by John Coyne
"What are you thinking?" Derek asked. He was wearing jeans and a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he was standing by the kitchen door opening a bottle of red wine as she came in. Barbara shook her head. She was wearing a shirt of his, and it reached almost down to her knees. "I never expected anything like this," she said. She walked in slowly, her bare feet soundless on the hardwood. "What?" he asked, expecting to be praised. "You. This." She waved toward the table set with candles and crystal, framed dramatically by the big casement windows. "I sort of blocked all this from my mind once Warren died. Locked myself up." She reached out and touched his face, as if reconfirming he was still there. The simple touch of him made her feel warm and loved. "Why?" he asked, leading her to the table. "I didn't think widows burned themselves on the suttee any more." Barbara shrugged. "I married young. Got pregnant. Warren and Scott have been my whole existence. Warren was a very forceful man; I lived in his shadow all these years and it was safe. I knew I was giving up something, but I accepted the trade off-the house in Weston, my security. The good life. Warren was very successful, or so I thought. "Then the heart attack." She was whispering and it made her story even more lamentable. "It wasn't that Warren hadn't provided for us; he had. But henever considered that he'd die." She looked again into Derek's eyes and leaned forward across the small table. "I'm sorry," she added. "I don't mean to be morose." "Please, Barbara. You're not." "It changes you," she went on. "You become stronger." "Some people do. You did." "When I finally realized he was dead, I felt this odd sense of freedom, recklessness, really. I decided not to worry about the future." She stopped to see if he understood. "You would have thought differently, wouldn't you? So did I. I kept expecting myself to be destroyed by his death, but I wasn't. That worried me. I thought if I wasn't vanquished by his passing I was being unfaithful in some way. It was only later, months later, that I realized it was because of Scott." "What did Scott have to do with it?" "I still have Scott. And in that way Warren didn't die." She paused, realized she had been talking continually about herself. "Well, what about you?" she asked curiously. "How did you end up at Ballycastle?" "Well, I'm from here originally. New York, that is. My parents had a potato farm on Long Island. All the other kids' parents had duck farms, so I guess I was the lucky one. Most of my friends quit school at 16, but I stuck it out. Then I won a state scholarship so I was able to go to college. You know, the old story: poor family, no money, youngest son makes good. "I had to go all the way to Oregon to get a teaching job, but I did okay-until my seven years were up and they wouldn't give me tenure. With declining enrollments, they just didn't need another Shelley scholar on the faculty." "Shelley?" she echoed. He laughed at the surprise in her voice. "Yeah, what's the matter with that? Don't I look like a Romantic?" "You look like a potato farmer," she said sweetly, then leaned across the table to kiss him. "That's what they thought at Oregon," he said. "Plus I hadn't published very much, so the only other offers I got were for one-year appointments in the Frost Belt. And that's when the Foundation came along and asked me to be the Director. It was like winning the lottery on my last buck." "But you were perfect for the job," she said loyally. "Thank you, staff," he said. "But actually, I was. Perfect, I mean. I was an Irish-American with a good academic background. And the Foundation was perfect for me: a new job, a new career. A chance to get back east. I was out of Oregon before nightfall," he added, laughing. "Well, you've earned every break you've gotten. And I'm glad you didn't get tenure; otherwise, you wouldn't be here." "I'm glad, too. Now all we have to do is figure some way to keep you around this mausoleum." He reached across the small table to touch her hand. She looked away, not knowing how to respond. She had a flash of what life would be like if she started over again with Derek, living with him at Ballycastle, giving her son a family again. She and Scotty and Derek. But she couldn't hold the image. "I think I should go home. Is that all right?" she said quickly, as if asking permission. "Sure. It's late," Derek replied quickly, masking his disappointment. He shouldn't have gone to bed with her, he thought. He had pushed the relationship too fast, demanded too much. She had a son to consider; she couldn't go popping into bed with the first new man who came along. "Derek." Reaching out, she held his arm, stopping him from leaving the table. "This wasn't a mistake." She smiled wryly. "I mean, I enjoyed myself." He bent forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. She rose to her feet and came into his arms, let him hold her, enjoyed again the brief pleasure of being embraced. She could feel him stirring, becoming ardent and she flattened her palm against his chest and shook her head. "I have to go. It's getting late. And Valerie has to be taken home." "Okay," he agreed. Together they walked back to the darkened bedroom. "Do you want to call them before we leave?" "We could. Why?" In the semidarkness Barbara stripped off Derek's shirt and found her panties, pulling