by Tony C. Skye
Mandie touches her swollen lips which have caused her a speech problem all day. She pushes too hard and hisses from the pain. Tamara's heart begins thumping in her chest.
“What are you doing?”, Tamara tries to redirect her own attention.
“You want me to lie?”, Mandie questions.
“No, of course not,” Tamara snaps back.
Mandie turns sideways and examines her right side profile. Her eyes widen with enthusiasm as she sees all of the black lines across her buttocks. Bruises made by the thick stick. Mandie locks gazes with Tamara's reflection.
“I'm trying to see how much you enjoyed yourself. Ouch,” Mandie pushes deliberately on one of the black lines. The discomfort in her voice sends Tamara's heart into full-throttle thumping mode.
Mandie makes a one-eighty degree turn in order to view her left back quarter side. She struggles to see her back. The girl's frustration is more than Tamara can stand.
“Hold on a minute,” Tamara commands hatefully. Mandie stops and waits for the girl to return. Tamara comes back with a mirror. It's from one of the sun visors in her car.
“Here. Try this,” Tamara offers.
“Thank you,” Mandie's tone exhibits genuine gratitude.
Tamara's impartial facial expression fails to help slow her heart rate any. She steps back and watches Mandie get her first actual view of her backside.
“Whoa,” Mandie's shock matches her scanning eyes.
Tamara's body temperature rises as Mandie fixates on the crisscrossing thin switch whelps all over her back.
“It's so beautiful,” Mandie surprises Tamara with her breathless words. She lowers the mirror and hands it back to Tamara.
“And it hurts like hell,” Mandie breaks the tension.
“Good,” Tamara answers while taking her mirror back, “It's supposed to.”
Mandie looks downward. The girl points below her belly button to a neatly thin tapered line.
“What's up with this?”
“Um - I was bored,” Tamara answers, “You looked like you could use the help.”
“Well, I like it,” Mandie turns and walks back towards the mirror.
“It was way too country for my taste,” Tamara confesses. She closes her eyes while shaking her head.
“Too country for your what?”, Mandie teases Tamara's reflection. She observes Tamara opening her eyes.
“Stop that,” Tamara weakly orders.
Mandie ignores the girl's tongue. Tamara's eyes are speaking loudly enough. Mandie begins speaking to herself like she is in some kind of debate within the mirror.
“Thighs...check,” Mandie begins her inventory list, “Calves – check. Butt – check. Back – check. Stomach, face, lips, and way too country for my taste...check.”
Mandie runs her fingers playfully in a fake inspection of the last set item on the list.
“Hmm,” Mandie fakes confusion. She lifts, pulls, and pinches before letting go as though she has missed something. She shrugs her shoulders.
Tamara heats up steadily as her increasing blood flow courses through her veins. The taller girl catches Mandie staring at her in the same place.
“Don't do that,” Tamara's reactant chest plays the traitor to her threat.
“I'm not the one wearing a tight tee-shirt with no bra,” Mandie admits, “Tell your girls to quit pointing at me.”
“I'm not having this conversation,” Tamara says before walking out of the room to return her car's mirror.
“Oh yes you are,” Mandie warns loud enough for Tamara to hear before she can make it out of the front door.
“I know,” Tamara quietly answers as she pushes open the screen door and walks out onto the front porch. As she begins descending the stairs, she hears tires ripping their way over gravel. She looks outward and can see three black sport utility vehicles racing in and out of the dense forestry. They race down the driveway towards Mandie's house.
Mandie slips her phone between the queen size mattresses of her bed. She, nonchalantly, walks back to her closet and pulls a purple-violet full-length silk dress from its hanger. The girl slips it over her head and walks over to glance out of the window.
“This should be fun,” the bruised-lip girl feels the sharp pains of pronouncing the letters b and f. She listens to Tamara's heavy sounding footprints running down the small hallway to her room.
“Someone's coming!”, Tamara panics, “I think it's the police.” The girl shifts her weight to her right foot while running her long fingers through her hair, “Oh gawd. I'm going to jail.”
“Where's the gun?”, Mandie is sure to obtain direct eye contact with Tamara's desperate eyes.
“What?”, Tamara struggles to process the incoming information. “Uh - it's down there,” the confused teen points towards the back of the house.
“In the cellar?”, Mandie narrows down the possibilities.
“Yes. Oh man. This is so bad,” Tamara's mind races to keep up with the sounds emanating from the front of the house. She watches down the hallway through the screen door. Three black Ford Escalades with tinted windows lock their brakes and skid to a stop in front of the house.
“Drop the mirror.”
Tamara looks at the item held in her left hand with lost eyes. She quickly tosses it into the bedroom.
Thump. Thump-Thump.
Doors slam shut as men wearing F.B.I. tactical full riot gear exit the vehicles. The bleach blond cheerleader shakes nervously with beads of sweat. Tears escape her brown eyes to accompany her hopelessness. She glances to Mandie for answers. The older girl wearing her two-tone purple-violet dress is grinning.
“Oh no,” Tamara begins comprehending Mandie's unusual calmness; “You set me up.” The cheerleader jerks and looks back down the hallway as she hears voices outside.
