Sixty-Five Stirrup Iron Road

by Keene, Brian

  She couldn’t handle it anymore. Rushing through the house, she gathered her purse and keys and left the phone where it lay. In the next moment she dashed out the door and into her car. The engine thrummed to life, and she peeled away from the house as quickly as she could, not even caring that she had no destination in mind.

  Chapter Six - Nate Southard

  Arrianne drove without direction, the radio turned to a loud rock station. She didn’t care for the music much, but it drove out some of the sounds that throbbed in her memory like a horrible taunt.

  Breathing deep, she tried to make herself stop shaking. When it was on the computer, she’d been able to tell herself it might have been a virus of some kind, or that maybe somebody had hacked into their Wi-Fi. Even though both were an invasion of privacy, at least they were issues she’d heard of and knew could be corrected. If someone had managed to hack her phone, however, she didn’t know what could be done. Would she have to change numbers? Would that even help? How had someone even hacked into her phone, and why would this sick person want to torture her with such disgusting trash?

  When she realized her knuckles hurt from gripping the steering wheel too hard, she decided she had to stop somewhere. She looked around and didn’t recognize the neighborhood. Then again, what part of the new neighborhood did she recognize? She hadn’t paid attention to the various turns she’d made, but she was on a busy street. With any luck at all, she’d find her way home without too much trouble.

  On the left was a strip mall. At one end was a sign that said Cedar Door Pub. A relieved breath drifted out of her. Surely she’d earned a drink. Without another thought, she flipped on her blinker and turned into the lot.

  ***

  She’d seen all sorts of bars over the years, visiting them for everything from work happy hours to birthdays or bachelorette parties. This one was nothing special. Old wooden bar stools with flecks of rust on the legs, light that was somehow both too dim and too bright. The entire place smelled like it had been wiped down with an old rag. She saw a few people in a booth in the back corner, a single man in a mechanic’s shirt at the bar. The bartender looked bored, clicking through the channels on a small TV wedged into the corner.

  Arrianne sat, and the bartender made his way over at once, plopping down a small paper coaster.

  “Happy weekday. What can I get you?”

  Would a beer do it? No, she didn’t think it would. “Whiskey sour.”

  “Lady after my own heart.”

  “You like whiskey sours?”

  “Well, I like whiskey. Have that for you in a second.” He gave her a half-smile, and she returned it. Already some of the panic-stress had eased out of her. She could take her phone to the cell shop, have it checked out. If it needed a chip replaced or anything, she paid six dollars a month for cell insurance. A couple of steps, and everything would be taken care of. Annoying, sure, but not insurmountable. They could get on with their lives, look at some dogs. Once they found a dog who needed a home and brought him into the house, they’d feel more stable. A family.

  Somebody slid onto the stool beside her as the bartender approached, whiskey sour in hand. A little shocked, she turned to see the man in the mechanic’s shirt. He held out a ten as the bartender placed her drink on the paper coaster.

  “Let me take care of this one,” the stranger said.

  “That’s okay,” she said.

  “No, let me. You’re drinking something strong at this hour, you probably need it. Shouldn’t have to worry about paying for it too.”

  She gave the man a flat look. “Seriously, it’s—”

  “Please? I try to do a good turn daily. Old Scout motto I can’t seem to shake.” The mechanic gave her a friendly grin. He was handsome, a little young. Blue eyes sparkled. Grime darkened his fingers, the kind of stains left behind by manual labor. Arrianne smelled oil and rubber, confirming that the man worked on cars in some way.

  “Fine,” she said. “Thank you.” She tilted her glass to him and then took a sip. Cold liquor sluiced down her throat and immediately warmed her.

  “I’m Jake,” he said. The patch on his left breast backed him up. He stuck out a hand for shaking and then snatched it back. “Sorry. Not the cleanest right now.”

  “It’s all right. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jake. Arrianne.”