them on in one quick motion. The black silk panties defined her small body, Derek realized, gave it mystery. He wanted her again. She picked her black bra off the floor and hooked it about her waist, then slipped her arms through the straps and pulled the small cups over her breasts. Derek still stood watching, marveling at the sight of Barbara dressing in the dark. She was reconstructing herself, returning to adulthood as she added clothes. "What is it?" she asked, pausing. Derek shook his head. "Nothing." He found her even more desirable like this, the black silk against her white skin in the dark room. He wanted only to stand and watch her move, to see her slight body break the flow of light from the other room. "Stop," she asked. "You're embarrassing me." "I'm sorry." He began to unbutton the shirt he was wearing. "You're just so lovely." She smiled, then stepped into her black velvet pants, zipping them up like a boy as she walked. She found her Cacharel blouse on the floor at the end of the bed, tossed away like a dust cloth. She shook her head, smiled at her own abandon. It pleased her to realize what still was possible in her life. It was like discovering that she had a secret talent. "So do you want to call him?" Derek asked, coming toward her. He had taken out a clean blue shirt, and unfolded it as he came closer. Barbara could smell the laundry starch; it reminded her of Warren, of opening his dresser drawer in their bedroom and smelling his scent. She reached out and touched Derek's chest, felt his flesh. It brought her back to reality. "I could call-but why bother? We'll be back at Ballycastle in fifteen minutes." "Yes, that's why. I thought you'd want to telephone and warn him." Derek was smiling as he buttoned his shirt. For a moment Barbara frowned, not understanding. Then she said, "Oh, dear." "I was only kidding," Derek backtracked, seeing her reaction. "They're really not old enough." She was already moving toward the living room. "They're old enough," she answered.
Scott shook his head. "How can you help? You're a damsel in distress, a helpless girl." "I'm not helpless," Valerie insisted. "Don't I get a chance to strike back? I mean, it's my body they're after." Scott picked up the Hobgoblin Dealer's Manual and searched through the pages, pausing at the section on sacrifice. "There's only one thing you can do, and that's offer up your life." "You mean kill myself?" Scott nodded, then read from the instructions:
It is permitted in the course of a melee for one character or another to forfeit his life for the common good. Such a gesture is considered noble and praiseworthy. However, the player is not allowed to run another character and is out of the game.
"Not much incentive there," said Valerie. "It may not be up to you, anyway." Scott went on:
The leader of the Adventure may choose not to allow anyone to give up his life, or may demand such payment from the character as would make the sacrifice worthless.
"What does that mean?" Valerie asked. Scott shrugged and gestured toward the tiny lead figures. "Well, the highwaymen want Marie's virginity. As leader of the Adventure, Brian Boru could call upon you to sleep with him first, and then you'd be worthless to the bandits." "But I can't sleep with Brian Boru. I'm marrying Lord Monaghan." "Well, he won't want to marry you, anyway, if the bandits get you." "But suppose I wasn't a virgin in the first place?" Valerie was now smirking. Scott shrugged agai
n. He had the dice in his hands and he kept flipping them nervously. "Well, if you aren't a virgin then you can't marry Lord Monaghan no matter what happens." "What about Brian Boru?" she asked, pressing. She could see her questions were making him nervous. "I don't know." "Yes, you do. What would Brian Boru think if Marie wasn't a virgin?" "He wouldn't sleep with her." "He wouldn't?" Scott shook his head, gestured to his paladin. "Brian's not like that." "Like what?" Valerie pressed. "He doesn't go around sleeping with girls for no good reason." "Doesn't he?" she teased. Scott shook his head. "Come on, let's play." "We are playing. We're trying to decide if it's better strategy for Brian Boru to fight the highwaymen or sleep with Marie." "What do you think?" Scott asked abruptly, sitting up and staring across the Battleboard at her. Valerie hesitated. She had been egging him along, pushing him about Brian Boru, and then the emphasis shifted. Now she was cornered by the conversation. "Well, Marie would much rather sleep with Brian than get raped by those highwaymen. I mean, it would be a gang bang. And besides, what girl wouldn't go to bed with Brian Boru?" She picked up the small lead figure and brought it closer, examining how carefully Scott had painted the knight. "He's cute," she said. Scott edged around the plastic Battleboard and slid up close to her. "But Brian Boru wouldn't rape her, you know." He reached up and took the tiny figure from her hands, held Brian high, like a prize. Valerie shrugged. "He wouldn't have to. It wouldn't be against her will or anything like that." She did not look up. Scott was slightly behind her. The length of her neck was exposed. She had such small ears, he saw. They looked soft and dewy, like the inside of a tulip. Her eyes were open, staring ahead, waiting. He moved only a few inches forward and kissed her on the nape of the neck. Her skin was warm, as if she had been in the