“Amanda wants to use it.”
“So hurry up, then.”
Mr. Henning stood up straight, stepped back to allow Amy out of the chair. Amy, giggling, tugged down her shirt as she stood. Her shorts had become wedged at the crotch, and she plucked them free before heading out of the room. Her fingers then picked at her seat as she walked.
“Hurry,” Mr. Henning teased, playfully swatting the girl’s rump.
They left the room laughing and joking.
Amanda, disgusted, took her place at the keyboard and navigated to Yahoo.com to setup an email account. After several attempts to come up with a username not already in use, she settled on amandabutterfly18.
As she navigated to the Monarch Prep portal to check for messages from Pammy, she heard Amy’s bedroom door creak open, and turned to see if Mr. Henning would stop to say anything to her. But she witnessed the following: Amy, with a blank, joyless stare, leading Mr. Henning by the hand, down the hall.
Odd.
There came a sound of the bathroom door closing.
Pammy had sent Amanda a message regarding an algebra problem. Amanda started typing her reply by giving her friend her new email address, and then she went to her room to get her Algebra book, intending to help with the homework.
As she switched off the bedroom light the bathroom door opened and out walked both Mr. Henning and Amy, still wearing a blank stare. Amanda, surprised, locked eyes with Mr. Henning, who merely flashed a smile at her as the little girl led him back into her bedroom, where he shut the door behind them.
Amanda didn’t know what to think, although horrible images entered her mind. There had to be a logical reason for him to follow her into the bathroom. Maybe she needed to show her father a cut or a bruise or an insect bite—something, anything.
But things like that could have been inspected in her bedroom.
Amanda, pushing those thoughts from her mind, evaluated the math problem for Pammy.
Easier said than done, considering the sounds now emanating from Amy’s bedroom. Amanda had heard them before. Girlish moans, mannish grunts, creaking springs, and sounds of bodies slapping against each other, faint but undeniable, disturbed Amanda’s peace.
Wanting to escape to the safety of her own bedroom, she quickly finished typing her message, sent it, and, with her algebra book under an arm, rushed out of the room as the computer began to work through its shutdown sequence. In her room she sat on the edge of the bed, rocking. Those terrible sounds, mere ghosts of actual noises, passed through doors and walls to haunt her ears.
She rocked back and forth, quicker, causing her own mattress springs to creak. Anything to block out the spectral vibrations, but the creaking of her own bed somehow seemed worse, so she stopped.
And heard nothing.
Not a sound.
No, wait. Something. Footsteps. Mr. Henning’s.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Amanda, may I come in?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
She didn’t answer. Mr. Henning entered, sat down beside her on the bed. It took all of her willpower not to dart past him, out the door, and keep going. She nearly wet herself when his hand landed on her leg, but grateful that she was wearing sweatpants instead of shorts.
He said, “I need you to understand something. It may be tough but I need for you to try. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, I’ll try.”
“Amy and I, we have a special relationship. While I don’t expect you to understand it, I need for you to accept it. Can you do this for me?”
Chattering teeth nearly prevented Amanda from answering. Deep breath. “Yes. Mr. Henning.”
“You see …” —His hand began to massage her thigh— “I love Amy and …”
“I understand. Please go.”
He gently turned her head. “Look at me. You won’t be here long. You’ll be eighteen soon, and so long as you’re a good girl and do as expected, which so far you have, you can have a job, you can have friends, both boys and girls, you can go to parties, whatever you like. But if you cause any trouble, any trouble at all …” His hand slid to her inner thigh. It inched higher and squeezed. “I don’t believe you want to cause any trouble, do you, Amanda?”
A tear ran down her cheek. “No, sir. No trouble at all.”
Mr. Henning smiled. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. After I leave you might get ideas. Nothing good can come of them. Do you hear me?”
“Y-yes.”
“Nothing good,” he repeated as a whisper in her ear. His hand inched even higher as his disgusting lips pressed against her tear-streaked cheek.
