Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  Perfect, Samuel thinks, he’ll be good and distracted.

  The Chevy starts up and Samuel follows the little black truck out of the parking lot, its SEAL bumper sticker mocking him every inch of the way. Fuck you, Samuel says to the bumper sticker.

  The lights of the strip fade in Samuel’s rearview mirror as Nevens takes Fourth Street toward the beach. It’s a route familiar to Samuel as he’s followed Nevens here twice before. Samuel has to be careful to hang back far enough so Nevens doesn’t spot him. Samuel knows that Nevens has most likely had a lot to drink. In a previous reconnaissance mission, Samuel watched the BUD/S instructor toss down ten beers in a little over an hour and a half. But Samuel knows that he still has to be careful.

  Samuel is feeling good. He’s got it back together. It was natural, he tells himself, to feel a little nervous taking that first step. But now he’s had time to adjust, to let the realization sink in that he is now operational. And he’s not dead tired now. He hasn’t been beaten into submission by fatigue and extreme cold.

  How will Nevens handle him now?

  Nearly a half-mile ahead, Nevens turns onto the small two-track that Samuel knows he favors. This is bimbo-fucking territory. Where Nevens chooses to deflower his plenty-times-deflowered women.

  Samuel casually drives past the entrance to the beach without even bothering to look. He knows what he would see: Nevens and the blond making out in the front seat of the truck, then breaking free and Nevens grabbing the blanket from behind the truck’s bench seat along with a stash of beer or a bottle of booze.

  Samuel pulls ahead into the parking lot of a strip mall that houses a grocery store, drug store, real estate office and a dentist’s office. There are enough cars in the parking lot, especially near the grocery store, that no one will remember seeing a white Ford Taurus.

  Samuel parks the car, retrieves the knife, and walks across the street to the sidewalk that runs parallel to the beach. There is a slope of sand with tall grass that hides the beach from the road. When there is no traffic coming from either direction, and when he is beyond visibility of anyone in the parking lot, Samuel scrambles over the rise and scurries to the bottom.

  He pauses, lets his eyes adjust to the darkness, takes in the reflection of the moon off the ocean. It’s a bit choppy out there tonight, a stiff wind coming in from the water.

  Samuel relishes the moist air. He’s always loved the ocean, the water.

  He takes the knife from its scabbard and slips the scabbard onto his belt, pushing it toward the back so it will be out of the way.

  He has chosen this area carefully. There is another small rise in the sand and on the other side of that will be Nevens. Samuel remembers watching Nevens fuck a cocktail waitress in the same spot last weekend. She was loud, a screamer. And Samuel remembers with revulsion the sight of Nevens’ bare ass, even more pale in the moonlight, on top of the woman, moving in a slow rhythm.

  Now, Samuel creeps toward the same bluff. He moves softly, not sure which way Nevens will be facing. The last two times Nevens has ended up facing away form the ocean, as they start on their backs looking toward the ocean, then when he climbs on top, he’s facing the other way.

  Samuel crawls toward the top of the small bluff and now he can hear them. The woman is moaning. There is a grunting noise and the sound of a metal can hitting another metal can. Nevens, polishing off another beer, Samuel thinks.

  At last, he reaches the top and peeks through the long grass. It is what he expected: The woman and Nevens are both kneeling, Nevens behind her, both facing the ocean.

  Samuel slowly sinks back down and works his way around the bluff. He must approach Nevens from behind as well.

  It takes him nearly ten minutes to get into position. All the while, Nevens’ thrusting has never stopped. That’s good, Samuel thinks, he’s helping cover any noises I make.

  Samuel pauses at the top of the bluff.

  There is only one way to accomplish this.

  Quickly, and without hesitation.

  His knife is in his hand. His heart is beating wildly. His mouth is dry. There is a pounding in his head and pain radiates from a spot above his right eye. He absentmindedly rubs it.

  He has to do it. With Nevens out of the way, he’ll make it through BUD/S the next time. Nevens hated him. Had it in for him.

