Eye of the Storm

by Sara Reinke

  She wondered if he meant to ask her to the homecoming dance now. She’d been waiting all night long for the two of them to be alone, because otherwise, Nathan hadn’t paid much attention to her. He’d been too busy with his buddies―M.K.’s boyfriend, Jeremy, and a gaggle of other older boys from their high school, laughing and smoking cigarettes, drinking beer and shooting pool.

  Just the thought of him asking her out left her heart fluttering nervously and made her stomach twist in eager anticipation. Already in her mind, she could picture them together at the homecoming dance, walking in on his elbow, feeling his arms around her as he held her close to dance.

  She glanced at Nathan and found him watching the dancefloor, bobbing his head and tapping his fingers against his plastic cup in time with the music. After a long moment, he noticed her attention and cut his eyes her way. Bethany blushed again, jerking her gaze toward her cup, and he laughed.

  “Hey,” he said, nudging her with his elbow. “You wanna have some fun?”

  “What?” Bethany blinked at him, smiling, but puzzled, as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small aluminum foil packet. He glanced around, holding the packet beneath the edge of the table and out of ready view, and then quickly opened it.

  “I said, do you wanna have some fun?” he asked her again, more quietly this time, leaning forward to show her what was in the packet―a half dozen pills. “It’s Extasy,” he said. “Good shit.” He pinched one between his forefinger and thumb, offering it to her. “Here.”

  “No,” Bethany said, shying back, shaking her head. “No, I…no thanks, Nathan. I don’t…”

  “It won’t fuck you up,” he said. “Really. It just gives you a killer buzz, that’s all.” Again, she shook her head, and he shrugged, sitting back from her. “Suit yourself.”

  She watched him pop the pill, then fold the foil up and return it to his pocket. He scooted slightly away from her, not clear back to the other side of the booth, but far enough to let her know he thought she was lame. Her heart sank, and she felt the dim heat of tears in her eyes. Nothing she’d done that night was right. Everyone thought she was lame. She didn’t like the alcohol, so while everyone else was getting drunk―M.K. included―she was the only one still sober. The sandals she’d borrowed from M.K. ached her feet, and the straps had worn blisters into her heels, and so she hadn’t felt like dancing. Dozens of kids had flocked to and from and around their table all night long, laughing and smoking, and Bethany had sat there like a lump the entire time. M.K. had tried at first to coax her into dancing, drinking, loosening up a bit, but had abandoned her efforts about an hour ago to pursue her own fun. Bethany had watched M.K. bumping and grinding on the dance floor, a drink constantly in one hand, a cigarette in the other, good-looking young men always surrounding her, and she’d felt envious and unhappy.

  “So, hey,” Nathan said, sliding toward her again. This time, he didn’t stop until he was immediately next to her, their hips touching, and when he put his arm around her, Bethany stiffened in surprise. “I was thinking…” He leaned forward, speaking in an intimate proximity to her ear, his breath tickling her, making her giggle.

  He’s going to ask me now, she thought, her heart jackhammering. He doesn’t think I’m lame, after all! He’s going to ask me to the dance!

  “You think M.K. would go with me to Homecoming?” Nathan said against her ear, and Bethany stiffened again in new surprise.

  “What?” she asked, blinking stupidly.

  “I mean, she and Jeremy, they’re not serious,” Nathan said. “And she’s been talking to me a lot lately, like she’s interested in me. She was bugging me all week about that fake license for you. I gave it to her for free, and I thought maybe she might…I dunno…feel like she owes me or something.”

  Bethany shook her head once, her eyes wide. “You…you gave it to her because you thought she’d go out with you?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, then laughed. “I had to pay fifty bucks for that. What―do you think I’d give it to her for nothing?” He sat back from her, puzzled. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Bethany muttered, shrugging away from his arm, sliding out from the booth.

  “No, come on, what?” Nathan said, reaching out, catching her by the wrist. “Did she say something? What’s wrong?”

  “M.K. said plenty, Nathan,” Bethany replied, flapping her arm, dislodging his hand. “And it was all a bunch of lies.”

  She turned around and shoved her way forcibly through the crowd, heading for the bathroom. She tried not to cry like a stupid baby, but the tears came anyway, streaming down her cheeks, ruining her glittery eye make-up.