“You there, secure the back,” an authoritative male's voice commands, “The rest of you, secure this driveway.”
Click-click. Click.
Tamara's eyes widen as she hears the chambering of the team's guns ready for action. She watches in horror as two men with black facial-gear covering their noses and mouths quickly ascend up the stairs leading to the porch. They both lock stares with her. The man on the right holds a military-style weapon against his chest. The one on the left has both hands firmly gripped around a gun which closely resembles the one she used on the man-woman.
“W-why would you do this to me?”, Tamara questions without removing her eyes from the growing threat against her freedom. She vaguely notices Mandie step in front of her.
Mandie faces the approaching men. She looks back over her right shoulder. Tamara can see the betrayer's cuts and bruises decorating her cheek.
“You should have come clean about being turned on by my sexy ass,” Mandie quietly admits to turning the cheerleader in, “We both know you wanted your lips all over me.”
“Hello, gentlemen,” Mandie greets the aggressive men pulling open the screen door. She quickly places her back against the wall and points down the hallway with her left hand, “She's right there.”
* * *
Caroline drops her blue backpack by the head quack's leather couch. She seats herself on the right end. The placement allows her a fast escape to the office door should the need ever arise. Not to mention, it gives her some distance from the head quack’s chair.
Dr. Evans glances up to the wall behind Caroline. He writes 5:02 p.m. on the clipboard lying upon his lap.
“How did we sleep last night?”, the doctor continues looking at the paperwork on his lap.
“Great. No dreams,” Caroline happily reports.
The man raises his head and smiles. He looks back down and makes a few check marks with his pen.
“Are you ready to get this beginning stuff out of the way?”, Dr. Evans questions.
“Let's do it, doc,” Caroline emphasizes the last word in her answer.
The man shakes his head, “Dr. Evans.” His tone and follow-up grin relaxes the teen slightly.
“Right. Gotcha,” Caroline confirms.
Dr. Evans begins, “How do you feel about getting into Stanford? Any reservations about it?”
“I feel funny about leaving mom all by herself,” Caroline admits, “She'll be alone.”
“That's a legitimate fear,” the balding man speaks while writing. He raises his head to make eye contact with Caroline's green eyes, “Normal.”
“Any nerves about venturing so far from home?”, the doctor asks his next question.
“Not too bad. It's not that far, really,” Caroline explains, “I'm kind of excited about it.”
Dr. Evans nods, “College can be a real positive experience.”
“Yeah,” Caroline agrees.
The doctor writes some more. He sighs for his patient's benefit.
“Well, it's time to get into the lovely boring history stuff again,” Dr. Evans sets the mission's tone for the coming hour.
“Have you ever felt life wasn't worth moving forward for?”, the doctor pries.
“You already asked me that yesterday,” Caroline catches the same question provided with a slight play on its structuring.
The man nods and grins, “Yes. I suppose I did.” He makes a mark on his paper and counters, “Thanks for pointing that out.”
“No prob,” Caroline answers.
The doctor continues, “Have you ever...”
* * *
Tamara's heart races as the man with the assault rifle steps inside of the house first. She raises her hands above her head. His face refuses to look away as he steadily points his gun at her. Tamara's lips tremble while her body sweats within her fear. Her life is over.
“On your knees!”, the man impatiently commands, “Hands behind your head!”
Tamara's body visibly shakes as the other man quickly enters with his handgun pointed.
“Down now!”, the man with the assault rifle yells.
“Okay-okay,” Tamara panics while slamming her knees into the hardwood flooring.
“Please don’t shoot,” Tamara begs within her tears.
“Lay down – facedown!”, the man orders another command.
Tamara sobs as she thumps her body against the floor. The man with the assault rifle looks at the officer to his left. He receives a nod that he is covered, and walks towards the assailant.
“Do not move,” the officer approaching warns.
Tamara grunts as she feels the man’s military-style boot step into her upper back.
“We already know about your martial-arts training. If you resist I'll snap your neck. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes,” Tamara barely spits out her answer within her crying, “I'm sorry. Gawd, please don't.”
Mandie watches the man look at his partner before pushing his strapped weapon behind his right arm. He lifts his right foot up and quickly drops his left knee into Tamara's back. She lets out another grunt from the sudden pressure.
The man reaches behind and grabs a zip-tie from his utility belt. He repositions himself in order to forcefully grab Tamara's hands and yank them around to her lower back region.
Zip.
“Don't you even think about moving. Understand?”, the man threatens.
“Y-yes,” Tamara struggles through her constrictive paralyzing fear. She immediately returns to her wet sobs which have formed a small puddle of salty water and nasal drainage upon the floor where her head lies.
The man stands. “I'm going to secure the rest of the house,” the man informs as he takes hold of his assault rifle within his hands.
The man standing in front of Mandie gives the okay with a small nod. He then reaches up and touches his right ear while staring at the eighteen-year-old.
“Did you retrieve the weapon? You know your orders,” the man speaks to the voice within his ear. He looks at Mandie while lowering his hand.
“Is that his work or hers?”, the man questions while examining Mandie's battered face.