Amanda wanted to pull away from him but knew better. He whispered again in her ear before leaving, but he and his words seemed far, far away.
It took a moment to collect her wits. Mr. Henning had went downstairs, she was sure. It seemed safe enough and Amanda wanted to check on Amy. She plucked at the fabric between her own legs before leaving the room. She padded lightly down the darkened hallway to Amy’s room.
Amanda tapped on the door and whispered, “Amy? May I come in?”
No response.
“Amy?”
None.
Amanda eased open the door. Meager light shone from a night-light plugged into a distant wall.
“Amy, are you awake?”
“Huh? Yeah.” She sounded groggy.
Amanda shut the door behind her.
“Are you okay?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“Ah, poor baby.”
Amanda sat down beside her. She rubbed Amy’s shoulder over her blankets. She didn’t know what else to do, but most of all she wanted to provide moral support to her foster sister.
Amy said, “I’m okay now.”
“I can stay until you fall back asleep, if you like.”
“Under the covers? You can sleep with me tonight.”
The thought didn’t sound half-bad.
“We’ll see.”
Amanda lifted a blanket and slipped under, and Amy draped an arm and leg over her. Amanda, smiling, shifted an arm across Amy. When her hand touched cool flesh a shiver coursed through her. The poor girl was naked. Then a sickening, musky smell registered. The same smell had wafted through the air at the party, riding the stronger scent of alcohol. Pammy and Josh had carried that scent in the car on the ride home, so she knew exactly where it came from.
“I’m thirsty,” Amy said. She smacked her lips. “And I gotta pee.”
“Go to the bathroom, then.”
“Will you come with me?”
“Do you need me to go? I thought you said you were okay.”
“I’m okay. I just thought you might want to watch, too.”
“What?”
“You can watch it squirt right out of my pee-hole.”
“Good gosh no.”
Amy hugged Amanda tight before throwing back her blankets.
“Okay,” Amy said. She headed for the bedroom door.
“Put on your pajamas first.”
“I don’t wanna.”
“Put them on. Now.”
“Oh, okay.”
Good god.
Amy pulled on a nightgown and went to the bathroom. Lying there alone, Amanda felt the darkened walls closing in on her. She had wanted to help the little girl but now wondered if she could. The thought of Amy urinating in the bathroom while Mr. Henning watched turned her stomach. And she no longer wanted to remain here, in this disgusting bed. The sheets suddenly felt damp from perspiration and perhaps a little oily. They needed washing—a chore she made a mental note to do tomorrow.
She needed out of this room. She bumped into Amy on her way back to her own.
“Where are you going?” Amy asked.
“To sleep.”
“But I thought you were staying?”
“I was, but …”
“Can I sleep with you?”
Amanda, unsure, glanced down the hall
at Mr. and Mrs. Henning’s vacant room. They must still be downstairs.
“Okay,” Amanda said. “Sure.”
She closed the door behind Amy, and started to crawl into bed.
“You’re going to sleep with your clothes on?” Amy said.
“No, I suppose not.”
Amanda skinned off the sweatpants but left on the cotton tee.
“You should take off your shirt,” Amy suggested.
“No, that’s fine.”
“Suit yourself, but it’s not like you have anything to hide. My boobs are bigger than yours.”
“Amy.”
“Maybe you’re embarrassed they’re so small,” Amy continued. “Guys like big boobs.”
“Your boobs aren’t big. And mine aren’t small. And why are we discussing this?” Amanda pulled back her blanket and dived in.
Amy joined her beneath the sheet. Reluctantly, Amanda let the little girl snuggle up against her. Soon Amy’s breath became shallow. A long time later, Amanda drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The following day Pammy missed school. She hadn’t replied to Amanda’s message, nor did she send an email to Amanda’s Yahoo account. Perhaps Pammy had morning sickness. Her concern grew, though, when Pammy missed again Friday. Hopefully nothing so bad as a miscarriage had taken place. That would be horrible.