  M.K. found her there ten minutes later, alerted to her presence by some of her friends, who had seen Bethany sniffling in line for one of the four bathroom stalls. Bethany had locked the door behind her and not come out. She sat on the hard, cold tile floor, a wad of toilet paper in her hands, her tears still seeping, her lips quivering miserably.

  “Beth?” M.K. rapped her knuckles lightly on the door.

  “Go away,” Bethany said.

  She heard M.K. grunt, and watched her sister drop to her knees beyond the bottom of the stall door. M.K. leaned over, peeking in at her. “Hey,” she said, her brows lifting. She was clearly drunk. Her eyes were heavily lidded, her speech somewhat slurred, her face flushed. “Hey, honey-bunny. What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Open the door and let me in.”

  “No,” Bethany said, kicking at her, driving her back. “Go away, M.K. You’re drunk. Just leave me alone!”

  Fresh new tears spilled, and she folded her arms over her knees, tucking her head down against this makeshift nook. Her shoulders trembled and she hiccupped for unhappy breath. M.K. grunted again, and Bethany heard the stall door rattle. She looked up in time to see her sister wriggling beneath the door, crawling in on her belly.

  “I’m not drunk,” she growled at Bethany once on the other side. She sat up, dusting off her top, swaying unsteadily from side to side. “I’m not drunk. I’m just a little…wasted. It’s not the same. You know, people puke on this floor.”

  “Go away,” Bethany said.

  “What happened?” M.K. asked. “Did somebody say something to you? Did someone mess with you?”

  “Yeah,” Bethany replied. “You did, M.K. You lied to me. You…you told me Nathan Darcy liked me. You told me he wanted to ask me out!”

  M.K. blinked at her. “I told you that because that’s what he said. Why? What did he tell you?”

  Bethany uttered a miserable little sob. “He…he asked if I thought you’d go with him to the homecoming dance. He said that…that’s the only reason he gave you my I.D. Not…not because he liked me, but because he…he likes you.”

  She covered her face with her hands.

  “That asshole,” M.K. said. She put her arm clumsily around Bethany and drew her near. Bethany could smell the pungent stink of alcohol on her. “Bethie, honey, I’m sorry. I’m really, really, really sorry. I didn’t know. I thought he liked you. He’s an asshole. I’ll get Jeremy to kick his ass.”

  “No,” Bethany said, shaking her head. She looked up at M.K. “Can we just go home now? Please, M.K.? I want to go home.”

  * * *

  It took them another twenty minutes to find Jeremy. To Bethany’s dismay, he was even drunker than M.K.; so drunk in fact, that M.K. had to keep slapping at his hands, laughing and sidestepping to keep him from groping her ass and boobs in front of everyone.

  “I’ll give you a ride, alright,” he promised M.K. with a bawdy wink, as he stumbled clumsily in place, his words heavily slurred.

  Terrific, Bethany thought. So much for our way home.

  “We can call a cab,” M.K. told her, hooking her arm around Bethany and nearly knocking her over sideways as she staggered drunkenly. “I do all the time. Jeremy’s always getting wasted. He’s such a fuck.”

  Bethany surveyed the contents of her little purse grimly. She’d only brought fifteen dollars with her
. Five of it had gone toward her cover charge to get into the nightclub, and five had gone toward the tequila sunrise. Five bucks wasn’t going to get them down the block, much less back to their father’s apartment. “How much money do you have?” she asked M.K.

  M.K. opened her purse, promptly spilling its contents all over the floor, sending lipstick, mints, spare change, crumpled receipts and her housekeys scattering. “Goddamn it…!” M.K. muttered, dropping to her knees and trying to save what she could from being lost underfoot.

  She found a couple of wadded up dollar bills, but nothing more by way of money. “Jeremy always buys me drinks,” she said. “I never bring much. Hang on. You wait here. I’ll go collect from everyone. That’s what I’ve done before.”

  She then proceded to wheel about, stumbling and floundering up to complete strangers, asking them for money. Since she was approaching only young men, most of them took the time to wrap an arm around her and make her laugh, attempting to barter some exchange for the cab fare.

