She was just waiting for something to happen that would damper what she felt was accomplished last night. Maybe it would all be fine. The jitters she was having were probably more about seeing Alan and finally making her move. And, of course, knowing Jonesey was planning to make an appearance meant that everything could get screwed up. These things were far worse than telling Joel she would be gone until late evening or early morning.
Bullshit.
As she steered the car into the small parking lot at Mario’s, she knew without a doubt that her anxiety was from all of the above reasons.
CHAPTER TEN
(I)
The doorbell’s chimes clambered throughout the house. Joel tottered to the door at a sluggish pace thanks to a full stomach. He couldn’t believe it was only nearing seven, but it felt so much later.
He opened the door to a smiling Carlee and felt his breath snag in his chest. Not that she ever looked bad, but he’d never seen her look this good. Her hair hung loosely around her neck. Her bronzed skin was glowing in the approaching night, but her smile was even brighter. The dress she’d chosen snuggled her breasts, projecting them above the top like two floats in a river. He glanced down quickly to keep from staring, but met her legs. Tanned and smooth. Just the way he liked them.
He’d always thought Carlee was pretty, and tonight she set the standard. Joel wanted to speak, but was afraid his voice would betray him. He suddenly felt nervous, awkward, which was odd, because he’d had many conversations with Carlee. She was normally the one that would sit and watch horror movies with him while Haley made fun of them, or got too grossed out. Carlee was a good friend, a movie companion. On several occasions, she’d taken him to buy a lot of the monstrosities occupying his room.
“Joel?” she said.
Say something…
“Are you okay?”
He nodded. Why aren’t you saying anything?
Laughing, she gnawed at her lip. “What’s wrong? Can’t you say something?” She almost appeared to be blushing.
“Y…” He lowered his head, giving up.
She laughed again. “Don’t you like my outfit?”
Giving her another glance, he shrugged. “Yeah….”
Mocking him playfully, “Yeah…” She squeezed his shoulder. He caught a whiff of her perfume. His pores seemed to come alive from its sweet aroma. The way it blended perfectly with the scent of her skin made his knees tremble.
“Are you going to let me in or do you just want to keep me out here all night?”
“Oh, sorry…” His cheeks were growing hot. His face was probably turning red. He hoped she hadn’t noticed.
“Thank you my boy.” She said with a nod, entering.
“You look beautiful,” he blurted, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth. What have I done? Had he actually said that? He braced himself for the slap. But, it never came.
Carlee was gaping. “What did you say?”
“You didn’t hear me?” He did not want to repeat it.
“I think I did, I was just making sure I heard correctly.”
“What do you think I said?” He realized he was speaking through a hand muzzle. Lowering his hand, his lips felt unusually dry and his palm was drenched.
“Did you say I was beautiful?”
God, he had said that as she’d walked by.
He answered with a nod.
Then something happened that he didn’t expect. It came fast, sudden. Carlee stepped over to him, leaned over, and gently grabbed him under the chin. Her thumb curved around one cheek with her fingers on the other.
“No one has ever called me that. Ever.”
He couldn’t believe it. How could people be so blind? Her face was closer to him than it had ever been before and looked more gorgeous than ever. Her eyes were such a unique shade of brown, and shaped in their own way. They curved at the tips, and were portly wide. He could see himself floating inside their almond color.
Feel the warm air from her lips tickling his before kissing him.
He flinched at the moist softness pressing against his mouth, just a small peck at first. Her lips tasted like strawberries. She raised her head, caught herself in his eyes and stopped. He was trembling, wondering what she had seen in his stare. Could it be that she caught him on the exact moment he fell in love in with her? His heart pounded against his chest so hard he expected it to burst through and ruin her pretty dress. His stomach twitched, popping like a dozen hand grenades exploding inside. A sudden weight like a thousand bricks plummeted on top of him.
Carlee’s thick lips curved slightly. She sucked her bottom lip under her teeth and clamped down. Then she shook her head. She wasn’t telling him no, it was as if she was physically answering a mental question. As he began pondering what it could be, she leaned in and kissed him again. Parting her mouth, his lips stayed with hers and opened slightly. He tasted her warm, quivering breaths. Felt them on his tongue, swallowed them.
Then they heard footsteps descending the stairs, solid heels thunking on the wooden steps, the jingling of keys as Haley took them from her pocket book. Carlee pulled away from him, placing a hand on her mouth. Her eyes were wide, shocked. Joel read it as astonishment mixed with worry. He suddenly felt guilty, not because of what they’d done, but wondering if he had done a good job. She seemed to have been enjoying it until Haley came.
Way to ruin it for me, sis.
Carlee gave herself a quick adjustment, straightened her dress, her hair. Though, he hadn’t touched anything but her lips, they seemed to be the one place she wasn’t concerned about. They were pretty close to the same height. He’d grown a lot this year. He remembered Carlee was a giant compared to him last summer.
Joel had recognized something in her eyes that he’d never seen before. Loneliness. His heart sank realizing that she was just as confused about life as he was. He wondered if he’d ever figure it out. Carlee was in her early twenties and apparently hadn’t, so that left little hope for him.