“Is that even a question?”, Mandie's defensive tone cuts sharply.
He pauses before answering the voice within his ear, “Very good. Get the rest taken care of.”
“All clear!”, the man with the assault rifle clarifies from the kitchen area. The man standing in front of Mandie holsters his weapon.
Mandie notices the other man has his rifle situated behind him as he re-enters the hallway. He calmly walks over to Tamara and grabs her tee-shirt at high back with his left hand. He uses his right to take hold of her handcuffed wrists.
“Come on, killer,” he instructs. He allows the cheerleader to get her knees underneath herself instead of jerking her up like he would typically do with a male.
When Tamara starts trying to push herself up, the man uses his leverage to ease the weight off of her shaky legs.
“Take her outside,” the man in front of Mandie directs through his muffling ski mask.
Tamara doesn't bother looking at Mandie. She can't stop crying long enough to even care. The cheerleader stares at the floor as she is escorted out of the house. Soon as she reaches the top of the stairs, her escort pulls back on her left arm.
“Sit,” the man orders.
Tamara takes one step downward and sits upon the porch. She watches several men load a body bag into the back of one of the black vehicles. Another man carries a plastic zip lock bag with the murder weapon inside. He opens the passenger side rear door and places it on the seat. He closes the door, pulls out a cell phone, and makes a call. A few seconds later, two black mini vans speed their way down the gravel driveway. They both pull around to the back of the house.
The man standing in front of Mandie glances outside before closing the door to the house. He removes his mask and smiles.
“Did I do good?”, he whispers.
“You did wonderful, Captain,” Mandie quietly speaks, “Thank you.”
He runs his right hand through his short cut blond hair, “Anytime you need me. But you already know that.”
Mandie smiles with a slight nod of respect. She watches Captain Brian Woods touch his right ear as he listens to the voice speaking.
“The mess is all being taken care of,” he informs, “We should be out of here shortly.”
“You will be taken care of for your troubles,” Mandie responds. She pauses for a brief moment then continues, “But you already know that.”
The man chuckles quietly, “Yes, ma'am.” He nods in the direction of Mandie's bedroom, “Wes put a new gun between your mattresses and replaced your phone.”
Mandie glances towards her bedroom before looking back into the captain's blue eyes.
“Thanks,” she quietly answers.
“I really wish you would allow me to leave some men for your protection,” the Captain understands the futility of his request before speaking.
“I can't,” Mandie reiterates an earlier conversation the both of them had, “They would only confuse everything.”
“You know best,” the man readies his mask by pulling it back up, “I'll be a phone call away.” He studies the girl's badly beaten face and glances towards the back of the house.
“Did you let that sick freak go? Because I know for a fact he couldn't get free by himself,” the man questions Mandie's safety.
Mandie smiles, “I'm okay, Captain. Unless you believe he'll come back from the grave?”
“You need to be more careful. I couldn't live with myself if something ever happened to you,” the Captain instructs.
Mandie's silence causes the man to sigh. He knows he isn't getting anywhere with the stubborn girl before him.
“Let's finish this then,” the man gives up by opening the door to the front of the house.
Mandie smiles delightfully.
* * *
Tamara smells smoke. The two vans in the backyard didn't spend much time back there as they are now parked on the gravel drive facing away from the house. The cheerleader hears the front door open. The screen door immediately follows. Her escort grabs her right arm.
&
nbsp; “Stand up,” he instructs calmly, “please.”
She hears a snip as her plastic handcuffs release their grip around her wrists.
“You did the public a great service,” the voice behind her speaks. She turns around, but remains on the top step.
“You two ladies need to be more careful,” the man standing beside Mandie instructs, “You could have gotten both of yourselves killed.”
The man with the assault rifle hands Tamara a handkerchief for her face. She takes it with trembling hands. The cheerleader steps back onto the porch to allow both men easy access to the steps. She turns and watches as they near the Ford Escalades. Before the man with the handgun gets into the driver's seat of his vehicle, he yells out.
“Remember, Ms. Stilliard,” the man recites the odd statement, “An artist is only as good as the canvas she paints on.”
He waves before getting into his vehicle. Tamara watches blankly as every single vehicle races away down the driveway. The speechless cheerleader turns within her confusion. Mandie is inside the house walking down her hallway. Tamara steps inside and rushes to the bathroom. She grabs the toilet lid and lifts while dropping to her knees. She vomits.
* * *
Tamara finishes cleaning her face, swings the bathroom door open, and marches angrily through the house. Mandie is nowhere to be found. She heads back to the kitchen and glances out of the back door's window. Mandie sits on the ground in the backyard. Fifteen feet in front of her, smoke rises out of the concrete cellar. Tamara opens the door and storms out of the house. She walks around cater-corner to Mandie's left side. The eighteen-year-old has her knees pulled up with her arms wrapped around her expensive purple-violet silk dress.
“Honesty works both ways,” Tamara lashes out within her anger, “What in the hell was that? And who in the hell are you?!”
Mandie looks into the girl's deep brown eyes. She begins to say something, but Tamara isn't done with her inquisition.
