A Variable Darkness: 13 Tales

by John McIlveen

  Maybe if I toned up. I could stand to lose a few pounds, but I’m not bad-looking, he reasoned. Noel pressed his palms against the floor and pushed. No time like the present.

  One… two…

  When he reached his fifth pushup, he was nauseous and his arms were shaking.

  Not bad, he thought. Two better than last time.

  He dropped to the floor and slammed his fist to the carpet. “Come on! Get over it, dude!” he growled. “Get real!”

  But Noel didn’t “get real.” He got far worse as the end of the week rolled around, but something incredible was happening, something that worsened his obsession: as improbable as it was, it seemed Ms. Dewer was flirting with him. He wasn’t sure if his overactive imagination was responding to his libidinous hopes, but her subtle smiles seemed meaningful, and whenever she walked past his desk, she’d pause slightly, letting her delicate scent engulf him. She would then move on, never faltering in her lessons.

  On the third day, she returned an assignment with “Good Job!” and a winking smiley face on it. It was intriguing and probably meant nothing, but what occurred Friday convinced Noel her flirtations were real.

  She had handed out their first test, an involved assessment she called a feeler exam. It didn’t count toward their grades, but it gave her a good indication of where her students stood in their knowledge of world history. As the class labored silently, save for a few shuffling feet and a sneeze or a mumble, Noel chanced a look at Ms. Dewer. She sat at her desk holding a few papers, not reading them but staring directly at Noel with that slight, evocative smile. He returned her gaze, but her eyes never wavered. Twice more Noel looked at Ms. Dewer, her ebony eyes pinning him to the spot. They made promises and knew his deepest secrets. If someone coughed or lifted their eyes, she would casually avert her own, and then return them to Noel once the interruption was over. It made him nervous, but excited him.

  He was out of her league in so many ways; could he really be attractive to her? It seemed so unlikely. If nothing else, it was a brilliant tactic to improve his attendance and grades. He needed to know if Ms. Dewer’s flirtations were legit, but to do so, he’d have to get more enterprising.

  He arrived at school Monday planning to stare brazenly and flirt with Ms. Dewer as she had with him.

  It didn’t work.

  When he’d meet her eyes, she’d ignore him, dismissively sweeping her gaze over him or looking clear through him, but at other times, he’d catch her staring in that beguiling way. She seemed to be making a game of it.

  During Wednesday’s history quiz, she had run her hand softly over his back as she walked past his desk. He checked to see if anyone noticed, but all eyes were focused on their desktops. He wondered if she got off on driving schoolboys mad, or maybe she just had some weird kink that made her horny during exams. He’d heard stranger stories, like the woman who cried uncontrollably whenever she touched satin, or the man who became violent when he smelled cinnamon. But this was different…it involved him.

  By Thursday, Noel was perplexed and nearly feverish with frustration. During homeroom, Ben the Goon walked into class, looked at him, and shook his head as if Noel were the saddest person he’d ever met. Noel returned a challenging stare, saying nothing.

  “Hey, Romeo, do you have any idea how stupid you look drooling all over yourself?” Ben asked. His classmates laughed. “You’re pathetic.”

  “Screw you,” Noel said.

  “You wish! No wait…I bet you’re saving yourself for Ms. Dewer,” the Goon went on, provoking another round of laughter.

  Noel intended on doing nothing. He’d get no backing in an altercation, and “Mr. Popular” needed only to blow his dog whistle to have the football team there within seconds, face-planting him to the floor. As Ben walked to his desk, he smacked Noel smartly on the back of the head. Noel sprung to his feet and gave the Goon a double-handed shove to the back, sending him comically sprawling over two desks and onto the floor.

  “Stop!” someone demanded from the classroom doorway.

  Ben the Goon jumped to his feet, his face contorted with rage, and whipped a textbook at Noel, who deflected it with his left arm.

  “I said stop!”

  They obeyed but held their positions as Ms. Dewer walked coolly to her desk.

  “Your pet attacked me from behind,” Ben the Goon said.

