The Stake

by Richard Laymon

  Mr. Kramer wrapped his arms around her. He squeezed her tightly against him. He said, “Brrrrr.”

  His face felt cool on her cheek. His chest was solid against her breasts. His hands moved up and down her back. She could feel him shivering.

  “Why don’t we go below for a minute?” he gasped. “Warm up.”

  Lane nodded.

  He turned away, unlocked the cabin door and slid it open. “Go on first. And watch your step.”

  She climbed down into darkness. Away from the wind. At the bottom of the stairs she found herself in narrow, cozy quarters. Moonlight came in through the portholes, casting a gray haze over cushions to both sides and in front of her.

  She heard the door skid shut. It cut off most of the wind’s noise.

  “Sleeps three,” Mr. Kramer said. “If they’re munchkins.”

  “Nice,” Lane whispered. She turned around, careful not to lose her balance, and saw the dim shape of Mr. Kramer coming toward her.

  “A haven from the tempest,” he said.

  “That’s for sure. You might as well have this back.” She slipped the blazer off her shoulders.

  “Just toss it down anywhere.”

  She folded the jacket. As she bent down to place it on a cushion, a hand stroked the back of her head and she flinched.

  “Sorry. Did I startle you?”

  “A little.”

  She stood up straight. The hand slipped down to her shoulder. Then both Mr. Kramer’s hands were on her shoulders, gently rubbing them through the heavy denim. Her mouth went dry. Her heart thudded.

  “Does that feel good?” he asked.

  “Yeah. But... I really can’t stay.”

  “I know. We’ll go in a minute. But you like this, don’t you? I know you liked it after school the other day. Really eases the tension.”

  He kept on massaging her, squeezing her shoulders, moving to the sides of her neck.

  We shouldn’t be doing this, she thought. Not here.

  Her head felt heavy. She could hardly hold it up.

  His hands eased down along her neck. Under her collar. The top snap of her blouse popped open. And his hands were inside, kneading her shoulders.

  “Mr. Kramer,” she murmured.

  “Hal. Call me Hal.”

  “Hal. I’d better go now. Honest.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

  It feltwrong. But it felt good, too. Incredibly good.

  His big, warm hands curled over her shoulders and down her upper arms. She realized they had taken her bra straps with them. Something low in her belly, something cold, seemed to jump.

  “Now, you’re smooth,” he whispered, massaging her shoulders.

  “We shouldn’t. This isn’t...”

  He brushed his mouth against hers, and the words got lost. “Oh, Lane.” His breath caressed her lips. His hands drifted over her cheeks as softly as a mild breeze. They went away. He kissed her again, his mouth open and warm and tender.

  Lane had daydreamed about this. And this was much the same as her daydream. But more exciting. And more frightening. And somehow shameful. She hadn’t expected the feelings of fear and guilt.

  It’s already gone too far.

  But she felt helpless, trapped by the pull of his moist, warm mouth.

  While he kissed her, he popped open the next snap of her blouse. And then the next.

  Jesus, she thought.

  After the last snap came apart, Hal slid his tongue into her mouth and spread her blouse open.

  She turned her face away. His tongue came out of her mouth and spread a wet path across her cheek. “I have to go home,” she gasped. “Right now.”

  “This is what you’ve been waiting for,” he said, slipping the blouse off her shoulders. She tried to raise her arms, but he pressed them down and pushed the sleeves off. “It’s what we’ve both been waiting for. You know that.”

  “No.”

  Embracing her, pinning her arms to her sides, he kissed her wet cheek and unclasped the back of her bra.

  “No! I mean it!” She squirmed, but he hugged her hard against him.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he asked. She heard no anger in his voice. He sounded confused, even hurt.

  “It’s just not right. You’re a teacher.”

  “You’ve been trying your best to seduce me. Well, I’m only human. You’ve won. You’ve got me.”

  She struggled in his embrace, but he held her fast.

  “There’s no reason to be frightened. Just calm down.”

