by Marta Acosta
I pulled off my flats and did as he asked.
He sat beside me and began to stroke my back under my blouse, and my anxiety and longing became almost unbearable. Lucky hitched up my blouse and unhooked my bra. He began rubbing my skin, all the way from my shoulders to my waist. His fingers kneaded the tense places. “Your skin is so smooth, Jane, so soft.”
I closed my eyes and gave in to the petting and stroking, making those small animal sounds of pleasure as he caressed my legs, massaging them from my feet upward. His fingers moved in circles at the backs of my knees, then pressed the skin to make my veins appear.
His hands moved upward to examine the insides of my thighs, pushing up my skirt, and I held my breath wondering what he’d do next—and wondering what I wanted him to do.
“There are good arteries here, rich with your blood, Jane.”
But his hands moved to my back again. He explored a spot under my shoulder blade and gently rubbed until I relaxed with a sigh. That’s when I felt the knife slice into my skin.
I bit the pillow to keep from crying.
When Lucky groaned I knew he was watching the blood rise in the cut and then he put his mouth to it and began feeding from me. He fell to the bed beside me and gripped my shoulders as he alternately sucked the wound and probed it with his tongue.
He became more aggressive and his teeth nipped at the edges of the cut, sending darts of pain through me, but the pillow muffled the whimpers that escaped me.
When Lucky finally became aware of my discomfort, he began stroking my back again, soothing me while still latched on the wound.
I have Lucky, I have him, I thought, but I kept recalling the lust on his face when he’d seen the video.
Lucky’s hand stopped massaging and he bit down hard, bringing tears to my eyes. And when he moaned, I felt the reverberations from his chest against me more than heard the sound. He took his mouth from my flesh, and his breathing was ragged.
Then he bent over me again and gently licked the cut and the area around it. He smoothed a hand over my hair. He did this for long exquisite minutes until the pain was forgotten and all I felt was happiness at being the center of his attention.
Lucky sighed deeply and then he rolled to my side and dozed off.
I watched the rise and fall of his chest and the tiny movements of his eyelids. I admired the thickness of his pale lashes and the perfect arch of his eyebrows and the straight line of his nose. I put my hand on his arm and saw the contrast of my skin against his.
I got up and went to the bathroom. I struggled to put ointment and a bandage on my back before changing into a t-shirt and pajama pants. When I returned to the bedroom, Lucky was sprawled asleep on the bed.
An hour later, I shook him. “Lucky, we still have to go over your chemistry and I have work to do for class tomorrow.”
“Hmm? Oh, we don’t need the tutoring anymore. That was only so you’d get to know me.”
“Oh.”
“Well, okay, my folks did hope you’d push me to do better, but it’s not like I’m going to major in the sciences. Do you want me to take care of your cut?”
“I already did that.”
“Okay. I gotta get going. See you.”
“When?”
“I’ll want a taste again in a few days. We can try something new with our toys. I mean, medical equipment.”
I stood on the porch as he walked up the path and out of sight.
I had a place to live, clothes, cash, a position, and security for life. I had a permanent relationship with a stunning boy. I’d dreamed about having all these things, but I’d never expected to get them so soon and so completely.
Why, then, did I feel so desolate?
In a moment she thought she heard the step of some person. Her blood curdled; she concluded it was Manfred. Every suggestion that horror could inspire rushed into her mind. She condemned her rash flight, which had thus exposed her to his rage in a place where her cries were not likely to draw anybody to her assistance.
Horace Walpole, The Castle of Otranto (1765)
Chapter 28
I had two weeks until the initiation and I became more anxious with each passing day as I tried to make sense of my place within the Family. In Chem class, whenever I noticed Mr. Mason patting his pocket absentmindedly, I thought of Claire Mason at my age, eager to become a Companion.
I carefully tracked the times Mrs. McSqueak said hypotenuse in Trig. I lost myself in the beauty of the equations and came to love the unit circle, the circle with a radius of one. I began to see how angles and circles on infinite planes could describe everything. Even Lucky’s face, his voice, and his lanky stroll could be expressed by trigonometry.