  Ms. Dewer held up her hand, shushing him. “I saw, but I’m sure there’s more to it than meets the eye…or my eye. I should send you both to the office, but that would waste time and could end up in suspension, which wouldn’t please your little buddies on the football team, would it, Mr. Leeds?”

  She aimed a well-manicured finger at Noel. “Since I saw you doing the shoving, I expect to see you in detention after school today.”

  “But…”

  Ms. Dewer raised an eyebrow and said, “Do you have a problem with this, Mr. Keating, or would you prefer a visit to the office?”

  “No,” Noel muttered.

  “Bring your bib, douche,” said Ben the Goon as he walked to his seat.

  “Enough,” said Ms. Dewer, but the look in her eyes did the shouting.

  Noel stewed in aggravation for most of the day, and his mood had reached rock bottom by the time he arrived at Ms. Dewer’s class after school. She stood with her back to him, her body moving rhythmically as she erased the chalkboard. Noel watched, entranced.

  “Sit,” she directed, showing no indication that she had seen him.

  Noel took the seat closest to the door.

  “Not there. Your assigned seat, please.”

  Noel considered walking out, but as provoked as he was, he had finally gathered the gumption to ask her what her game was. He obligingly sat in front of her desk.

  Ms. Dewer—always graceful, always smooth, always in command—walked to the door and gently closed it. She glided to her desk and sat—or, more aptly—drifted into her chair. Noel’s resolve was slipping, but he held on, trying to look defiant and put out. She looked at him and winked.

  “Well, Mr. Frumpy Face,” she said, her voice silky, her lips playfully pouted. “You know, if anything is to become of us, we need to be careful.”

  Noel’s every thought derailed and tumbled into a tortured smoldering heap. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, utterly confounded.

  “Discretion, Noel. Pull out a notepad and look busy,” she instructed. He did as she asked. “Okay, I like you, and unless I’m blind, you like me, but if you want this thing to work, we need to be discreet.”

  “What thing?”

  “Who knows until we try, but we won’t get that chance if you make it so obvious.” She looked quickly to the door and back to Noel. “I’m a teacher who likes her job and wants to keep it, so if anyone finds out about us, my career is over. If you can keep us absolutely top-secret, this could turn into something fun and adventurous.”

  Adventurous! The word hooked him. It’s what he’d been looking for.

  “I…” he mumbled.

  “So, are you up for it?” she asked.

  The insinuation was blatant enough, but he had a hard time believing it. Could this…goddess really want him? No woman had ever shown interest in him, not for long, at least, and especially not like that…which posed another problem.

  “Uh, yeah. Of course I am,” he said. “But I’ve never…”

  “Oh, I’ll take care of that,” Ms. Dewer reassured him, her promise departing her lips like a kiss.

  Noel was thrilled—yet clueless on how to proceed. “Okay, where do we go?” he asked.

  “The perfect place,” his teacher said. “Nowhereville.”

  It took a moment before it clicked. “You mean where you were born?” he asked. “That town in Maine?”

  “Yes, Fryeburg. My parents own a house there, but they’re in Florida until April,” Ms. Dewer explained. “We could spend the day and get to know each other without any interruptions. We’d be out of sight there.”

  It was
mind-blowing, this conversation in the classroom that, to anyone who peered in, would be just a teacher and student having a discussion.

  “The most important thing is we don’t raise suspicions. Keep it quiet and don’t act foolish. I’m thinking I’ll want this to last a while.”

  Dozens of questions and concerns came to mind. “How will we get there? When would we leave? When would we get back?”

  She smiled and said, “My car, Saturday morning, Saturday night…late. There’s a wonderful deck and it’s magical under the stars. Full moon, very romantic. Do you work this Saturday?”

  “No,” Noel said.

  “Perfect! You live on Belknap Road, right?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Noel said, surprised and flattered she knew his address.

  “Good, nine o’clock Saturday morning. Be walking on Ferry Street toward Dairy Queen. I’ll drive by. If it’s safe, I’ll pull over and you get in… quickly.” She looked at the wall clock and again at the door. “If it isn’t, I’ll loop around until it is, all right?”

  Noel nodded.

