by Kristie Cook
Reed’s expression turns serious. “That would be an unfortunate decision for her to make,” he replies in a serious tone, watching Russell close.
Taking a step toward the tent, I tug on Russell’s hand in mine, saying, “Let’s go find the bus. We don’t want to miss it.”
“You go on,” Russell says, refusing to move with me. “Reed and I are just gonna have a little man-to-man, then I’ll meet ya on the bus,” he replies, not taking his eyes off of Reed.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears. “This is stupid,” I say to Russell, trying not to show my growing panic. “He can’t make me leave, so this is pointless. Let’s just go.”
Russell glances at me. “Yer right, he can’t make ya go, but intimidation is another story. Ya weren’t thinkin’ ‘bout intimidatin’ Genevieve, were ya, Reed? ‘Cuz that would be unfortunate,” Russell says in a low, dangerous tone, smiling at Reed smoothly.
Reed’s eyes zero in on our hands clasped together. Then he seems to come to a decision in the next moment as he addresses Russell directly. “You will go to the buses and board one. You will not attempt to communicate with anyone or try to get off the bus until you reach the school. Go now,” Reed orders, using his voice that slithers and hisses.
After tightening his grip on my hand, Russell begins to drag me along the path to the tent. He is moving stiffly, almost involuntarily, like he is trying to fight himself every step of the way.
Something like a growl of frustration comes from Reed before he adds, “Release Genevieve.”
Russell immediately lets go of my hand. He continues on ahead of me, still walking stiffly, not anything like the natural grace that is innate to him.
“Russell, wait!” I say breathlessly, but he doesn’t even look back at me.
In less than a moment, Reed is standing next to me. His voice, silky and sexy again, lacks any undertone as he says, “I have to admit, Genevieve, that boy is determined to protect you. I didn’t think he would have the mental toughness to resist me, but he surprised me when he tried to drag you off with him.”
“What did you do to him?” I ask with what I hope sounds more like indignation, than a high-pitched squeak of fear.
Standing next to me, Reed tilts his head to the side as if listening to something intently. “Your heart is beating so fast, Genevieve … are you afraid?” he ends in a question, seemingly amazed when I just stare at him, my heart still racing. “Calm down, Genevieve. I just want to reason with you. I am sure that you can see that this is not the right place for you.”
“Calm down! Are you serious?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low and even. “I’m sorry, Reed, do I seem tweeked to you?” I snap. What was that? I feel like I just swallowed an entire bottle of cough syrup and am now having a nightmarishly absurd trip.
The hysteria I have been holding off until now begins to grip me. “How did you just make Russell leave?” I ask in a near whisper. Reed frowns, but doesn’t answer. Backing away from him as I gesture with my thumb, pointing it back over my shoulder, I say breathlessly, “I’m gonna go now … I’m sorry this conversation isn’t reading on my awesomeness scale … so later.”
“That is too bad, because this is the most interesting conversation I have had in a long time. I was surprised to find you here, and as you can imagine, I am rarely surprised by anything. I was not expecting to see someone like you at Crestwood; you are quite unique. What are you doing here?” he asks with an air of stern authority that is really quite scary.
“I’m going to school, what does it look like I’m doing?” I ask, trying to hold it together. “And what do you mean by ‘someone like me?’” I ask him with suspicion.
“You know what I mean,” he accuses as his eyebrows draw together.
Momentarily distracted by the flawlessness of his face, I study the perfect symmetry of it, noting that even though he is scowling, it doesn’t detract from how lovely he is. But as the ugliness of his words dawn on me, I feel even more hideous because they are coming from such an attractive person.
“You think I shouldn’t be here just because I can’t pay the tuition? Are you calling me trash?” I ask, feeling myself blush in embarrassment. “I earned the right to be here with every grade I struggled to get, and if you think that I have to stand here and listen to this … this … Urr,” I growl, turning from him.
