by James Dawson
She laughed aloud, drawing a death glare from the teacher. Sally didn’t care.
‘Keep it up, girl,’ Molly Sue commented. ‘You’re way more fun than ol’ Fingers-For-Dessert Vine. Just be patient.’
The only raincloud in the sky was Stan. He was being decidedly frosty with her. She’d been over a couple of times for brand new Satanville but he seemed sullen and unnecessarily harsh on the episodes (‘Season four is the worst. I don’t know why we’re even bothering any more.’). It just didn’t make sense.
Things reached boiling point at the New Quarter mall one Saturday. Even though the weather was getting hotter and hotter and most of the year was up at the lake, Sally, Stan and Jennie had gone shopping. They liked to hang out in the coffee shop and order tank-sized mugs of coffee the way the Satanville gang did. They huddled around Jennie’s laptop, exploiting the free wifi.
‘What shall we do now?’ Sally asked, fingers sticky with cinnamon bun icing. ‘You don’t have to go home yet, do you?’
‘Don’t you want to hang with your new friends?’ Stan asked pointedly. ‘They’ll be up at the lake no doubt.’
‘Stan!’ Jennie chided.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Sally asked crossly.
Stan shrugged. ‘Now that you’re Miss Popularity you can hang out with your new bestie, Keira.’
Sally saw red. The fact she chatted to Keira at rehearsals and that people now acknowledged her existence at school didn’t make them her new friends. ‘Well, maybe if you don’t stop whining like a giant man-baby, I will!’
‘Wow,’ Molly Sue said quietly. ‘Couldn’ta said it better myself.’
Stan flinched like she’d punched him in the face.
‘I’m sorry, Stan,’ Sally went on, ‘but ever since I got that haircut you’ve been acting like I’m a alien clone shape-shifting bodysnatcher or something.’
‘It’s true.’ Jennie came down on her side. ‘You’ve had a face like a smacked bum all week.’
‘Gee, thanks, guys. I so needed ganging up on.’
‘We’re not!’ Sally said. ‘OK, we are, but what’s the problem, Mopey Moperson? Look, if I’ve done something to annoy you, just tell me so I can fix it.’
Stan squirmed, scraping the foam out of his coffee mug with a wooden stirrer. It looked like he regretted saying anything in the first place. ‘I just hate that you’re leaving us to go off and be one of the shiny people.’
Sally narrowed her eyes. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing? Do you really think I’m that shallow? If you do . . . then that makes you just as shallow.’
‘What?’ Now it was Stan’s turn to look cross.
‘Oh, I don’t know!’ Sally threw her hands up, exasperated. ‘But that’s not what’s happening. Stan, I just fancied a haircut.’ Sally sighed. ‘Is there something wrong with me wanting to look nice? Is there some secret rule? That you get two choices – ugly and deep, or pretty and shallow? That blows.’
Stan seemed to warm a fraction. ‘OK, I’m sorry. I know I’m a sulker, I can’t help it.’ He looked at her with wide, honest eyes and it was difficult to be mad at him. ‘You know, I don’t know about you, but I pretty much hate school with all my heart. If it weren’t for you guys, I don’t know if I could, like, get through a single day. I just don’t want stuff to change.’
‘It has to,’ Jennie said sadly. ‘We’re all leaving next year . . .’
‘Don’t even talk about that!’ Sally sipped her coffee. She didn’t really like coffee, it remained so bitter even after three sachets of sugar, but they never drank tea on Satanville. ‘We’ll always be best friends. Wherever we go next year . . . or whatever my hair looks like!’ She wondered if maybe she had gone too far, too fast with her makeover. She really didn’t want to change who she was just because of Todd – she knew enough to know that wasn’t cool. ‘Come on, let’s go look at things we can’t afford.’
Stan bought some comics from the SFF Emporium, where Sally wondered if a Dante action figure was a step too far, before Jennie decided she’d like to get some new clothes for her birthday party. Her parents were going to Korea to see her family in a few weeks but Jennie was allowed to remain for Little Shop of Horrors and had been granted a house party in their absence. For her OCD parents, this was a big deal.
Clothes shopping with Jennie was quite painful. It usually involved her seeing something in one shop (always the first), being indecisive and then trailing them around another six shops before deciding she did want the original item after all.