  Samuel remembers what his father did to him, and how, after, he vowed he would never let another man do that. And Nevens had. He’d humiliated Samuel. Demeaned him. Stopped him from achieving the thing most precious to Samuel: his dream of becoming a Navy SEAL.

  And now, Nevens was going to die for it.

  Samuel starts forward with his knife gleaming in the moonlight.

  Six

  He is sitting in the water. His teeth are chattering. His body is shaking. He has never been this cold in his life. It feels as if all of the heat has been sucked from his body and freon poured into his guts. His head spins and he is completely disoriented.

  The waves come with maddening regularity, like big roundhouse punches that are impossible to avoid. They hit him in the face and the last bits of his spirit are washed away with each onslaught.

  He no longer remembers who he is, where he is, or why he is sitting in frigid water with a body that is screaming for the abuse to stop. His arms are linked with other recruits, the ones who have steadfastly refused to quit. He doesn’t know why they are still here. He only knows that his strength is gone, and that his mind is following.

  Samuel is a ghost. His face is pale. His jaw hangs open. The doctors periodically check him for shock.

  He will sit in the water because he cannot move. He couldn’t get up if he wanted to. They all sit and wait, their heads bowed as if in penitence, the waves slapping them with impunity.

  Water goes up Samuel’s nose. It makes him gag and cough.

  Nevens hears him.

  Suddenly, Nevens is in Samuel’s face. “You! Get the water out of your mouth - it’s not a cock or your mommy’s tit, boy!” Through half-lidded eyes, Samuel can make out the vague shape and color of Nevens’ face. Samuel is too fatigued to be furious. He only senses the anger. The hatred.

  His mother did protect him, and to hear Nevens talk about her…

  Suddenly, Samuel’s arms fall free of the men next to him and he leans forward just as a wave crashes into him. He topples over and briefly goes underwater. When he comes up, Nevens is in his face, yelling at him, calling him more names. Samuel hears a whistle and the others are getting out of the water, too, but Nevens is telling Samuel that he has made a goon squad of one and that now he, Samuel, must run.

  Nevens yells and suddenly Samuel is in front of the bell. He doesn’t know if he crawled there or Nevens dragged him. But he is there and his hand is on the rope. His head is pounding and he hears voices. His father’s. His mother’s. The other recruits telling him not to ring the bell. But Nevens voice is the loudest. It’s telling him he’s a quitter, a weakling who hasn’t got the guts to be a Navy SEAL.

  And then Samuel rings the bell.

  When the medics carry him from the beach and after he has been placed in a warm bed to sleep, Samuel thinks the clanging of the bell was the actual sound of his soul shattering.

  Seven

  Just as Samuel starts forward Nevens groans and shifts position. Samuel drops back down into the grass and waits, his heart threatening to beat its way out of his chest. Sweat is exploding from his body. His stomach is clenched like a fist.

  The woman rolls onto her back and pulls Nevens toward her. The two lay together as Samuel waits. When he is sure he hears the sound of soft, alcohol-induced snoring, he starts forward.

  The waves crash softly on the beach and Samuel makes no sound as he walks forward. His head is throbbing and his hand goes to the spot above his right eye. He freezes for just a moment, and the sheer enormity of what he’s about to do washes over him, like one of the ice-cold waves during Hell Week.

  He is moving quickly toward Nevens, his knife o
ut, his left hand free, ready to grab Nevens’ head, pull it back, and use the knife to slit his throat. But in his approach, he kicks a small dash of sand forward and it sprinkles Nevens’ forehead.

  Samuel watches in disbelief as Nevens, even though he’s drunk and in a post-sex slumber, reacts with astonishing speed.

  Nevens is almost on his feet when Samuel thrusts the knife forward. Samuel’s mind screams that Nevens can’t be moving this fast, that this wasn’t supposed to be how it would go. And a part of Samuel’s mind wonders if this will be the final failure, if Nevens hounding him out of Navy SEAL training was the second to last straw. That maybe Nevens and the rest of them were right; that Samuel doesn’t have what it takes to be a SEAL.