I begin marching in the direction of the tent because I have to get away from Reed, even though I know it is stupid to turn my back on him. I don’t get far before having to stop because Reed is directly in front of me, blocking the way to the tent. I look over my shoulder in confusion to where he had been standing only seconds ago. The distance doesn’t make sense. When our eyes meet again, icy tremors of fear creep through me. I start to back up, feeling disoriented.
Reed’s hand grips my elbow as he says tightly between his teeth, “That is not what I meant.”
“Then, what did you mean?” I ask, but it’s hard to get the words out above a whisper.
Wrenching my arm, I twist it to try to get him to let go of me. He seems not to notice at all—his arm won’t even move. “I meant,” he says, gritting his teeth, “I was surprised to see someone like you here, with parents like yours.”
In shock, my mouth falls open again before I ask, “What do you know about my parents? You are calling me trash! How can you know about my parents?” I struggle hard against his vise-like grip on my elbow. “Let go of me you total elitist! I can’t believe you’re even speaking to me with my lack of pedigree. I may not be wealthy, Reed, but I’m a decent person. So I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone!”
“You may leave when you have answered my questions. In fact, I will insist upon it. Who is your father, Genevieve?” Reed demands.
The blood drains from my face, and I stop struggling. It feels like he punched me in the stomach with that question. Looking away from him, I can’t answer, not only because I don’t know, but also because the sorrow of not knowing and being ridiculed for it just never seems to get easier. It is silly to feel shame over something I have no control over, like this, but reason doesn’t always stand up to pain and come out the victor. My throat tightens and begins to ache. Slowly, I slip the strap of my bag down my arm while reaching my hand inside it.
“You don’t know, do you?” Reed asks in a thoughtful tone, almost to himself. “You don’t know anything … no one knows about you yet … that is the only explanation as to why you’re still here,” he says, studying me. “No one is protecting you. You are all alone, aren’t you?” he asks while he lets my elbow drop from his hand.
I can no longer see his face clearly because my tears are making it impossible, but unfortunately for him, I’ve found what I’ve been searching for in my bag. “I don’t need anyone to protect me when I have this!” I say in a desperate tone.
Pushing the Taser into his side, I release the safety and pull the trigger. The hot, kinetic sizzle of electricity snarls through the gun and into his torso, but Reed doesn’t fall down and start twitching like in the demonstration video. Instead, his eyebrows shoot up in an expression somewhere between disbelief and amazement as he asks, “Are you serious?”
Raw, choking fear, like I’ve never felt before, makes my hands tremble. I drop the Taser. It hits the ground and immediately extinguishes. “I’m sorry, my bad … I’m just going to go now,” I say, backing away from him on shaky legs. “We can talk again later, okay?” I ask in a pleading tone.
Reed doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move either, so I continue retreating from him. When I’m a little further away, I turn and flee from him in the direction of the soft pools of light near the tent flaps. As I enter the tent, the caterers are still packing up the tables and chairs and placing them on long carts to take out to their trucks. Stumbling numbly by piles of stained linen tablecloths, I exit the flap where I had entered at the beginning of the evening. Searching around frantically for the buses, I almost begin flipping out when I realize that they are already go
ne.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Sweet, this is so perfect! I think sarcastically as I bounce up and down with anxiety. It’s either go back in the tent and beg a ride from the caterers, who probably won’t be leaving for hours, or start walking back to school. Damn!
Unable to contain my urge to flee the scene, I start jogging down the road that winds around the lake. It’s dark now, but there is illumination from a three-quarter moon, making it easier to see the road as it snakes ahead of me. The lake itself is calm; the sound of the water sways gently above the croaking of the frogs, and the rhythmic chirping of the crickets. My mind is a storm by comparison.
I have several questions that need answers: What kind of technology is available that will allow a person’s voice to influence another person? Is it technology? Or is it a technique, like hypnosis? And why did it work on Russell and not on me? Or was Russell fronting? Can Reed and Russell be in this together just to scare me? That last question makes me feel worse than ever, so I run faster toward campus. I don’t let up until I see the hazy glow of lights from the town of Crestwood up ahead.