  Lane stopped struggling.

  “That’s better. That’s much better.” He relaxed his hold. His hands roamed gently over her bare back. “Doesn’t this feel good?”

  “I guess so.”

  “You’re a very lucky young lady,” he said. “They allwant me. You know that, don’t you?” His hands slid lower. They rubbed her buttocks. “Every female in that school has the hots for me. But only a lucky few actually getme.”

  “I want to go home,” Lane said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Please.”

  “I’ll take you home.” He found the button at the hip of her skirt. He opened it and slid the zipper down.

  “No!”

  “I’ll take you home as soon as we’ve finished.”

  The skirt dropped around her feet. He slipped his hands inside the seat of her panties. His fingers kneaded her rump.

  “Mr. Kramer, don’t.”

  “It’s Hal. Remember?”

  He peeled the panties down around her thighs.

  “Damn it!” She shoved him.

  He stumbled backward and dropped onto a cushion. Sprawled there, he said, “You’re a real disappointment, Lane.”

  She bent over. The bra fell away from her breasts, its straps sliding down her arms. She tugged her panties up. Bending lower, the bra drifting down to her wrists, she reached for her skirt. Before she could lift it, Hal stretched out a leg and pinned the skirt to the deck. “Take your foot off.”

  His leg jerked back. The skirt, hooked by his heel, tugged sharply at Lane’s boots. Her feet skidded. With a gasp she lurched up straight and waved her arms, flinging her bra through the darkness. Just as she found her balance, Kramer ducked, grabbed the skirt with both hands and yanked it toward him.

  Her feet flew out from under her.

  “No!” she cried out as she fell.

  The edge of a cushion caught her across the rump. Her back slapped the cool surface. She jammed her hands down and pushed herself up.

  Kramer stepped between her knees. He grabbed her throat and shoved her down against the pad. With his other hand he punched her just below the sternum.

  Pain blasted through Lane’s body. Her breath whooshed out. She wheezed, trying to suck in more, but her lungs didn’t seem to work. Nothing seemed to work. She felt as if her body had exploded apart from the center.

  Kramer let go of her throat.

  She tried to lift her head but couldn’t.

  “You’ll be okay in a minute,” Kramer said, his voice faint through the roaring in her ears. “I hit you in the solar plexus. It’s a nerve ganglion, in case you’re not up on your physiology. Somewhat the equivalent of a man catching one in the nuts. I’m sorry you made me do that to you.”

  Lane realized the agony was fading and she could breathe, taking small, painful gulps of air.

  “But I’ll do worse,” he said, “if you give me any more trouble.”

  She felt one of her boots come off. Then the other. Kramer’s hands moved slowly up her legs.

  “We’ll have a long, wonderful relationship, though. In spite of this rather shaky beginning. You’ll see.”

  She felt his mouth against the crotch of her panties. She felt his lips and teeth, his squirming tongue. Then his mouth went away. He ripped apart each side of her panties and tugged the remnants of fabric out from under her rump.

  “This is what you wanted,” he whispered. She heard a tremor
in his voice. “This is what we both want.”

  * * *

  “You’re home,” he said. “Safe and sound. And it isn’t even all that terribly late.”

  His words seemed to come from far away.

  “Look at me.”

  Lane turned her head. Vaguely, she realized that Kramer was smiling.

  “You had a wonderful time, didn’t you? I know I did. We’ll do it again, won’t we? Maybe Monday or Tuesday. We’ll work out where and when later. And you’ll be there. Won’t you?”

  She managed to nod.

  “I didn’t hear that.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I’ll be there.”

  “And you’ll never tell a living soul about our little party, will you?”

  “No.”

  “And what happens if you do?”

  “The razor.”

  “That’s right.” Kramer patted the pocket of his slacks. “And who gets the razor?”

  “My parents. And me.”

  “Very good. You’re an excellent student. Now, go on inside your house. Your folks are probably waiting up for you, so you’d better look lively. You’d better put on a good show. If I so much as suspect that you’ve betrayed me, you know what’ll happen.”