Although her friend’s absence worried her, Amanda didn’t allow herself to dwell on what-ifs, not when she had Saturday night to look forward to. A movie with Brad.
Amanda didn’t think too much about Pammy—people got sick and missed class all the time—until lunchtime. She hadn’t bothered to make any other friends besides Pammy and now she debated what to do about lunch. She decided to eat fruit under a tree and read a book.
It only took a moment to get a bunch of grapes and a bottle of organic fruit juice from the cafeteria. Outside, the sun shone brightly while a gentle breeze caressed the skin. A cloud of cigarette smoke wafted through the air, causing Amanda to sneeze. She scanned the campus, both for the source of the irritant and also for a nice place to curl up with her book.
Something caught her attention. Actually someone. Two someones. Near the administration building she saw Matt chatting with a girl. Not any girl, though. The girl. The redheaded girl he had … enjoyed at the party. And now, in her heavily-modified schoolgirl uniform and red hair in pigtails, Amanda realized that she had seen the girl around campus before. Not often, but sometimes. Amanda didn’t know her name and didn’t have any classes with her. Still, though, she wondered at their connection and, now that she thought of it, why was Matt here instead of at his own school?
Other students were coming and going, walking across campus, stopping to mingle, and under the nearest oak tree, the spot where Amanda had hoped to read her book, gathered a half-dozen girls wearing uniforms that aspired to be as slutty as the one worn by the redhead.
“What are you looking at?” Stacy said. She stood in the group of girls sharing a cigarette. Amanda had avoided the platinum blonde and her sidekick with the heavy makeup since that first day of school.
“Bitch, I’m talking to you.”
“Sorry. I was just looking for a place to read.”
“To read,” her sidekick with the makeup mocked. “Why don’t you go read someplace else?”
“I will. But first I have to find a place.”
Stacy strode away from the group, flicking a lit cigarette in Amanda’s direction. An enraged look spread across Stacy’s face. “Don’t get smart with us, bitch.”
“I wasn’t being smart.”
“The hell you weren’t.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry. I’m leaving.”
Amanda started toward a park bench in the distance but stopped when a hand slapped the book out of her hand. It fell open to the grass; its pages fluttered in the breeze.
“That was uncalled for,” Amanda said, building steam. “I’ve never done anything to you.”
“I don’t like your type,” Stacy said as her entourage gathered close.
I don’t like your type either, Amanda thought as she knelt down to pick up her book. A booted foot swung into view and kicked it out of reach, to much amusement of the surrounding girls.
“How childish,” Amanda muttered.
“What. The. Fuck?”
Amanda sensed Stacy coming at her and she tried to dash away, but the teen latched onto her by the hair and jerked Amanda backward.
“Ow!”
“You fucked up now,” the sidekick said, while the entourage added:
”Fuck that bitch up, cut her, don’t take her shit.”
As Stacy whipped her around, Amanda clawed at her eyes with both hands, scratching a trio of marks down one cheek.
The encounter soon became a melee and Amanda’s skull began to burn from the pulling of hair. She was sure some hair was lost, and the heat caused her to fear blood. She stumbled and fell. Booted feet from other girls pounded into Amanda: upper arm, side, and a series of stomps on her legs as she became entangled with Stacy on the grass in a losing battle.
The girls began to chant “Cut her, cut her, cut her.”
It didn’t take long for Amanda to become winded from struggling with all her might. So when Stacy let up for just a brief moment, Amanda could only stop to catch her breath.
Then she saw Stacy reach into her boot, a glint of metal, and heard a resultant cheer all around her.
She knew that blade was meant for her.
Yet she couldn’t do anything about it.
She was rolled onto her back while Stacy straddled her.
And then from nowhere came a blur of red.