Civilization, thank God! Relief swamps me at having made it to town, I’m breathing easier, seeing people out walking their dogs in the evening air. It seems safer to be near them—normal—even if they’re complete strangers. The black iron streetlamps lining the sidewalk lead the way through town as I hurry from one pool of light to the next.
Up ahead, someone is running toward me on the sidewalk, hyping up the adrenaline already coursing through my veins. The street lamp bleaches his hair, making it look more surfer-blond than tawny. Exhaling a huge breath, I recognize that it isn’t a slasher come to kill me, but Russell. I experience only a moment of relief. Then, bracing myself, I expect to be knocked down by the impact of Russell’s huge, muscular body plowing into mine. But instead, he catches me in his arms, embracing me in an enormous, bone-crushing hug.
“Red … are … ya … o … kay?” Russell asks, panting and holding me to his chest. He’s damp with sweat, probably from sprinting flat out the moment he had exited the bus.
“Russ … can’t … breathe,” I manage to respond, even as the air in my lungs is being forced out of me. Almost instantly, he eases up, allowing me to draw in a ragged breath. “I’m okay,” I say, “I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.” Russell’s frown churns in shades—from dark to black—as he continues to pant, looking me over for any obvious signs of trauma. “Really,” I say gently, my eyes meeting his lovely brown ones. “You can put me down now. I’m okay.”
To prove my point, I wiggle my dangling feet. Gently, Russell sets me back on the ground, but he doesn’t release me. Resting his chin on the top of my head, he continues to hug me close to his body.
“Russell, I’m—”
“Shhh.” Russell breathes into my hair. “Just gimme a second here. I have a pretty active imagination, and it was workin’ overtime on the bus all the way back. So just gimme a minute, then I’m gonna walk ya home, and then I’m gonna go find Reed, rip his arm off, and beat him with it.”
“No, Russell, you can’t!” I say, pulling back from his embrace to look up into his brown eyes.
“Yeah, I can, and I’m gonna,” he retorts, just as emphatically.
“No, you really can’t! I’m serious. Reed seems to have some sort of a power of suggestion that can make you do things against your will. He can probably make you beat yourself up and not even lift a finger,” I argue, trying to reason with Russell. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it didn’t look like it was your idea to leave tonight.”
Russell’s frown darkens. “Naw, that wasn’t my idea. So I’ll get some earplugs. Then I’ll rip his arm off and beat him with it,” Russell states, not at all dissuaded by my objection.
“A good plan—could possibly work, but I have a feeling that there is more to Reed than what we are seeing on the surface,” I say, trying to take another tack.
“Some sort of a gag, so he can’t talk,” Russell says, almost to himself.
“What if Reed can do more than the thing with his voice?” I ask.
“Whaddaya mean, Red?” Russell asks in confusion.
“I mean, what if he can do other stuff, too? Like, after he made you leave us, he said something about my heart,” I explain, trying to remember the conversation with Reed.
“Yer heart?” he asks, attempting to keep up.
“Yeah … Reed said, ‘Your heart is beating so fast, Genevieve,’ and that I should try to calm down,” I say slowly. “But he wasn’t close enough to hear my heart, but it seemed to me that he did hear it—the way his head tilted to the side—like he was listening. It was beating really fast because I was really scared when I saw you leaving.”
“I’m sorry, Evie,” Russell says with a look of horror, “I tried to stop, to turn ‘round and come back for ya, but it was like someone else was in control of me, and I had no choice but to frickin’ cop to it. I’ve never felt so useless in my life,” Russell explains, dipping his head in remorse.
“Stop, Russell, you don’t have to say you’re sorry. I was there—remember? I heard his voice, too,” I say, placing my hand on his arm. “In fact, Reed tried that voice on me a couple of times already, but it doesn’t work on me.” I feel guilty for briefly thinking that Russell was in on this with Reed. It’s obvious that Russell is just as tweeked as I am over what has happened tonight.
“Why does he want ya to leave school?” Russell asks in anger. “And why doesn’t it work on you? ‘Cuz I felt like Elmo.”
“Elmo?” I ask.
“A puppet,” he replies.