They set her a time limit of an hour and started in the first shop – one of those preppy places that was too dark, too loud and smelled like a gym changing room. Sally sat with Stan on the leather sofas outside the fitting room while Jennie tried a skirt and some tops on. ‘Sorry I was such a douche,’ Stan said. ‘You know what I’m like once I get an idea in my head.’
Sally fiddled with her Satanville bracelets. ‘No. It’s OK. It’s my fault too. I did the whole surprise reveal thing at school. I should have told you and Jennie first – but I just wanted an honest reaction.’
Stan looked sheepish. ‘And my reaction was douchey.’
‘Perhaps a little.’
Stan tucked his feet under his legs to sit cross-legged. ‘What I should have said is: Sally, you look freaking aaaaamaaaaazing.’
Sally’s heart floated up her chest like it was full of helium. ‘Really?’ Her voice came out quiet and girlish, barely audible under the pounding house music.
‘Really. Although, you know you were beautiful before the haircut, right?’
‘Oh, cringe!’ Sally grimaced.
‘You need to learn to take a compliment, Blindy McNoeyes.’
Sally was about to enter a full-on embarrassment spasm at the way this conversation was heading, so abruptly changed the subject. ‘No, what I need is to get out of this shop. Are you melting?’
‘I am in danger of turning to a pool of goo, yeah.’
Sally rose from the sofa, her legs sticking to the leather. ‘I’ll go hurry her along. She won’t buy any of it, anyway.’ Sally ducked past the sour-faced shop assistant, whom she recognised from Year Thirteen, and entered the changing rooms. It was just as dark in here – presumably to fool you into thinking the clothes looked nice. The area divided up into booths with saloon doors and a large communal area in the middle. ‘Jen?’ Sally stooped down to find Jen’s feet.
‘I’m here,’ Jennie replied. ‘I’ll just be a minute . . .’
‘Me and Stan are boiling, can we wait outside?’ Thinking nothing of it, Sally barged into Jennie’s booth, the way they always did. They’d shared changing rooms for ever, it was no biggy.
This time, Jennie seemed to mind, however. ‘Wait, you don’t need to —’
Too late, Sally was already through the doors. ‘Why? Is the skirt hideous or . . .’ Sally tailed off, seeing what the problem was. Jennie stood in her polka-dot bra, arms folded across her chest, but she couldn’t hide the vicious bruises on her upper arms. They were vivid purple patches with yellowish outlines and they were the exact shape of handprints, as if someone had squeezed her arms way too tightly. ‘How on earth did you . . . ?’ Sally’s words hung in the air again, because there was only one way she’d got those marks. Kyle.
Jennie tried to brush it off with a hollow laugh. ‘Oh God, they’re nothing. They don’t even hurt.’
Sally felt Molly Sue stir in her, like a shark surfacing. ‘That son of a bitch,’ Molly snarled.
‘Did Kyle do it?’ Next to Molly Sue’s, Sally’s own voice sounded stupidly small.
‘No! God, no! No, nothing like that. It must have happened while we were making out. You know what I’m like, I bruise like a peach!’ Jennie was panicking, Sally could tell. She looked so, so guilty – which was so stupid, Sally could have cried. Tears pinched behind her nose.
‘That bastard’s lucky I can’t get a shotgun in this pansy-ass country o’ yours.’ Molly Sue was pacing around her back; Sally coul
d feel her getting hotter and hotter.
‘Jennie.’ Sally’s voice wobbled but she closed the doors so they were protected by the booth. ‘What happened? Please tell me . . . you can tell me anything. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’
‘I already said! It’s nothing!’ Jennie snapped. ‘Look, I’m standing here in a bra. Will you just let me get dressed, please? Thank you!’ She pushed Sally out of the cubicle. Sally was speechless.
Dazed, she shuffled back to where Stan was waiting, leafing through one of his comics. ‘Is she ready?’
‘She’ll be a minute.’
‘Are you OK? You look awful.’
She couldn’t tell Stan. She just couldn’t. He’d blow up and try to be all manly, which would almost certainly result in Stan’s ass getting squarely kicked in by an entire garage band. ‘I . . . I just feel so hot. Can we wait outside?’