  “Do us a favor. Pack some snacks and drinks, it’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive,” she said.

  Noel nodded and she flashed her wonderful smile.

  “Good, and remember, discretion is everything. Oh, and a little something to think about until Saturday…a vocabulary lesson of sorts. The word pet is both a noun and a verb.” She gave him a teasing wink. “Detention is over.”

  Numb, Noel stood and left the room without looking back.

  Noel lumbered along Ferry Street, eyes to the ground, trying to look inconspicuous. His backpack rode low, heavy with a variety of snacks. His normal snack preferences leaned toward Doritos, Starburst, and Mountain Dew, but hoping to appear more sophisticated, he brought a block of good cheese, gourmet crackers, apples, Lindt chocolate balls, two bottles of Coca-Cola, and two bottles of iced tea. He had showered, shaved, and splashed on his father’s Drakkar Noir cologne. His hair was still wet and the cool morning breeze made it uncomfortable.

  By quarter past nine, he was sure Ms. Dewer was playing him. He imagined her, the Goon, and rows of laughing and jeering faces, mocking the pathetic, love-struck boy. There would be no returning to school, he’d be the laughingstock! His only choice would be taking the Kyle Grainger route and hitting the highway in search of greener pastures. Maybe Los Angeles or somewhere warm like Tampa Bay. He’d start at the bottom, flipping burgers or cleaning toilets, since he’d never exceled at anything, or even tried. He’d live on the streets until he settled, but there had to be places he could hole up.

  A car approached from behind but he didn’t look, fearful it might be the police or some turd-cake intent on harassing him. If so, he wished he had a baseball-sized stone to hand so he could sail it through their windshield.

  A gray Honda Accord pulled beside him. Ms. Dewer pushed open the passenger-side door. “Hey, lonesome traveler, going my way?”

  Noel tossed the backpack on the back seat and practically fell into the car, his legs weak from nerves, and the acknowledgement that it was really happening. Mrs. Dewer had actually showed up.

  She looked phenomenal in red casual jeans and a low-cut black top that validated the endowed figure Noel had fantasized about. She kissed him quickly on the cheek and accelerated onto Ferry Street. Where her lips brushed him burned with the reality of her touch and he buzzed in anticipation for what the day might bring.

  This was too good to be true, he thought, and as they drove toward their promising day, he understood it was also probably too good to last. At some point, Ms. Dewer—or Isobel, as she insisted he call her—would tire of this and be through with him, but he decided he wouldn’t let that happen. She had her job and her reputation, both of which he would soon have the power to destroy. This would provide him with enough blackmailing muscle to hold her captive; he could make her his veritable sex slave. If she protested, he would go public—and he was okay with that. In most cases of hot teacher seduces student, society vilified the teacher and labeled the student a victim, regardless of whether they were willing participants or not.

  Who wouldn’t be willing, with a knockout like Isobel Dewer? Noel wondered. Who wouldn’t billboard that he was with her? It would be a badge of honor that even Ben “The Goon” Molina couldn’t downplay.

  They drove through Windham, New Hampshire, took I-93 to I-495 to I-95, which they seemed to stay on forever. About ninety minutes later, Isobel exited the highway and then drove farther. Each turn led to narrower roads, finally turning onto what, despite being little more than a dirt path, had a street sign. Blue Goose Drive led to a picturesque log home perched upon a knoll that overlooked a pond. It was nicely kept, with freshly painted trim, well-tended flowers, and a large, uncluttered farmer’s porch.

  They climbed from the car and Isobel looked at Noel over the roof. “Hey, boyfriend. Are you ready for an adventure?”

  Noel smiled, feeling nervous, yet oddly confident. Isobel tapped a code on a keyless lock and led them into the house, which was very country. The house smelled fresh, the kitchen appliances looked new, and the counters were empty and spotless. Copper pots and pans and assorted utensils hung from overhead hooks secured into thick beams.

  “You come here often?” Noel asked. He wondered if she brought others here, like Ben the Goon…a disturbing thought.

  “Often enough, it’s my childhood home. I’m very attached to it.”

