She always sounded just as hopeful that there’d be an answer. Ryan was a little hurt that she seemed so sure he’d gone. He’d known his threat was empty, but it injured his pride to know it was so obvious to her.
But she wasn’t just an ordinary girl, he knew that by now. Any ordinary person would have assumed he meant what he said. This was the only safe way to act. But this girl knew he was bluffing. She must have heard threats before, learned how to tell the dangerous from the ridiculous. No, this wasn’t the first scrape she’d been in. She was too strong, she knew how to handle herself too well. He had to admire her in spite of his own situation. Here he was, holding all the cards, keeping her trapped in the dark, and yet she still had him on the defensive.
“And it’s all because she thinks she knows me. She knows that I’ll never hurt her, that I’ll have to let her out, or at least leave her alone to let someone else find her. And she’s right; she’s read me like a book, even though she’s never seen me.”
But no, he corrected himself, “I’m the one who hasn’t seen her.” She’d seen him, that was the whole problem. But he couldn’t give up, not while he still had her here. A girl like that, who’s seen rough times, there must be some way around her. She could play at moral indignation all she wanted, but he knew she was only doing this for the fun of it, for the kick of having power and using it. Maybe he could find something else she wanted.
He climbed off the sofa and walked back onto the stage. He kept it dark back there. No one was around, but there was no need to attract unnecessary attention. He opened the loading dock door and looked out at the parking lot. There were a dozen or so cars in there now. There were always people in the school, even on the weekend, but they’d have no reason to come to the auditorium. He knew it was safe here, safe until Tuesday if he needed it. But keeping her here wouldn’t help. So what if he starved a promise out of her? He’d have to let her out in the end and what possible reason would she have to keep her word?
A Chrysler New Yorker pulled into the parking lot and two men climbed out – the shorter of the two had only one arm. Ryan swiftly shut the door and darted backstage.
The metal cabinet was still tilted over and wedged between the wire of the cage and the trapdoor. It was all perfectly quiet. He’d have to talk to her now. But it would have to be very different. He couldn’t threaten her; she was too strong for that. Even buying her off would have to be done with respect. Whatever he did he couldn’t talk to her through the door anymore. If he wanted her on his side, he’d have to talk to her face to face.
“Jessica?” He did his best to sound avuncular through the plywood. There was no answer. So maybe she was asleep in there, or maybe she was crawling up there like a rat in the ceiling trying to find another way out. Or maybe she was waiting in there quietly to run as soon as he opened the door. That was the one thing he couldn’t afford. To have her run out before he’d had the chance to say his piece; to have her run straight to the police with her bruised hand and say ‘Mr. Ryan locked me up after I caught him fucking a fourteen year old girl.’
Ryan winced at the imagined accusation. The funny thing was that word for word it was all true. Wasn’t it odd how the stating of bald facts could make anything, even something he knew to be perfectly human and understandable, sound positively evil? It was enough to make you lose your faith in the truth.
He whispered to the door again, “Jessica? Now I’m sorry about before, but I got a little panicky and you can’t blame me for that. Now I’m going to open the door and let you out and you can go, or do whatever you want, but I want to talk to you first, okay?”
No answer.
“Bitch,” he murmured under his breath. She wasn’t going
to make this easy for him. Well, there was no point in cursing her, he told himself. Sometimes you just have to play politics. He shifted the cabinet so he could open the door. This took some work. He couldn’t stand it upright again; the best he could do was push it aside so that it was wedged against the wall next to the trapdoor and even that took a lot of grunting and groaning.
When he was done he sat down to catch his breath and watched the door, waiting for it to fly open and wondering what he’d do if he saw her run past him. Wish her luck, he supposed, and hope she gave him enough time to drive to Mexico.
The door didn’t open. He reached out and pulled it open himself. There was no one there, but that didn’t surprise him now. Actually he felt relieved. If she was up there she couldn’t run out on him. If he could find her in there they’d have a chance to talk. Everything was riding on that talk and he realized with a blush that he had no idea what he was going to say to her. He told himself to trust to his famous talent for persuasion. After all, it had gotten him this far.
He grabbed a flashlight from the top of the light board and started to climb into the wall. Then something made him turn quickly so that he dropped the trapdoor on his leg with a crack.
Someone was knocking on the loading dock door.
EIGHTEEN
Carl knocked on the loading dock doors, hearing them echo, knowing no one would answer.
When he had seen his car, silver and stately in the afternoon light, he had run to it as if it were an old friend. He half expected to see her curled up in the back seat, asleep. But she wasn’t there, and no unlikely clue as to her whereabouts was produced by his unreasonably hopeful search of the interior.
The car had been his only link to her and now that she was separated from it, she seemed more lost to him than ever. He walked with Frank to the school and went from door to door, finding no one, Frank averting his eyes from Carl’s face.
They were turning from the loading dock door now, and Frank was about to say something, when the door opened. A short, stocky man with curly red hair and a neatly trimmed beard looked out at them.