Stacy was pulled off Amanda. The sidekick came at her but was stopped almost immediately. By Matt. Amanda gasped for breath. The redhead from the party, the one Matt had been chatting up only moments before, had tackled Stacy, who lost her switchblade to the tattooed teen. With her half-shirt riding even higher from their struggle, Amanda could see her inked wings fluttering with movement—the teen had swooped in like some sort of fallen guardian angel to, what, save her life?
The redhead pressed the blade against the throat of a deathly still Stacy.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” the inked teen said, “right here on the lawn. Don’t think I won’t. I’ll open you up from asshole to cock-sucker, shit on your soul, and eat your still-beating heart.”
Matt added, “She’ll fucking do it—that’s no lie.”
“Okay, okay,” Stacy said. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Please don’t kill me. Go on, say it.” A line of crimson opened up against the blade as the redhead pressed harder.
“Holy shit,” the sidekick said.
“Please, please, please, don’t kill me please.”
The redhead spat in Stacy’s face. “Okay, I won’t kill you now … Because I’m late for lunch.” She stood up, leaving a shallow weeping cut along Stacy’s neck. “Thanks for the knife. If you want it back all you have to do is piss me off.”
Amanda retrieved her book and bottle of juice but left the smashed grapes. She stood up and dusted herself off, as did the others. The redhead adjusted her too-small top. Fabric had torn around the safety pin holding it together in front and now even more freckled cleavage showed.
“Thank you,” Amanda said. “You didn’t have to help me, but I’m sure glad you did.”
“Don’t mention it,” the redhead said.
“My name is Amanda, by the way.”
The teen didn’t reply with her own name but instead headed toward the cafeteria.
“Her name is Kat,” Matt said. “She’s a firecracker.”
“So I noticed.”
“Yo, Kat, catch ya later.”
Kat turned with a wicked grin on her face, middle finger held prominently. “Only if you’re lucky.”
Matt chuckled, and explained, “We have an interesting relationship.”
Amanda, ignoring him, jogged to catch up with Kat.
; “Mind if I join you?”
“It’s a free country, or so we’re led to believe.”
“I’ve seen you around.”
“I get around.”
“What I mean to say is, we’ve never formally met, but, well …”
“But you feel obligated to do more than just say thanks for pulling Stacy off you. Is that it?”
“I suppose so.”
Kat stopped just inside the cafeteria and wrapped an arm around Amanda’s shoulders.
“It’s no thang, what I did to Stacy. That bitch knows better than to cause trouble around here without first consulting me.”
Amanda didn’t quite know how to respond to that.
“So,” Kat continued, “I had to remind her who’s boss, that’s all. Like I said, no thang.” Kat slapped Amanda on the back. “Unless, of course, doing me a favor would make you feel better about yourself. We could go to the girls’ room and I’ll hike up my skirt for you to show your appreciation.”
“What?”
“I’m just fucking with you. Let’s get something to eat—you can buy my lunch.”
It was a joke, of course, since the school provided free meals to the students, but Amanda accepted Kat’s request to join her. Both girls got turkey sandwiches.
“We want this table,” Kat told a pregnant teen, who left, no questions asked.
Amanda, at a loss for words, ate her sandwich. She finally broke the silence by saying, “You have some interesting tattoos.”
“Thanks. My boyfriend gave them to me.”
Boyfriend?
“Matt?”
A chuckle nearly shot milk out Kat’s nose.
“Hell no,” she said. “Sure, I fuck him sometimes, but he’s not my boyfriend.”
Again, Amanda didn’t know what to say. Kat’s eyes took her in before Kat said:
“Me and my boyfriend have an open relationship. It’s cool ‘cause he’s got this tattoo parlor, so he inks me all the time. And he keeps coming back to me because nobody can please him the way I do. Basically, I do what I want and he makes me top priority, so I never have to stand in line behind some other bitch. He’s older and sexy as hell. He’s got a nice cock and knows how to use it. It’s a sweet deal.”
“I can only imagine.”
“What about Matt?”
“What do you mean?”
Lucifer's Children Page 12