  But Samuel pays that voice no mind. He is on Nevens, ramming the knife into him. He pulls out the knife and thrusts it in again. He’s got an arm around the instructor and rips the knife up. Nevens screams and they both fall over the woman who is struggling to get to her feet.

  Before Samuel knows what’s happening, Nevens is on top of him, throwing punches of incredible force. Samuel feels pain in his ribs.

  How can this be? Samuel wonders. He springs to his feet and rushes Nevens who sidesteps him and lands a vicious karate chop on his forearm. The knife drops into the sand.

  Both men freeze.

  The knife seems to glow, a fractured image of the moon dances along the blade’s edge.

  And then they dive for the knife. Nevens gets to it first but Samuel grabs Nevens’ hand and they roll on the sand, fighting for position.

  With one great heave, Nevens rips the knife away from Samuel and slashes wildly. The tip of the knife catches Samuel on the side and he feels a flicker of pain. But Nevens comes toward him.

  “You,” Nevens says. His eyes are shining brightly, too brightly, Samuel thinks. He looks at Nevens body, sees the blood pumping from his chest where Samuel opened several deep gashes.

  Samuel crouches, warily circles Nevens.

  “Why?” Nevens asks.

  Samuel can see the light starting to go out of Nevens’ eyes.

  “Because I’m going to be a SEAL.”

  The knife begins to lower and Samuel can see Nevens’ legs sway. Nevens laughs and then falls forward.

  Samuel waits, thinking it’s a trick and only then does he realize that the woman is screaming. Her shrill voice spurs him into action. He pounces on Nevens, rips the knife from his hand and slits his throat.

  The woman is sobbing now, on her knees. Samuel advances on her. He puts down the knife, takes her long blonde hair and bunches it around his fist. She flails her arms at him uselessly. She is sobbing when Samuel grabs her jaw with his other hand and twists his body with all of his strength. The woman’s neck breaks with the sound of a muted snap.

  The water is cold and it reminds Samuel of Hell Week. But tonight it doesn’t bother him. He welcomes it. He has his arm around the blonde and is pulling her out to sea, out to the cross rip that starts a few hundred yards from shore. The blood is being washed from Samuel’s clothes and he swims with power.

  At last, he feels the tug of the current and he lets go of the blonde. He treads water, fighting the current until he sees that she is being taken out to sea. He then turns and kicks hard for the shore, breaking through the current after several minutes of hard swimming.

  It has taken him farther down the shore from where Nevens’ corpse is, but he makes it back, and emerges from the water re-born. It has cleansed him. His breathing is normal and he feels strong. Powerful. Like a God.

  Samuel drags Nevens to the blanket on which he and the blonde had been having sex. He looks down at the fallen BUD/S instructor. The pride, the pieces of his soul, it’s all re-forming inside him.

  The pain in his head has subsided.

  He has killed a Navy SEAL. And now, when he goes back to BUD/S training in eighteen months, there will be no Instructor Nevens to defeat him.

  Samuel picks up his shirt from the sand where he’d thrown it before taking the blonde out for her swim. He reaches into the pocket and pulls out a pair of surgical gloves and then the baggie with the used condom inside. He drops the condom onto the towel, then stands over Nevens.

  The wind from the ocean has changed. It’s colder and there are ominous clouds rolling in. It will rain soon, Samuel thinks.

  He takes a long look at the ocean. It will be some time before he sees it again. At least eighteen months.

  And when he comes back, he’ll get what he deserves.

  He’ll be a Navy SEAL.

  Eight

  In the girls’ locker room of Lake Orion High School, Beth Fischer is attempting to slow her heartbeat, to keep her muscles loose, to keep the adrenaline from pouring into her veins like a river overflowing its banks. She is sitting quietly in front of her bright orange locker. The carpet is a dull green. The bench upon which she’s sitting is lacquered pine, with hundreds of scratches and dents, a few gouges and indecipherable graffiti.