Mary Violet caught me daydreaming once and whispered, “Quick, tell me what you’re thinking!”
“I was thinking that I wish our personal identities could be expressed as a formula so that we could prove or disprove equality in relationships.”
She put the back of her hand against her forehead. “You’re making me nervous, Jane.”
“I know—it’s tragic.”
Lucky stopped by on Thursday, just after I’d gotten home from class. He was wearing a forest-green Evergreen hoodie with a white polo and navy cords.
“Hi, Lucky! Come on in!” I could hear the frantic need in my voice.
He dropped his messenger bag on the sofa and sat down. “Glad you’re home. I keep telling my mom she needs to get you a phone but she’s holding off until after the initiation. You should ask her for a laptop, too. She won’t give you a car until you’re a senior though.”
I didn’t mention the burner I had hidden behind the washing machine. “I have the landline. You could call here.”
“But what if you weren’t here?”
“You could leave a message.”
“I don’t leave messages unless my mother is standing over my shoulder making me. You need to get a phone, so I can text.”
He seemed to be in a mood, but I was still happy to see him. “Why don’t you stay so we can study together and make dinner?”
“I’m going for burgers with Seasick tonight.”
“What?”
“My friend, Christopher Sycamore. C. Syc. I told you about him. We’re on a paintball team. I was passing by and wanted to say I’ll come by tomorrow for a taste to hold me through the weekend.”
“Tomorrow is Latin Skit Night and I don’t know what time I’ll be back.”
“Latin is stupid. You should study a real language, maybe Japanese. I plan to go to Japan and if you knew the language, you could be my translator.”
“Latin will be useful for my science career.”
“Whatever.” His bored expression quickly changed. “Hey, we’ve got the venipuncture kit. We can use it now and I won’t have to stop by tomorrow.”
I tensed. “I don’t know. It just seems really clinical.”
“Jane, it’ll free up your time for studying because you know you need good grades or my mom’s not going to let me see you so often.” His smile lured me in. “Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
He had me sit in the armchair. His pupils dilated as he wound the rubber hose around my arm and thumped at my vein as it grew full. He was transfixed as he filled the tube with deep red blood.
He drew out the needle and capped the vial. Blood beaded on the puncture wound and he licked it until it stopped bleeding. With his forefinger, he circled the wound. “That’s going to bruise some. You’ll have to show me later. You can clean up yourself, right?”
I nodded. “No problem.”
He lifted the vial of blood close to his face and his lips parted. Then he put it in the pocket of his hoodie. “See you.”
I washed and sterilized the venipuncture equipment and felt the throbbing of my arm.
After my dinner of a peanut butter and jam sandwich and fruit, I rehearsed my part for Skit Night. My study group was performing two scenes from Roman plays by Terence. Although I’d read
the English translation, I got lost with the complicated plots of trickery and manipulation. Everything lately made me think of my situation with the Family, including one of my lines: “Homo sum, humani nil a me alienum puto,” or “I am a man, I consider nothing that is human alien to me.” But the Family was both human and alien.
* * *
Lucky was right, and I did have a plum-purple bruise on my inner elbow the next day. I had to wear a long-sleeved t-shirt under my toga, which Mary Violet had helped me fashion from an old sheet. The event was at Catalina’s house. The girls from my study group picked me up and we drove to an imposing stone mansion. The interior was starkly modern with abstract sculptures on bare stone floors and huge paintings on vast walls.
Catalina’s younger sister escorted us downstairs to the ballroom. I didn’t even know that private houses could have ballrooms. A maid served elaborate nonalcoholic cocktails garnished with fruit kabobs and edible flowers. Catalina’s salmon-pink toga draped so gracefully that it must have been made for her. Her smooth tan arms were bare and she wore heavy gold earrings and a gold collar necklace.