He wanted to kiss her again.
Damn it, Haley.
“Hey ho,” said Haley.
Carlee crunched her eyes shut, making a face. She quickly put on her regular mask and turned around beaming. “Hey girl. You look great!”
“So do you. Stay away from Alan in that outfit. Looking like that, I think you might get him.”
Carlee laughed abnormally loud. It sounded forced and fake. “Oh, please.” She glanced at Joel quickly. “Besides, I got me a guy right here.” She winked at him. He felt himself blushing again.
“Hands off my baby brother. Just because he’s growing doesn’t mean he’s grown.”
He was sweating. His shirt felt glued to his back. He needed to take a shower. He hadn’t bathed all day. How had Carlee been able to handle my smell?
He suddenly felt exhausted again.
“You okay?” asked Haley.
Wiping his brow with the back of his hand he said, “Yeah, fine.”
She made a face at him, not totally believing him. “Well, I’ll be late getting home tonight. So, don’t stay up for me.”
“Trust me, I won’t. I’m beat.”
“Don’t get too bored.”
“I’ll keep myself busy somehow.”
Carlee nudged him, “Watch some gory movies, then tell me all about them.”
Blushing again he said, “You got it.”
When Haley looked down to zip her pocket book, he caught Carlee quickly giving him a wink. He winked back, feeling excited, yet stressed that the two of them had their own shared secret. He wondered if anything else would be shared between them. Doubtful. I’m just a kid. Probably a onetime thing and they’d never mention it again. Yet, he couldn’t stop from being hopeful that it would eventually lead to something more.
Throwing her pocket book over her shoulder, Haley adjusted it so it wasn’t tugging her shirt so hard. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, enunciating the last part to make his point.
&nb
sp; “All right,” she mimicked. “Sorry for being concerned.”
Carlee opened the front door and stepped outside to wait. Haley stopped in the doorway. She looked over her shoulder at him. “You be careful, okay?”
Her sudden forewarning stunned him. “Okay?”
“I mean it. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Why was she saying this to him? “I won’t.”
“All right, that’s enough motherly type heeds, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d scream.”
Laughing, “I bet. Suits you better.”
Carlee tapped her foot; it made clacking sounds on the concrete. “Come on Haley, all the good snacks are going to be gone and the coffee’ll be cold!”
“I’m coming, jeez!! Don’t get your panties all twisted.”
“I’m not wearing any!!”
A tremor of excitement fluttered in Joel’s crotch. He shifted his stance to his left foot, taking pressure off his penis. It helped.
“Nice talk! In front of my brother, no less.”
“He’s a big boy, probably heard worse in movies.”
He had, but it was different coming from someone he knew. Someone like Carlee. He wished he could drop down and take a peek up that skirt to see if what she had said was true.
Haley rolled her eyes, shook her head. “I’m out of here before she pollutes your mind even more.
Too late, he thought, but said, “Good idea.”
“Bye. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” He shut the door after she’d walked out. He was glad she was gone, but already felt terribly alone. The house was uncomfortably quieter than usual. The constant ticking from the clock in the den droned through the house like a heavy thing. The faint sound of Carlee’s car leaving came from outside.
He was alone.
He wondered if he should go to the basement and check on Pillowface, but decided to leave him be. He would leave him some pizza on a plate outside the basement door. It was easier, and he wasn’t anxious to discover Pillowface had borrowed more of his Dad’s tools. Plus he was very tired, and wanted to do nothing more than shower and go to bed. That sounded like a plan. A great one. Slouched over, he stomped upstairs to the bathroom.
He could still taste Carlee on his lips.
(II)
He was back in the darkened room, and had been here for several days, maybe even weeks. The strong stench of old urine and feces clung to him like a parasite. He flexed his hands, feeling sharp stings of pain in his wrists. They had been bound to the arms of a chair with barbwire. The piercing points burrowed into his flesh, causing fresh blood to trickle over the scabs of his previous wounds.
Back in the Torture Chair.
He’d been subjected to what he’d given the moniker of The Torture Chair a few times already. He’d been beaten; punched, kicked, even sliced a few times, but had yet to be broken. His tolerance for pain was immeasurable.
There was only one out of all his captors that could speak some kind of English. He’d asked him questions about the invasion, his unit, basic interrogation stuff. He’d been a prisoner before and was accustomed to the drill. Didn’t matter where in the world he was, all terrorists were the same.
Droids.
Something banged from outside. A channel of light flickered through the room. He looked away, squinting. He could hear their voices. The indistinct chatter of his captors, speaking in a native tongue that he couldn’t understand. Why hadn’t he been trained to speak the Afghani language? Sending all these Americans to furtive lands and not teaching them to speak or to understand the local babble was absurd.
The six inch thick metal door opened with a rusted screech. A fresh breeze that reeked of dirt and molded rock quickly rushed in. Cave funk. Looking up, he saw the usual suspects entering. Four of them, their faces covered with black masks, thin, and nearly transparent, but thick enough to hide their features. The one that he could actually understand stood in the door frame, the lower portion of his face disguised by a checkered turban.
He only stood there, staring.