‘Sure.’ He led the way towards the exit.
‘You’re not gonna let that piece o’ white trash get away with this, are ya?’ Molly Sue raged.
No, Sally thought. No, I’m not.
Chapter Fourteen
That night, Sally had never felt so useless in her life. In the end, after much Googling of helplines and scouring blog posts about domestic violence, she curled up into a ball on her bed and cried. Just wept. She was powerless to help. What was she going to do? Call the police? That was exactly what she should do, but what was she meant to tell them? I haven’t witnessed anything and she’ll probably deny it but I think my best friend’s boyfriend is hurting her. What’s more, she’d promised Jennie she wouldn’t tell anyone. She should have never agreed to that; she’d backed herself into a corner.
She sobbed anew. The thought of that . . . that . . . arsehole hurting Jennie. Jennie – one of life’s little unicorns. Worse still, apparently Jennie considered having a boyfriend to be more important that her own well-being. How had she and Stan let that happen? Sally felt responsible, like she’d failed in her most basic of best friend duties. Quite simply, she didn’t know what to do with herself.
So she cried.
‘Let it all out, girl.’ Molly Sue told her. The tattoo rested on the back of her shoulder blade, and Sally swore she could actually feel Molly Sue patting her back maternally. There was an almost comforting warmth under the skin.
What am I meant to do? Whatever I do it’ll make things worse . . . what if he takes it out on Jennie? What if he really hurts her? She knew what Angela would do in Satanville: she’d pull on a pair of skin-tight leather trousers, some thigh boots and roundhouse kick the smirk off his slimy face. But she wasn’t a bad-ass demon hunter, she was just . . . nothing.
‘He’s a coward, darlin’. What kinda man picks on an itty bitty thing like her? She wouldn’t throw rice at a wedding. No sorta man at all, if y’ask me.’
What if he does it again?
‘I don’t doubt he will. Men like that get off on feelin’ big an’ powerful.’
I have to do something. I can’t ignore it. I can’t.
‘Damn straight. Ya gotta talk to him, sugar. Let him know you’re watchin’ him. Threaten him a little.’
Sally knew with absolute certainty that wouldn’t work. He’d wriggle out of it like a weasel somehow – she walked into the door or something just as lame. And Sally was scared of him. ‘I can’t,’ she said. You know I can’t.
‘I can,’ said Molly Sue. ‘I ain’t afraid o’ that skinny son of a bitch. He’d have to stand up twice to cast a shadow.’
Sally rolled off the bed and went to her dresser so she could see her friend in the mirror. Molly Sue strutted over her shoulder and onto her chest. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just like when I got ya hair did. Let me do it.’
‘What? No. No, you can’t.’
‘Sure I can!’
Sally rolled her eyes. ‘And just what are you going to do? With my body?’
‘Calm down. I’m just gonna talk to him.’
‘No way,’ Sally shook her head no. ‘Kyle thinks I’m an idiot. He won’t listen to me.’
‘He’ll listen to me,’ Molly Sue said with iron-clad certainty. ‘I’m not gonna give him much of a say in the matter.’
Sally plucked a tissue out of the box on her dresser and dried her eyes. ‘What would you tell him?’
Molly Sue let out a whistle through her teeth. ‘Well, I’ll just let him know that if he hurts sweet lil Jennie again, I’ll make sure he gets it back ten times over. He musta seen you talkin’ to Todd . . . we’ll threaten him with the football team or somethin’.’
‘This isn’t going to work. And what if he takes it out on Jennie?’
‘Girl! That’s exactly what bullies like him want y’all to think! It’s how they keep a hold on ya – buy your silence! Ya can’t play along with men like that, you gotta show ’em who’s got the real balls!’
Sally still wasn’t convinced.
‘Look, where’s he gonna be this weekend? Just gimme five minutes with him and he won’t be botherin’ any more girls for a long time.’
Sally racked her brain, trying to remember what Jennie said they were doing. ‘I think tomorrow night his band are playing at The Old Boat Shed up by the lake.’
‘Can under eighteens get in?’
‘Yeah.’
Molly Sue’s violet eyes darkened. ‘Then let’s do it.’