sun all day. When he kissed her she leaned back against him and his arms swept around her body. She turned her face and this time kissed him back, holding him to her like a magnet. That startled him. He pulled back in alarm. "See, Brian, you don't have to rape me," she whispered, hooking her arms around his neck like a Yale lock. Scott kissed her again and this time he eased her back onto the floor, held her against him until they were both breathless. She turned her face sideways, gasping. "You've got to give me a chance to breathe, Scott." "I'm sorry. I never kissed a girl before," he admitted. "Never?" She lay back on the rug, giving herself some distance. "Well, you know what I mean, never like this." He did not know what to say. "Kiss me again," she said, as if it were a new experiment. This time he slid his hand up under her loose blouse and she reached down and seized his wrist, held his fingers away from her breasts. They kept kissing. He was afraid to break away from her lips, afraid he would have to withdraw his hand from the soft stomach. They rolled over on the rug, away from the fire and the Hobgoblin board, and stretched out flat beside the coffee table. "'The light is shining in my eyes," Valerie said. "I'll get it." Scott jumped to his feet and snapped off one reading lamp at the end of the couch, then went to the other side of the armchair and turned off the small lamp on the end table. "What are you doing?" she asked, rolling over on the rug to watch him. "You said the light was bothering your eyes." Scott kept moving around the living room snapping off lamps. "Well, leave some lights on." "We have the fire, Valerie." "That isn't enough. I can't see. What if your mother comes home and finds us in the dark?" Scott came back to Valerie, dropping down on his knees. "We can see the headlights from the beginning of the drive. It's easy to see cars coming and I'll just turn on some lights, that's all." He sounded older, as if he had done all this before. "I'm scared," she admitted. She looked up and around the room, at the shadows from the flickering fire leaping off the ceiling and walls. "Oh, scaredy-cat" He eased down beside her and hesitantly took her back into his arms. She relaxed gradually, wrapping herself into his embrace as if he were a safe spot in the room. For a few moments her eyes kept watching the shadows on the walls and then she realized she was frightening herself and she turned her face into Scott's and kissed him quickly, closing her eyes. He moved his left hand under her blouse, up her side and cupped her breast. Only when he touched her there did she gasp and then dart her tongue into his mouth. He was going to come, he realized, and pulled away, rolled off her. "What's the matter?" she asked, frightened by his suddenness. "Nothing. I'll be right back." "What's the matter?" she demanded, sitting up, straightening her blouse. "Nothing. I was going to get us some Coke." He was already across the room, away from the firelight. "Does my breath smell or something?" "No, Valerie! For crying out loud, nothing is wrong." He made it safely to the kitchen, snapping on the light as he let the swinging door close behind him. For a moment she sat puzzled, listening to Scott's movements, and then she realized what had happened and she smiled, feeling a sense of achievement. Shifting around, she stretched out in front of the fire, letting the heat lick across her face, and she closed her eyes, like a cat on a hearth. Her eyes were still closed when she heard the tapping at the bay window of the living room. At first it was faint and irregular and she took it for the sound of branches brushing against the glass. It stopped and she took a deep breath, trying to decide what should happen when Scott came back from the kitchen. He was making a production of it, rattling ice trays and running water. Then again she heard tapping at the window. It was louder and more persistent, a steady tapping on the pane of glass, as if someone were hitting his nails against the window. Valerie did not open her eyes, did not move from the fire. Scott would be back soon. She would let him go to the window and see what was outside. The tapping stopped. Valerie lifted her head and looked up. She could see several squares of glass in the bay window, but nothing beyond the black night. "Scott!" she called. "Yes, I'm coming." He picked up the glasses, then pushed through the swinging door and into the hallway. In the moment before the door swung closed, a block of bright light fell into the darkened living room, pinpointing Valerie on the carpet. "Scott, I think there's someone outside," she whispered, as he settled down beside her on the rug. "What?" He raised up on one arm, started to stand. "Wait." Valerie grabbed his arm. "When you were in the kitchen I heard tapping. It would start and then stop." "Like a branch?" "Yes, sort of." "Hey, dopey, that's what it is." Scott drained his glass of Coca-Cola. "Are you sure?" Scott nodded. "I've got branches against my windows and sometimes on windy nights they're so loud I can't even get to sleep." He stretched out beside her. "But it isn't windy," she whispered. "Come on, Val, you're just getting yourself scared over nothing. Look, I'll go turn on the porch light." "No." She grabbed his arm. "It's okay. I was only kidding." She smiled, trying to show it was only a game. She did not want him to