  “I know.”

  “And don’t think the cops can save you. They can’t. Even if they take me in, I’ll be out. You know what bail is.”

  “I know.”

  “And you know what’ll happen when I get out.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay. Good night, now, darling.”

  She concentrated on her hand, and watched it pull the door lever. The door swung away from her shoulder. She felt a cool wind.

  “Sweet dreams,” Kramer said.

  Then she was standing on the curb, watching Kramer’s car until it disappeared around the corner. She turned slowly until she was facing the house. Its porch light was on.

  How can I pretend?..

  She took careful steps toward the house. She felt as if Kramer had shoved a thick branch deep inside her, a branch of embers that any quick motion would set ablaze.

  They’ll know something’s wrong, she thought.

  I’ll say I got my period.

  At the front door she halted under the light and looked down at herself. Her skirt was crooked. She straightened it. She supposed she looked as if nothing had happened. As long as they couldn’t see under the skirt.

  Kramer had kept her panties.

  A souvenir of our first date, he’d said.

  What am I going to do?

  She tried to focus her mind.

  All that matters right now, she told herself, is getting past Mom and Dad. I can’t let them suspect.

  She found her keys, unlocked the door, and stepped slowly over the threshold.

  The television was on.

  Dad lay on the sofa, snoring.

  Mom wasn’t in the room.

  Thank God.

  Silently, Lane shut the door. She crept past the sofa, out of the living room and into the hallway. “Is that you, honey?” Mom called. Her voice sounded groggy, as if she’d been asleep.

  “Yeah.” Fixing a smile on her face, she stepped to the doorway of the master bedroom. Her mother was propped up in bed, an open book resting on her lap.

  “How was the play?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “Did you go somewhere after?”

  “Yeah. Mr. Kramer took us all out for pizza.”

  “Oh, that was awfully nice of him.” Mom yawned, patted her mouth, and squinted at Lane. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’ve got a miserable headache. And cramps.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Hope it didn’t ruin your time.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll be okay after I’ve had a shower and some aspirin.”

  “What’s your father doing?”

  “Snoozing on the sofa.”

  “He overindulged.”

  “Yeah. He was upset about Pete’s accident.”

  “Whatever. I think I’ll just let him stay there.”

  “Okay. Night, Mom.”

  “Sleep tight.”

  Lane went to her bedroom. When she came out with her robe, light no longer spilled into the hallway from her parents’ room.

  In the bathroom she turned on the light and locked the door. She took off her clothes. Sitting on the toilet, she removed the tampon.

  Don’t want you ruining your nice skirt, Kramer had said before pushing it into her.

  He actually kept a supply on his boat.

  The tube was sodden with blood and semen.

  Lane knew she shouldn’t flush it down the toilet, but she couldn’t leave such evidence in the wastebasket. She had never used tampons. If Mom noticed it...

  She flushed it away.

  Leaning back, she looked down at herself. Her skin was red where he had punched her. Red where he’d squeezed her. Red where he’d sucked her. She thought she could smell his saliva. A sickening, sweet odor. But not as sickening as the taste in her mouth.

  Groaning, she leaned forward and peered down. Her blond curls were matted flat, dry now but sticking to her skin. Under the sparse hair, her skin had a reddish hue like her breasts. She saw no blood. Or anything worse. Kramer had licked her clean.

  Her vulva looked like a raw wound, the lips crimson and shiny.

  Lane winced when she eased her legs together. She stood up, hobbled to the sink and started to brush her teeth. The toothpaste had a minty flavor that overcame the taste of Kramer.

  She stared at herself in the medicine cabinet mirror as she brushed. Her hair looked windblown. Her eyes were pink where they should’ve been white, and had a strange, dazed look about them. They hardly seemed to be her eyes at all.

  This isn’tme anymore, she thought. It’s somebody else.

  Somebody who got fucked.