The others spread out through the room. Equally stretched, they stood with their arms crossed and soundless.
They’ve come in here to kill me.
As if hearing the thought, Turbanface began to laugh. It was a dark, ominous chortle that rippled his arms with gooseflesh. Then he disappeared around the other side of the door. He returned shortly, but not alone. Dragged by a chain around his neck was another American from his section, the director guy who’d joined the army to earn tuition money for film school. He couldn’t remember his real name, but they’d nicknamed him Buddy from all of the interviews he’d conducted with the Afghanis. Each person, while on camera, had constantly referred to him as buddy when re-telling their horrible stories of suffering and woe. It was their way of trying to connect with the average American. Calling them buddy, meaning pal, friend, or companion.
He’d hoped to use the documentary footage someday, showing their true experiences in war. Not, as Buddy would say, the bubble gum version you saw on the nightly news, or what the president was spoon feeding to a starving, American public.
Why was Buddy here?
Buddy’s mouth, gagged with a hanky and duct tape, pleaded muffled syllables as he was dragged into the room. His hands were coupled together with the same kind of barbwire that had been used to bind Face to the chair. Turbanface stopped long enough to shut the door. The air became instantly dry and thick. He turned to the masked men, and yelled something in their language. The second one to his left nodded, turned around, and handed him something from the back of his pants.
At first, he couldn’t tell what it was. Then Turbanface turned to Buddy, and forced him to take the object. In Buddy’s hands it was decipherable.
A camera.
And, not the large, digital contraption Buddy had lugged around before they were all captured, this one was small, and had a longer, narrower lens. Buddy shook his head, pleaded more muffled babbles and was struck by Turbanface’s fist for his efforts. He shut up after that. Under the camera’s base was a pistol grip and trigger. With his wrists bundled together, he struggled to clasp his hand around the grip. Once he’d managed that, he used his index finger to press the trigger. The small device emitted a loud cranking sound as something thin and flimsy belted through it.
Film.
Turning to Face, scowling with twisted, black eyes, Turbanface said, “Your soldier, da one dey call Junior. Before I cut out his tongue, and removed his jaw, he told me.” Smiling, he waved a finger at him. “I know you….You pretty boy. You Face.” Bending his finger, he outlined his own masked brown face with an elongated fingernail. “Dey call you dhat. Correct?”
He was, but said nothing.
“It do be a handsome face.” Reaching to the sheath wrapped around his brown trousers, he removed a large blade nearly the size of a machete, jagged along one side and tarnished under thick rust. It would be sharp enough to cut, but too dull to do it quickly.
Face knew where this was going.
“I tink I will take dhat face. Maybe, if I wear it I get bunches of girls…” He turned to Buddy. “Cut on de camera.”
Reluctantly, Buddy obeyed. With a wince, he raised the camera to his eye as if it hurt him to do so. He pleaded Face’s forgiveness with his wide stare. Face nodded, offering it, understanding this was nothing he could have prevented.
As Turbanface approached with the knife, he dragged Buddy behind him. Making sure he kept the camera focused on the upcoming action. Face swore he would not give them the benefit of screaming, or displaying the obvious amount of pain he was about to endure. Bite his tongue off if he had to, but he would not scream, cry, or yell.
They didn’t deserve to see his anguish.
He’d honored his promise almost all the way to the end. While the blade dug into his flesh, Turbanface used his jagged fingernails to pull the flapping skin. As if he was carving a Thanksgiving turkey, he cut and ripped and f
layed. When the screams started coming, he did just what he swore he would. He’d clamped down on his darting tongue. Gritting his teeth, feeling the warmth of blood flooding his mouth, he tasted its copper flavor.
His silence angered Turbanface even more, so he dropped the knife on the dirt-cased ground and used both hands to tug what remained of his face away. Many times, Face nearly passed out, but he’d willed himself to stay coherent. He continued to stare back at the man, his gaze just as cold as the one he was receiving. By the end of the lurid ordeal, he’d noticed Buddy’s scared, frantic expression had turned to one of anger and determination.
Buddy’s sanity had slipped away behind the rolling lens.
Then he woke up.
No longer was he a captive in the improvised torture room, Pillowface now laid on a deflating air-mattress. Drenched in a veneer of frigid sweat, he could hear air hissing from his rubber bed. His back nudged the concrete floor. The support and comfort was gone. The bed was deflating; somehow he’d made it pop.
He sat up with a grunt.
Enraged.
His vision had reddened, his heart was hammering. His skull felt as if it were about to crack open. Every part of him tingled with perverse desires. He needed to hurt something, to punish something beautiful. Briefly, he considered Haley, but shook her out of his mind. Then he stood up and kicked the piece of shit bed. Behind it sat his creation. As much as he wanted to use it on something, it wasn’t quite complete, not yet, but it would be soon, so it’d have to wait.
Through the thin window ledges atop the wall, he saw night had come. Where the moon sat and the stars twinkled, he guessed it was nearing ten. Out there he’d find what was needed. Opening the side door, his boots trampled over slices of pizza that had been wrapped in plastic wrap and left for him, then ran into the night.
He had a good idea where he’d find what he was looking for.
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