“Oh. I don’t know why he wants me to leave. Maybe I don’t have enough bank for him,” I hedge, not wanting to explain to Russell about my upbringing and lack of parental units. “He said something about Crestwood not being right for me.”
“I don’t have money either. What does that matter?” asks Russell furiously.
“I’m not sure,” I reply, feeling uncomfortable about not being completely honest with him. I want to tell him everything, but I can’t seem to bring myself to explain to him how I had been raised, so I can’t tell him about the rest of what Reed had said. I rub my forehead, saying, “I have some questions I need answered before either of us approaches Reed. You have to promise me that you aren’t going to try to talk to him until we know more about how his persuasion works.”
“Did I say I want to talk to him?” he asks me sarcastically. “I can get my point across without sayin’ a word.”
“Promise me,” I say again in a quiet tone.
“So, where’re ya stayin’ anyway? Are ya in Oldmen?” he asks, attempting to evade the pledge.
“No, I’m in Yeats, but don’t try to change the subject,” I counter. “Listen, at least think about your scholarship. You can’t beat someone down and hope to stay on the team, especially not the guy whose family is a main contributor to the school.”
At this, Russell laces his fingers together behind his head and groans in frustration. My argument has hit a nerve, and I feel the tide turning to my side. I feel relief. I’m really concerned about Russell. He appears to be the stronger of the two, but somehow I know that that isn’t the case.
“It wouldn’t be a beat down, Red; this would be more of a good ol’ fashion ass kickin’,” he says, smiling until he sees the look on my face. Then he groans. “Yer tyin’ my hands, Red. The first rule for dealin’ with a bully is to confront him head on, so he knows yer not afraid of him and that yer not gonna stand for his shen,” Russell explains, glaring at me accusingly.
“Shenanigans, huh?” I ask with a ghost of a smile. “Well, I see your point. I’m just saying that maybe we should try getting a look at our bully’s playbook before we challenge him to a game.”
Russell stops then, peering down at me. “Who are ya?” he asks me.
I’m taken aback. That is the second time tonight someone has questioned who I am. “I’m just a girl,” I say,
somewhat defensively. We arrive at my dormitory. “Well, this is me,” I say with a sigh, indicating the door to my dorm and fumbling for my key. “I guess I’ll see you around campus, huh?”
“Yeah, especially if ya agree to meet me at the union after registration tomorrow. Ya didn’t boyfriend drop me, so I’m assumin’ it’s all right,” he smiles, waiting for my answer. He means that since I haven’t yet mentioned a boyfriend to him, he is going to assume that I don’t have one.
“No boyfriend to drop. Anyway, we’re just talking,” I reply, smiling back shyly.
“What time do ya register?” Russell asks me, his brown eyes watching me close.
“Umm, in the morning, around eight-thirty, I think. You?” I ask, trying to cover my surprise at his invitation.
“I’m already pre-registered. I just have to go and make it official tomorrow. It shouldn’t take ya more than an hour to register for yer classes. Meet me at the union at around ten o’clock—we’ll go buy our books together,” he says.
“Okay, I’ll see you at ten,” I reply. As I stick the key in the door, I remember something very important. Turning back, I see Russell walking away, so I call out to him, “Hey! You didn’t promise me about confronting Reed!”
“I know,” he calls back over his shoulder as he walks away.
Stumbling up the stairs to my room, I throw my bag down by the door. I’m to my desk with my laptop open before I know what I’m doing. With a fresh email to Uncle Jim ready to go, I want to bludgeon the keys of my keyboard with an account of what had happened to me, but I can’t. My hands shake as they hover above the keys. Remembering my encounter with Reed by the lake, the locomotive beat of my heart far surpasses the idle tempo of the blinking cursor.
How do I explain the kind of phenomena I experienced with Reed to someone and make it sound plausible? It doesn’t really matter if Uncle Jim believes me or not. He would come to Crestwood regardless, but then what? Maybe we can go to the police? But, there is no way they will buy this. I wouldn’t be surprised if they demand a drug test from me on the spot.