  I’m in hell, Bethany thought, pushing and shouldering her way toward the entrance. God, just let me get home. I swear I’ll never do anything this stupid again.

  She had the bouncer stamp her hand so she could duck back inside and collect M.K. She walked down the sidewalk, shivering in the cool night air, a stark and startling contrast to the humid heat within Snake Eyes. She fished her cell phone out of her purse and flipped back the lid. I can’t call Daddy, she thought. God, he’ll shit a brick. I can’t call Mom, either, because she’ll think it’s all Daddy’s fault, since we’re with him this weekend.

  She thought of calling her best friend, Gloria’s house. Gloria’s mother would probably come and get them, but it was late, and she would wake Paul up to tell him where they’d been. Then we’ll just get in triple trouble―for sneaking out of the apartment, for drinking and for not calling him in the first place to come and get him.

  Bethany’s thumb hovered uncertainly, hesitantly over the speed-dial button for Paul’s cell phone. No, she thought at last, shaking her head. M.K.’s right―if he really is out working on a case, he doesn’t even know we’re gone. All we have to do is just find a way to get home so he won’t even notice―so he won’t ever know. Someone we can get on our side. Someone who will help us.

  She skimmed through her quick-dial directory and hit the number for her uncle’s house. She winced, her heart pounding, her insides icy with anxiety as the phone rang once, twice, a third time. Finally, with the fourth ring, Jay answered, his voice hoarse and dazed.

  “Yeah…hullo…?”

  “Uncle Jay?” Bethany whimpered, and she didn’t have to fake the sudden warble in her voice. Her eyes swam with tears, but thankfully, she had no mascara left to ruin. “Uncle Jay, I…please, we need your help.”

  * * *

  He was there in a half an hour. Bethany and M.K. waited for him just beyond the crowded foyer, and Bethany nearly burst into tears again to see Jay shouldering his way through the crowd, looking for them.

  “There he is!” she said, elbowing M.K. firmly in the ribs.

  “That’s your uncle?” exclaimed one of M.K.’s friends, Danielle, who was damn near as drunk as M.K. “Wow, he’s pretty hot! Like Orlando Bloom…except old!”

  “Hi, Jay,” Bethany said, smiling sheepishly, not because he’d been near enough and Danielle had been loud enough for him to hear, but because seeing him―and the unhappy disappointment in his face, was enough to cement in her mind the gravity of the situation. She felt immediately ashamed of herself.

  “Hey, Bethany,” he said.

  “Jay, hey!” M.K. exclaimed happily, draping her arms about his neck and awarding him a loud, schnapps-flavored smooch on the corner of his mouth. “Danielle says you look like Orlando Bloom, did you hear? Jay just got back today from his honeymoon, everyone. He went to the Bahamas.”

  This elicited a chorus of slurred oo’s and ah’s from M.K.’s gaggle of friends.

  “Jay’s my most favorite uncle ever,” M.K. declared, kissing him again. “You want a shot for the road?”

  “No, thanks,” Jay said, slipping a steadying arm around her waist.

  “Can I have one, then?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied, steering her toward the door. “Say good-night, M.K.”

  “G’night, M.K.!” M.K. called cheerfully, leaning precariously back against his arm, and twisting at the waist to wave to her friends. “See you guys later! Don’t let Jeremy puke in his car!”

  M.K. stumbled and staggered along the sidewalk, leaning heavily against Jay, who held her closely, holding her upright. “God, I’m drunk,” she said, giggling.

  “Yeah, I can see that, kiddo,” Jay said, making her snort loudly with laughter.

  Bethany walked alongside of him, her shoulders hunched, her eyes downcast. “You’re not going to tell Daddy, are you, Jay?”

  “Ahhh, Bethany,” he said, looking at her plaintively. “Don’t do that to me, okay? Don’t make me the bad guy. You know I’ve got to tell your dad.”

  “Oh, no, please,” M.K. pleaded, staggering to a halt. Her knees buckled and she swayed, nearly pitching onto her face. Jay kept his arm around her and lifted her upright again, supporting her slight weight nearly in full. “Please, Jay, don’t tell,” she said. “We’re not making you the bad guy―honest. I don’t always get this drunk. In fact, I never get this drunk.” She shook her heard with inebriated earnesty. “He’s gonna shit the bed if you tell. Please, Jay.”