The next night, Sally didn’t select a pair of leather trousers because she didn’t own any, but she did choose her most Angela-like outfit – skinny jeans, the army boots and the leather jacket. It was a rock gig after all, so she’d even gone overboard on the black eyeliner. It felt like war paint.
Not wanting her parents to see her so dolled up, Sally slipped out of the back door, calling into the lounge as she went. ‘I’m going to Jennie’s! I might be late . . .’
‘What?’ her mother called from the living room.
‘There’s a film on we both want to watch! Bye!’ She slammed the door before her mum could stop her. She’d deal with any fallout in the morning. There was no way they’d let her go to a gig alone; the lie was necessary.
It was already dark by the time she reached the lake. She had no idea how this was going to work. Scanning the queue, Sally looked for Jennie – if she was here, how was she ever going to get Kyle on her own? She guessed that was Molly Sue’s problem.
There was already a dirty bassline shaking the walls of the shed, which sat on the very edge of the lake. At this time of the evening, the lake was a black mirror – the trees and islands charcoal drawings reflected upside-down in the water. There was a steady stream of people from SVHS filing into The Old Boat Shed and even more laughing and drinking outside at the water’s edge.
‘’K, ya ready?’ Molly Sue asked as they joined the queue.
Ready as I’ll ever be. Just don’t do anything to make me look stupid.
‘Darlin’, have a little faith! When have I ever let ya down?’
OK, do it, then. Once more she imagined the tattoo sliding up into her head and there was a sharp, sudden chill in her skull. It was like the tipping-point plunge into sleep . . .
Sally woke with a start, face down in a pillow. I can’t breathe. Surprised and scared, she swatted it away, sitting bolt upright. Her eyes were sleep fuzzy and unfocused. Where am I? She blinked hard and took in the familiar surroundings of her bedroom. Her owl hooted not far away. It felt late . . . or early even.
I was just at the club . . .
How long had Molly Sue taken over for? Why didn’t she remember anything? She tried to force herself to remember getting home, or getting into bed, but there was only a black space, like the night had been coloured in with thick black Sharpies.
Sally pushed her hair off her face and saw that she was still partially dressed. The boots had been kicked off and the jacket had been slung over the back of her chair but she was still in her jeans and top. Both were covered in thick brown mud – it caked her bedsheets. ‘What the . . . ?’
Climbing
off the bed, Sally stumbled to her en-suite, tripping over a discarded boot. She flicked the bathroom light on and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream.
Her cream T-shirt was red with blood.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Molly Sue!’ Sally hissed, the colour seeping from her face, leaving her skin sickly chalk white. ‘What did you do?’
The tattoo didn’t answer. Sally yanked the T-shirt up and saw Molly Sue was in her original position, statue still. ‘Molly Sue!’ She was wary of waking her parents, but a frustrated tear found its way out. ‘Tell me what you did! Molly Sue!’
Still no reply.
Her hands were covered in tacky brown-red that she could only assume was blood. Nothing on her hurt; the blood wasn’t hers. The ground lurched like a funhouse floor and she gripped the edge of the sink to steady herself. A wave of nausea, a feeling like carsickness, rose in her chest.
Sally closed her eyes. She had to remember. It had to be in there somewhere. There was nothing – only a thick, oily blackness where her evening ought to be. Another tear ran down her face, forging a channel in the dirt. She felt . . . wrong . . . violated. Molly Sue had stolen her body and done God only knew what.
Molly Sue! Tell me what you did! TELL ME!
The pin-up girl just looked coyly over her shoulder – I’ve-got-a-secret-and-I’m-not-telling all over her face. Sally sank to the bathroom floor, pressing herself into the narrow gap between the sink and the toilet. She pulled her knees to her chin and cried.
What have I done?
Sally awoke on the bath mat when her mother banged on her bedroom door. ‘Sally! Are you awake?’
‘Yes!’ Sally shouted at once, not wanting her mum to see her like this. She sprang to her feet and looked in the mirror. It hadn’t been a dream.
In the light of day everything was different. There’s an old Russian saying she’d learned from an episode of Satanville: the morning is wiser than the night. It was so true. She’d done all her crying last night. This morning, if Molly Sue wasn’t going to tell her, she needed to find out what had happened during the blackout.