  “Wow. That’s a hundred-dollar name if I ever heard one.”

  “Don’t worry. I got it on sale. It only cost me seventy.”

  Jake chuckled. “The lady knows a bargain. That’s good.”

  “Never pay full price for something you want,” she said. Then she knocked back another swallow. Her cheeks felt a little warm, and she felt the smile on her face like it had never been there before.

  “Do you always get what you want?” Jake asked.

  She smiled a little wider, gave him a little wink. “As soon as I decide I want it.” The words bounced around her mind a moment, and she suddenly felt embarrassed. Jesus, was she flirting with this guy? He’d bought her a drink, and now she was winking at him and talking coy? Way to live up to that particular cliché, she thought, and the smile disappeared from her face.

  Jake leaned in closer now.

  She gave him a tiny shake of her head. “I’m sorry. Thanks a ton for the drink, but I’m not … I’m in a relationship, so I’m not really up for grabs. Again, I’m sorry. I can pay you back for the drink, it’s no problem. Here, let me …” She reached into her purse and rummaged around for her billfold.

  Only a second passed before his hand appeared on her wrist. His grip was gentle, but it was still a grip. So much for not touching her with dirty hands. “I understand. Don’t worry about it.” He let go and turned to face forward. As he sipped at his beer, he shook his head and chuckled again.

  “I really am sorry,” Arrianne said.

  “Don’t be. It’s completely fine.”

  Again, she sipped her drink. The whiskey sour was tasty, and it had already warmed her belly, but her nerves continued to jangle. For whatever reason, Jake wasn’t leaving. He continued to sit beside her and sip his beer, even ordering another when the first ran dry. She contemplated getting up and moving, but she didn’t want to show the man that he made her nervous. Instead, she finished her drink and ordered another. When Jake didn’t offer to pay, she felt more than a little relieved.

  The bartender left them alone, and Jake leaned in just a little. He continued to face forward. “Look,” he said, “I’m not trying to be an asshole or anything. I’m sorry if I came off that way.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Good. It’s just … well, obviously you’re beautiful. I just thought maybe it was worth a shot. You never know, right?”

  “It’s okay. And thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Another moment passed. On the TV, Drew Carey was telling somebody how to play Plinko.

  Jake leaned in again. Closer, this time. “Okay, so I’m just going to say something. You’re fucking beautiful, okay? And fucking hot. I needed to tell you that.”

  Arrianne fought the urge to shake her head. She had to give him credit for audacity and persistence. “Uh, thanks? This is—”

  “I have $50 in my wallet,” he said. “It’s yours if you want it.”

  “What?” Was this guy for real? Was he really propositioning her?

  “Just … just come out to my car with me for a minute, and it’s yours.”

  She gasped, and then she spoke to him in a harsh whisper. “Are you fucking crazy? You think—what? You think I’m going to come suck your dick or something?”

  “No! No, I’m not like that.”

  “Then what, asshole?”

  Jake frantically waved his hands. “Never mind. Just forget about it.”

  “Oh, fuck that. You put the offer on the table. Tell me what you think I’m going to do to you for fifty goddamn dollars.” Rage burned in her chest. She wanted to hit him, just slam her fist into his cheek and hope it did some rea
l damage.

  “You wouldn’t have to do anything. I just …”

  “Just what?”

  He blushed a little, and she almost slapped him for it. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I was hoping maybe … I guess … I wanted you to watch me touch myself.”

  Arrianne grabbed hold of the bar’s edge before she could fall off her stool or throw a punch. This asshole could not be serious. Who did that? Who had the balls to ask a random stranger to watch them jerk off?

  As she stared, frozen by shock, Jake reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. He plucked a fifty dollar bill from the leather and held it between two fingers, offering it to her.

  Her hands moved before she could stop them. A loud crack split the air as her right hand struck Jake’s cheek, and her left hand snatched the bill from his fingers before he could react.

  “What the hell?” he asked.