  “He’s not even home, anyway,” Bethany said. “He had to go out tonight, something for work, he said. You know how he is when he’s working a case―he’ll be out until the morning, probably.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Jay said. “And that doesn’t make it right, what you two have done.”

  “Didn’t you ever do something stupid when you were a kid?” Bethany asked him. She wasn’t speaking of M.K. or her intoxication; she was alluding to her own foolish decision to tag along that night, and figured Jay would understand. “Something you were really sorry for, and wished you could take back? Something you promise to never do again?”

  “Of course I did,” Jay said. “But that doesn’t make a difference.” They had reached his car, a black Volvo station wagon, parked in the back of the cramped, crowded parking lot. The nearest streetlight was burned out, and the car was shadow-draped, bathed in darkness. Jay balanced M.K. on his right side and fished his keyring out of the hip pocket of his jeans with his left hand. He thumbed a button on the remote control, and the doors unlocked, the interior lights coming on with soft, amber glow.

  He glanced at Bethany over his shoulder as he opened the back door and helped M.K. inside. He pressed his hand over the cap of her head to prevent her from cracking her skull on the doorframe in her drunken clumsiness. “You know better, Bethany,” he said, and again, the shame within her was overwhelming, tightening in her throat and chest, smothering the breath from her. “Both of you do. And your dad doesn’t need this. It’s been really hard for him since the divorce. Come on, you don’t need me to tell you that.”

  He stepped away from the door and flicked his hand, pointing. “In, please,” he said to Bethany.

  “Can’t we just spend the night at your house, then?” Bethany asked. “M.K.’s really messed up, Jay. What if he’s not home when we get back to the apartment? We―”

  “I’ll think about it,” Jay said, motioning to the door again.

  “Please, Jay,” Bethany said. “He won’t be so mad if you explain it to him tomorrow morning. Then we could―”

  “I said I’ll think about it,” Jay said.

  Bethany sighed and stepped past him, ducking her head and sitting beside her sister in the backseat of the wagon. Jay bent over, leaning toward them, draping one arm over top of the opened door and keeping the other against the door frame. Bethany couldn’t see anything beyond him, thanks to the golden glare from the interior dome light, still ablaze with the door ajar.

  “M.K., honey, a
re you going to be sick?” Jay asked, because M.K. had slumped against the far window, closing her eyes, her pallor decidedly ashen.

  “I might, yes,” she murmured, nodding, her voice coming from fathoms away, her eyes still closed.

  “Hang on,” Jay said, straightening. “I’ve got a plastic bag in the glove compartment. I’ll―”

  As he spoke, Bethany thought she spied a hint of movement behind him, a shadow moving in the darkness past his shoulder. She heard a strange sound, a sort of crackling hiss, and Jay suddenly lurched in the doorway, arching his spine, his head snapping back on his neck in a violent convulsion. He uttered a sharp, choked cry and then fell forward, crashing brutally against the doorframe. She saw a spray of blood―it peppered against her face―and heard a moist crunch as he caught the brunt of the impact with his nose and mouth, and then he crumpled to the ground.

  “Jay!” Bethany cried, her eyes flown wide. She scrambled forward, thinking he’d suffered a heart attack or something, and then she realized there was someone standing outside of the car, the shadowy figure of a man behind Jay, holding something out in his hand.

  She heard the strange crackling again, and shied back as a quivering, crooked seam of blue light flashed in the darkness―a narrow stream of electrical current, alive and hissing; a stun gun.

  “Jay…!” she whimpered, frightened, pressing herself against M.K., and then the figure leaned through the car door, stepping over Jay’s twitching, groaning form. Bethany caught a glimspe of a black ski mask and nothing more―except for the stun gun as its twin prongs shoved abruptly against her belly.

  * * *

  “Hey, stranger.”

  Paul jumped in surprise when he heard Susan’s voice and halted in midstep as he walked toward the front entrance of his apartment building. He turned and found her coming toward him, a quizzical expression on her face. She was dressed for her morning run.