  Really fucked.

  I’m ruined, she thought. Wrecked, fucked.

  And I’m dead meat if I tell. Dead meat if I don’t let him do it to me again.

  Like hellI’ll let him do it to me again!

  A thick foam of toothpaste spilled over Lane’s lower lip. In the mirror she watched it roll toward her chin. She suddenly gagged. Eyes going blurry, she whirled away from the sink. She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, grabbed its seat with both hands and heaved into the bowl.

  When she was done, she crawled to the bathtub.

  Thirty-nine

  Lane patted herself gently with the towel, taking care not to awaken hurts. Then she draped it over the bar and put on her robe. The soft fabric stuck to her skin where she’d missed wet areas.

  Her toothbrush lay in the sink, its bristles and handle still coated with white goo. She rinsed it off. Knowing she could never put it into her mouth again, she dropped it into the wastebasket.

  I’ll say it fell on the floor and got hair on it, or something, she thought.

  In a cabinet under the window, she found her leather traveling case. She took out her spare toothbrush. She brushed her teeth again. When the paste thickened inside her mouth, she gagged once and her eyes watered. This time, however, she didn’t throw up. She spat out the paste, rinsed, and put her brush into the holder.

  She took aspirin, washing down three caplets with cold water.

  After checking the toilet and finding no traces of vomit, she gathered her clothes and left the bathroom.

  The hallway felt cool. Light still glowed at the far end. She wondered if her father was still snoring on the sofa.

  Mom always got pissed off when he drank too much.

  It’s not such a big crime, Lane thought.

  Mom ought to be glad she’s married to someone like him, and not give him crap about little stuff like that.

  She stepped into her bedroom. With an elbow she nudged the light switch up. She carried her denim boots to the closet and set them down.

  And stared at them.

  Her present, her reward for getting Dad the yearbook.


  God, she thought. If Kramer hadn’t helped me get the yearbook, I wouldn’t have started staying after class. None of this might’ve happened.

  You got me raped, Dad.

  Bullshit. It was all my fault.

  Grievously did she sin, and grievously did she pay.

  What’s that, Shakespeare?

  Kramer rigged that coin toss for Hamlet, she suddenly realized. He had it all planned.

  She stepped over to the bed with her clothes. She tossed her skirt and blouse down and lifted her bra close to the lamp. It didn’t appear to be soiled.

  Soiled enough, she thought. The bastard touched it.

  As she inspected her blouse and skirt, her mind went back to the coin toss. When was that? Before Mom and I went to Grandma’s last weekend. Friday. He did it on Friday, and it wasn’t till this last Monday that he got the yearbook for me.

  If he rigged the coin toss, he must’ve had it all planned by Friday to get me tonight. Beforethe yearbook. BeforeI started staying late and fell off the stool and started acting like an idiot and leaving my bra home and everything. It had nothing to do with all that.

  The bastard picked me like a target.

  Lane brought her mind back to the present task. Her blouse and skirt were okay. She might never wear them again, but they weren’t spoiled by stains.

  She tossed her garments into the hamper.

  She stared at her bed.

  She didn’t want to get in it. She wouldn’t be able to sleep. She would lie there, thinking. All her worst thoughts came when she was trying to sleep, and she didn’t want to face those that were waiting tonight.

  Did he get me pregnant? Did he give me AIDS? Is he going to sneak into the house with his razor, some night, and murder us all?

  Shit.

  Who needs to be in bed to think about that shit?

  He probably didn’t get me pregnant, not with my period due so soon. What about AIDS, though? Even if he’s got it, the chances...

  There I go, thinking about it.

  And it’ll be worse, lying there with the lights out.

  Be nice to just sit up all night and watch television.

  The TV’s on, she remembered. And poor Dad’s an outcast on the sofa.

  She left her room, uncertain what she planned to do. Maybe sit down and stare at the tube. Or maybe turn it off and wake up Dad so he could have a good night’s sleep in the bed where he belonged.