  She took his jacket and hung it with hers on a coat rack mounted to the wall, across from which was an open doorway leading to the basement; it appeared nicely finished.

  “Before we get to fun and games, how about if I make my signature turkey and Swiss panini? I’m famished.”

  “Sure,” Noel said, a little disappointed, but considering his inexperience with all things female, he figured he’d best let Isobel lead.

  “Do you prefer beer or wine?” she asked, pulling a panini press from within a cabinet.

  Another thing in which Noel was inexperienced; wine was more refined, but beer was what most guys seemed to prefer. He chose beer.

  “Great! I’ll have one, too.” She opened the refrigerator and searched the shelves. “Huh, we’re out up here. Be a dear and grab some from the media room refrigerator at the foot of the basement stairs. I’ll have Sam Adams and you take whatever you like. We have about a dozen choices,” she said.

  The basement was the ultimate man cave, with a wet bar, couches, a pool table, and a sixty-inch widescreen.

  Nice! Noel thought. He opened the fridge door and perused the shelves for his quarry, but it was empty, the shelves were warm, and the interior light hadn’t lit. “Is there another fridge?” he called up the stairs, but the slam of the door silenced him and then he was thrust into total darkness.

  Noel had no sense of time or place. He’d surely been there for hours, but he had no idea if it was three, five, or ten hours. When the door had slammed and the lights had gone out, his first thought was that Isobel had an odd sense of humor. He carefully worked his way up the stairs, feeling for a light switch, but found only a blank cover plate. Someone had removed the switch. The door was locked, as he had feared, and unusually solid for a basement door; his fists made little sound as he pummeled it.

  He was in utter darkness, which convinced him this predicament was intentional… planned. There should be some light, the laser outline of sunlight around a curtain or shade, from the gap beneath the door at the head of the stairs, or from some kind of electronic device. There was nothing. His mind went in numerous directions, but when the true ramifications of the situation hit home, panic sank steely talons into him.

  He hollered his way through a series of emotions, from a light-hearted okay, that was funny, now let me out, to an angry, let me out, now, to terrified pleading, and finally tears. He had settled on the top step, his throat raw and his fists sore and bleeding, before he calmed enough to seek other routes of escape.

  He blindly felt his way down the stairs an
d around the perimeter of the room until he found a doorway near the bar. He turned the knob and was surprised to find it unlocked. The door, like the one at the head of the staircase, was disconcertingly heavy, but it opened easily, allowing him entrance to another space as dark as the first, but dank and much cooler. He shuffled his way around the room, feeling for a light switch, windows, or anything he could use as a weapon, but it was empty, save for a pile of discarded rags against one wall. He found the outline of another door, which was steel and had no handle.

  Anxious to leave the cold emptiness of the second room, he returned to the first. A complete search turned up nothing: no bottles or glasses on the bar, no balls or cues on the pool table, and not a single pen to stab with or a damned book to throw.

  Distraught, Noel sat atop the pool table, waiting and praying he was the target of some elaborate prank. He would embrace the laughter and mockery if Ben the Goon and the rest of the class appeared.

  Nothing occurred for hours, until he heard a loud clack and scraping from the other room. Noel tensed, frightened, yet willing Isobel to appear. He knew he could take her, and he’d revel in the chance to sock her a good one. The door near the bar opened and Noel leapt to his feet, backing away until he was up against the wall. Nothing moved within the room, but he heard the sound of something breathing, waiting.

  …and then the lights flared on.

  Noel raised an arm to block the light, squinting and blinking against the sudden glare, helpless if anything were to attack. An outline appeared and resolved into the form of a man—an ordinary man, thirtyish, of average height and build, with commonly handsome features. He was leaning on the bar top. He waved cheerily to Noel.

  “What do you want? Who are you?” asked Noel.

  “Hi, lover boy. I’d like you to meet my husband, James.”

  Noel spun toward Isobel, who sat on the stairway, six steps from the basement floor. He hadn’t heard her open the door or come down.

  “Your husband?” He looked back at the man, who waved again and offered a friendly smile, similar to Isobel’s. “I didn’t know you…you didn’t….” Noel sputtered.