  “Consider it asshole tax,” she said.

  She clutched her purse tight and turned away, stomping toward the door. Not once did she look back. With anger boiling inside her, she climbed behind the wheel of her car and fled the Cedar Door Pub. She wouldn’t clear her head there.

  ***

  She drove aimlessly for more than an hour. Her anger refused to abate. As she steered back to the house, she wanted to hit something. Several times she pounded the heel of her hand against the steering wheel. What the hell was happening with the world? People were throwing up on each other online and asking strangers to watch them jack off. If anybody had told her when she was a teenager that such things were possible, she would’ve refused to grow up. Something had turned the world sick.

  She refused to believe she was a prude. Far from it. She remembered an incident from the first year of her relationship with Chuck. They’d been in a traffic jam, bored out of their wits, and she’d decided to surprise him. He’d thought she was joking even as she pulled his cock from his pants and began to stroke.

  When Chuck noticed the semi truck alongside them, he’d moved to stop her, but she swatted his hands away. “Let him watch,” she’d said. “Let him be jealous.”

  The woman who’d jerked off her husband to a trucker’s delight couldn’t be considered uptight about sex, but she refused to believe that meant any Tom, Dick, Harry, or Jake could just start asking strangers to watch them. And it sure as hell didn’t mean she should accept vomiting junkies as sexual entertainment.

  She pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. Taking a few deep breaths, she hoped the battery on her phone was dead, that some horrible video wasn’t playing on it when she opened the door.

  When she entered the house and locked the door, she breathed a small sigh. Silence filled the air, and it sounded perfect. She’d have to get her phone charged before she could have it looked at, and she’d need it to talk to Chuck later, but right now its silence was the best thing she’d ever heard.

  Three steps from the door, something came over her. A sudden lust surged through her like a warm tide. She drew in a deep breath, and every inch of her skin tingled. Her anger melted away, and she staggered to the wall, leaning her head against her forearm as she trembled against her sudden need.

  It didn’t make sense. A portion of her mind told her that even as she unbuttoned her jeans and shoved her fingers inside. There was no time to run a bath or even make her way to the couch. She needed to cum immediately. Her middle and ring fingers slipped inside her already soaked sex, and her entire body shuddered. A gasp escaped her, followed by a moan that was close to a scream.

  Frantically, she worked herself with the two fingers. Nothing seemed to be fast enough or hard enough. Everything tingled. Everything burned. The feel of her erect nipples against the fabric of her bra was electric, and she reached under her shirt with her free hand, finding a nipple and pinching. She ground her teeth and whined. Cramps ached in her wrist and forearm, but she ignored them. Something deep inside her began to rumble, building with pressure. Her whine arced upward. She worked her fingers in and out as fast as she could. Her breath caught in her throat.

  She hung on the precipice but couldn’t fall the rest of the way. Spinning, she pressed her back against the wall. Digging a third finger into herself, she slipped her other hand from her shirt and clamped it around her throat, squeezing hard. Every sensation multiplied. A shocked grin filled her sweat-soaked face. Never had she imagined something could feel so amazing. Stars sizzled at the darkened edges of her vision, and she imagined Jake’s hands on her, the bartender watching without interest as he choked her and she pleasured herself.

  The orgasm hit her body like a bomb. Arrianne screamed, throwing her head back as her knees buckled and she spilled to the hallway floor. Everything convulsed as the orgasm ripped through her again and again. With each violent rush of pleasure, her legs kicked out. She released her grip on her throat, and her orgasm became more powerful. Without thinking, she slapped herself across the face.

  “Fuck!” she screamed as her breath returned. “Motherfucker!” She’d never felt such a release, never felt anything so powerful. It felt as though every piece of her had rushed away, leaving her body an empty shell. She whimpered as she curled into a ball in the hallway, slipping her fingers free of her jeans. Her hand ached, seized by a cramp she couldn’t fight.