My teacher, Ms. Ingerson, in a saffron-yellow toga, was happier than I’d ever seen her. She got on the small stage and welcomed us in Latin. The seniors did their skits, with the girls wildly exaggerating their parts as both male and female characters. Then it was time for my group to perform our scenes.
After the skits and dinner, Catalina came to me. “I thought you might humiliate yourself. However, you performed competently although dully.”
“I’m not stupid, Catalina.”
“No, but still naïve, I think, and odd. A frog out of water.”
“You mean a fish out of water.”
“No, a frog, because a frog is so common, yet it has the peculiar ability to breathe in and out of water,” she said with a spark of humor in her amber eyes.
It almost seemed like a compliment. When Ms. Ingerson had left and we were all saying good night at the front door, I heard a familiar voice. Lucky was coming into the house with several of his tall, loud friends. They were shouting, “Toga, toga, toga!” and were dressed in sheets. One hefted a mini-keg on his shoulder and others carried bottles.
Had he come because he knew I’d be here?
But Lucky and his friends went right to Catalina. They fell to their knees and bowed with their arms forward, saying, “Oh, goddess, we are not worthy! We are not worthy!”
She struck a pose, tossing back her long, tawny hair and pointing at them. “Crawl before me, you miserable mortals!” Several of the senior girls giggled and danced around the guys, play-kicking them and then leaping away.
My heart was in my throat when I saw Lucky stand, pick up Catalina, and carry her back toward the ballroom while she laughed.
I dashed away from the doorway and out into the night, so my classmates wouldn’t see my face. I pressed my thumb to the bruise on the inside of my elbow until the pain spread along my arm.
My classmates began talking excitedly and finally the word went around that juniors could stay. A girl in my study group saw me waiting by the car. “Jane, aren’t you going to come back? God, did you see Lucky Radcliffe carrying Cat? He’s so hot. I would do him in a heartbeat.”
“Thanks, but I think I’m going to walk. See you Monday.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “It’s late and dark.”
“I’ll be fine.” I began walking and waved back at her. I was so upset that I didn’t care that I was wearing a sheet and tennis shoes. My vision was blurred by the tears I was holding back and by a drizzling fog that covered the hillside.
The streets were unfamiliar, but I walked in the direction of Birch Grove, too miserable to care that I might be taking the wrong roads. I was caught up in my anguish when I noticed the hum of an engine on the street behind me. I slunk away from the curb, waiting for the car to drive by.
But it didn’t. I peered back over my shoulder and saw the black shape of a car idling in the street with its headlights off, and that was all I needed to see. Get away as soon as possible! I hiked up my sheet and tore off as fast as I could, and the car followed, keeping back the same distance.
My only escape was getting off the street. To my left, hedges surrounded a property. I shoved the branches apart only to find my way blocked by a tall metal fence. The car was closer now and I began running again with the sheet winding on my legs, slowing me down.
The driver taunted me by staying close. My foot caught on the sheet and I lurched forward, the cloth ripping, and I windmilled my arms to stay upright.
The dark hedge seemed to go on forever, and my lungs ached and I didn’t have the breath to scream even if anyone could hear. I wondered if I should turn back and try to make it to Catalina’s. Then I saw the silhouette of the pines in front of the Radcliffes’ house. I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my side, and the muscles in my legs burned, but I forced myself forward until I reached the driveway. I flung myself at the front door and pounded against it, gasping, “Help! Help!”
When the door opened, I threw myself into Mr. Radcliffe’s arms.
“Jane! What’s happened?”
Now I stared up the drive. The street was empty, and I couldn’t hear an engine over my own strangled breaths.
My knees buckled and Mr. Radcliffe helped me to the living room. I collapsed on the sofa and he called out, “Hyacinth! Come quick.”
I was vaguely aware of them bringing me a glass of water. I was shaking and sweating. “Lock it! Lock the door!” I managed to say.
“What? Jane, you’re fine here. You’re safe.” Mrs. Radcliffe wiped my face with a cool wet cloth. “What’s happened?”