leave her, or, worse, find anyone outside. They were safe in the house. And Mrs. Gardiner would be home soon. "Scott, just hold me, please." He brought her into his arms, lay back so she was resting against his chest. "I can hear your heart," she whispered. Scott touched Valerie's face, then the long nape of her neck. He couldn't think of a time when he had been happier. Just having her in his arms and knowing she was depending on him sent a surge of pride through him. He felt like Brian Boru, a paladin to this damsel in distress. When the tapping started again she clutched his shoulders. Her sudden fear swept across him, as if they were both caught in an offshore breaker. "Valerie, let go!" He tried to spill her off his body, but she wouldn't move. The tapping was louder, more insistent, as if whoever it was wanted to get inside. Scott tried to raise his head, but Valerie pushed him down, struggling to hold him from sight behind the sofa. "He'll see you," she insisted. "Valerie, we still don't know that anyone is outside." Valerie kept shaking her head. "It's not a branch. It's a person." "No one is on the estate but Conor and the security guard. They're not going to come knocking on the window." He tried again to pull himself up, but she fought back, held him down with her body. She had his arms pinned with her elbows. "It's Fergus's niece." Scott shook his head, not understanding. "They say Fergus kept his crazy niece locked up on the third floor of Ballycastle, but when he died no one could find her. She had run off into the woods." "Val, you're only frightening yourself. I never heard
about any niece. My mom never told me." The tapping stopped. They were both silent and alert, listening. Scott moved again and this time Valerie let him go. He crawled to the corner of the sofa. "Scott!" Valerie whispered, grabbing his leg. He kept moving, inching forward on his elbows, crawling between the coffee table and the sofa. He felt like Brian Boru on a commando raid, creeping into the village of Kilcolgen, attacking the Urisk, the hobgoblins who haunted lonely houses and terrified travelers at night. Brian had had to rid Kilcolgen of these spirits and send them back to Loch Katrine, using only magic and without killing any, for they were good spirits, turning evil only when harmed. Valerie crawled after him with her hand in his belt, as if afraid she'd lose him in the dark room. But she refused to move out from behind the sofa, or to let him do so. "Damn it, Val, I can't move." Scott reached back to pull her fingers from his belt and the small house shook. Someone was banging the outside wall. Scott rolled over on the carpet and Valerie could see that he too was scared. "We'll call the police," she said at once. "The security down at the main gate." She looked up, chanced a glance at the front door. "Is the door locked?" "No!" Scott shook his head. "Mom didn't lock the front door," he admitted, almost in tears. Valerie still had hold of him, her nails digging now into the flesh of his back. "We've got to lock the doors, Scott. Now!" "No, let's get into my bedroom. There's a lock on the door, and the phone in the kitchen reaches into there. Once we call the front gate, they'll be up to the house in a minute." Valerie nodded. Her fright had lodged in her throat like a piece of meat. "Ready?" She nodded again. Scott turned over and got to his knees, then hesitated, saying, "You go first." He had to raise his voice. There was more banging in the front; the sound was unrelenting, like a storm door swinging wildly in the wind. Valerie hesitated, afraid to expose herself. It seemed safer there, crouched behind the sofa. The banging stopped. Scott grabbed her shoulder, held her still as they listened. Perhaps the stranger had gone away. Perhaps there had been only the night wind. The outside storm door could have swung open and hit the house. He hadn't checked it after his mother left the house. They thought they heard the door knob rattle and both of them tore from their hiding place, stumbling over lamps and furniture and themselves as they raced for the room under the stairs. Scott pushed Valerie ahead of him and into the bedroom, then slammed and locked the door behind him. "Get down," he ordered, "on the floor." His single bed stood against the wall, below the windows. He reached across it and, grabbing the cord, dropped the venetian blinds with a crash, then crawled into the small space next to Valerie at the head of the bed. "They'll break the door down," she whispered. "No, they won't. They can't." "Can we shove the bed against the door?" "That won't do any good." "The chair. Put that chair under the door knob," Valerie directed. Scott jumped up and pulled his desk chair across the small room, fitted the back under the knob, and jammed it tight. "The phone, Scott. We forgot the telephone," Valerie whispered from the corner. "Oh, shit!" Scott spun around away from the door. It was too late now; he couldn't go into the hallway. Whoever it was would be in the living room, perhaps walking down the hall to the bedroom. Scott leaned against the thin wall, listening for footsteps. Someone was in the living room. He could hear furniture being moved. He looked back at Valerie, motioned her to be silent, and pressed his ear against the thin, wooden door. For a moment he could hear nothing but his heart, and the blood pounding against his ear drums.