  “Holy shit,” she said into the floor. The first tears came after that. A melancholy unlike any sadness she’d ever felt rushed in to fill the void. She sobbed once, and the questions followed. What was happening to her? To everything? Strange websites. Anger becoming lust in the blink of an eye. How was it possible?

  A rotten scent drifted down the hallway. She smelled it and coughed against the back of her hand, her stomach clenching hard. And that was another goddamn thing. Why couldn’t they find that stink’s source?

  “Damn it,” she said as she climbed back to her feet and buttoned her jeans. The sadness had departed some, but the anger remained. All she’d wanted to do was look at dogs. How had the day spiraled so completely out of control? Grumbling, she left the hallway and the smell behind. She’d deal with them later.

  Chapter Seven - Jack Ketchum

  Jake didn’t know exactly why he followed her. It wasn’t the fifty. It wasn’t to get the fifty back. It wasn’t to apologize. He honestly didn’t know. Just as he didn’t know why the hell he’d said what he said and did what he did back at the bar.

  It wasn’t like him. Not at all.

  Forget that his mama had raised him to be polite to the ladies.

  He’d never asked a woman to do anything remotely like that in his life.

  Get off on somebody watching?

  Never.

  He wasn’t real adventurous sexually speaking. Jake was straight-on missionary-style. So straight it almost embarrassed him sometimes.

  But back at the bar it was as though some other guy had suddenly gained access to his brain. He shared a stiff dick with that guy because this woman Arrianne gave off sex like a fucking lethal toxin, but that was about all he shared.

  He’d pay her to watch? Hell, he’d never paid for sex. And he could jerk off perfectly well all by himself, thank you very much.

  He couldn’t believe what he’d said and done.

  That was this other guy. Not him.

  Yet here he was following her in his pickup for almost an hour now and he didn’t for the life of him know why.

  It was as though he was meant to do this. As though it were important.

  But he also hadn’t the slightest idea where the hell she was going, either.

  She’d turned off Route 10 onto Cedar Street and driven there for a while past rows of suburban houses clustered on either side, many of them sporting FOR SALE signs on their lawns because out here as almost everywhere the economy still sucked. They then turned on to Royal Avenue and got back on 10 driving south this time, not north like before and then at the next exit got off again. And now she was deep into suburbia once more, and then suburbia running toward rural, driving stre
ets Jake had known since childhood, turning left, right—every which way—and at first he thought maybe she was aware of him behind her and was trying to lose him.

  Then, with all the fitful starts and stops, he figured she was just lost. Period.

  He lit a cigarette and followed.

  Finally, Route 10 north again. And when she exited this time her driving seemed calmer, less erratic. Like she knew where she was now.

  He checked his watch. It was quarter after two. Seymour over at the garage would be wanting to skin him right about now for taking this long for lunch. Let him. As a mechanic … Seymour was a very fine typist. Without Jake the place would go to hell in a matter of months.

  She slowed and turned onto Stirrup Iron Road. He knew it well.

  He paused at the corner.

  When she was a few blocks down he turned and crept along behind her.

  He had a funny feeling about this. Like something was about to occur.

  Something not good.

  She pulled into a long steep driveway on her left. She was home.

  And that was when it hit him full force.

  No, not good at all.

  ***

  He was nineteen when it happened. He’d just landed his first position that wasn’t just some pump-jockey over at Teddy Panik’s garage, closed now these seven years. He remembered coming home tired and satisfied and happy from work one day and hearing his older brother, Lee’s, voice coming from the kitchen.

  There was something about the tone.

  Lee was sitting at the kitchen table. He was still in his patrolman’s uniform but for the hat, which he held in his lap. His mother would never allow hats at the table. His mother’s arm rested on his brother’s slumped shoulder and she glanced up at Jake’s approach and shook her head as though to say don’t speak.

  Lee noticed this and turned toward his brother.

  His eyes were brimming over, his face streaked with tears.