Her expression made me look down at myself. Leaves and twigs from the hedges were stuck on my clothes and in my hair. I’d stepped in a puddle somewhere, because my shoes and clothes were muddy. I was drenched in sweat and my sheet had fallen off one arm. I gulped down the whole glass of water before saying, “I was at Latin Skit Night at Catalina’s house. When I was walking back, a car followed me. I ran, but it kept following me.”
“Why were you walking? Did you see who was driving?”
I shook my head.
“Jane, could it have been someone from the party, perhaps making sure you got home safely?” Mrs. Radcliffe said.
“The driver didn’t have the headlights on and that means … it means a drive-by, something bad’s going down.”
Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe exchanged a look, and she said, “Maybe in Helmsdale, but not here, Jane. Here it means some kid didn’t turn on the lights. Or an elderly driver forgot to turn her headlights on and was concerned about a girl by herself late at night.”
“Do you think so?” It sounded plausible.
“Yes, I think so.” Mrs. Radcliffe smoothed back my hair. “We have never had a shooting here, Jane, or an abduction. It doesn’t happen in Greenwood.”
Mr. Radcliffe frowned. “It was enough to scare Jane, and we should call the police.”
His wife gave him a look. “For all we know, someone thought Jane was the suspicious one, walking around like a ghost in that sheet.”
Mr. Radcliffe went to a liquor cabinet and poured a tumbler full of amber liquid. “Would you like a drink, Jane, to collect yourself?”
“No.”
He swirled the liquid in the glass and then tossed it back.
Mrs. Radcliffe said, “Jane, you’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll set up a room for you.”
I couldn’t bear to stay here lying awake and listening for Lucky to get home. “No, I want to go to my place.”
“Only if Mr. Radcliffe sees you safely home. I’m going to call the police station and tell them there’s a driver without lights scaring our students.”
While she made the call, Mr. Radcliffe went with me to the front door and then said, “It’s cold out. Wait here.” He returned wearing a jacket and carrying an old sweatshirt with the Dog Waffle logo. I pulled off the toga and slipped on the sweatshirt. I knew whose it
was immediately by the faint, comforting scent of leaves and fields.
Mr. Radcliffe seemed uneasy as we went down the hill. I stumbled and he caught me by the elbow to steady me. “I should have brought a flashlight. I forgot that you don’t have our night vision.”
“It’s okay,” I answered, but I let him guide me through the grove.
We were quiet until we got close to the amphitheater. “We haven’t talked much, Jane, but I hope we’ll get to know each other well.”
I nodded. “Me, too.”
“Did you have fun at Skit Night?”
“It was a class assignment,” I answered too sharply.
He sighed heavily. “I know Lucky went to Catalina’s. I asked him not to because we knew you’d be there. We’ve instructed him to keep his distance from you in public places until things settle down within the Family. It’s been a disruptive year.”
I was pitifully grateful to hear this. “Thanks for explaining. I didn’t mind, Mr. Radcliffe.”
“Call me Toby, Jane.”
I saw the shine of his smile in the gloom. “I didn’t want to stay anyway. I’m not a partyer, Toby.” It felt awkward to call him that.
“Lucky is. I hope you’ll be a good example to him, Jane. You have such a strong work ethic and you seem emotionally grounded and steady, which are the most important qualities in a Companion. And freshness, of course. When Claire was young, her blood was dazzlingly pure, so vibrant with health.”
I heard him inhale deeply and then let out the breath. Then he said, “I’m glad we have the chance to have this talk.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Toby.”
“Yes, I mean, it’s been nice, Toby.”
My nerves were jangling as we walked to my porch. The porch light was on and I could see now that he was a little drunk. Then his glazed eyes fixated on my throat and he said, “Would you like me to come in and check out the place for you?” He leaned so close to me that I could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Jane, I could tell you about my relationship with Claire, how amazing it was, how she fed me. You must be curious.”