  Beth feels in control of her body. Some players try to pump themselves up, but for Beth, it’s always been keeping things under control. Her success has always been about being in control.

  She stands and stretches again, although she’s already as limber as she can possibly be. She reaches back and lifts her right foot, catches it and pulls it up against her butt. The muscles in her arms pop from her skin. She feels her quadriceps tug with the stretch and when she drops her foot, the muscle snaps into place. Firm. And strong. She repeats the process with her other leg and then bends down and touches her toes, pulling her hamstrings, her face against her knees.

  Beth straightens, rises up and down on her toes. Her calf muscles are clearly defined, standing out against the smooth skin like half-discs of steel. She hops in place. A teammate walks by and pats her on the rump. A locker slams somewhere. Beth turns and sees her reflection in the window of the coach’s office. Her face is sharp, her jaw set. No one would ever call her cute, or say she had the prom-queen look. But there is a tranquil beauty in her lean, strong face. The reflection doesn’t do her gray eyes justice, but even in the reflection she can see the intensity.

  Beth looks at the face in the window. She thinks about everything that’s riding on this game. It’s the first game of the state tournament and her school is playing the team picked to win it all. But that’s just a part of the prize. Tonight is also the biggest game of the season as far as the number of scouts who will be at the game. Most of them have been recruiting Beth since she was a sophomore and won the job of starting point guard on the varsity squad. Since then, her stats have improved every year. She led her team to the conference championship and was all-conference player of the year, leading everyone with points, assists and steals. Only one question remained among the scouts: could she do it against bigger, stronger opponents than her somewhat weak conference forced her to face?

  She doesn’t intend to disappoint them.

  Beth turns away from her image and goes to her locker. She opens the door and looks at the picture taped inside. It’s faded color photograph, the edges are folded and bent, one part is held together by a piece of Scotch tape. In the picture, a young man with light brown hair and bluish gray eyes looks into the camera. She can see the similarities with this image and the one she just looked at. The man in the picture is wearing Army fatigues and an M-14 machine gun is strapped across the man’s back.

  Her father.Beth looks into his eyes. She can see the quiet bravery in his eighteen-year old face. The same age then as she is now. She draws strength from the picture. And calmness. It’s as if he has the ability to focus her. To remind her what’s important. And that to fight with courage is sometimes the best you can do.

  The coach calls out for the team to gather. Beth hears the quiet voice of her teammates as they gather around the coach’s chalkboard.

  Beth slams the locker shut.

  The sound echoes like a gunshot.

  Nine

  The Lake Orion High School gym is big, with
a capacity of nearly two thousand people.

  Anna Fischer walks slowly, unsteadily, up the bleachers. She has never been here before, and isn’t used to walking on bleachers, the big steps, the big fall should one misstep. She walks slowly. Looking down, stepping, looking up, then looking down again, taking another step.

  She carries a big soda in her hand and a program in the other. She is an older woman in her fifties, tall and thin with a sagging face and tired eyes. She’s wearing blue jeans and a blue cotton sweatshirt that has had more than its share of tumbles in the dryer.

  Anna takes another step but her foot goes too far and she stops it in time, but her balance starts to go. She puts a hand out and grabs something, pushes herself upright. She looks down. Her hand is on a man’s head. He looks at her, a surprised “o” on his face. Anna smiles sheepishly and takes another step, then another one before she sits down, quickly.

  It is a good spot, about three rows from the top. She doesn’t want to sit at the very top because she thinks it’s too visible. She would rather sit a few rows down, try to blend in a little bit. Beth doesn’t know she is at the game, and by the look of the number of people at the gym, tonight wouldn’t be the night to distract her with her presence.

  Anna takes a deep breath and then takes a long drink from her soda. It’s diet Coke, or at least half of it is. The other half is some fine sour mash from the great state of Tennessee. After Anna has drained a quarter of the cup’s contents, she pops a stick of gum into her mouth and chews it. She doesn’t want to cause any trouble here. Doesn’t want to embarrass Beth whom she has heard is the star of the team.

  But Anna wants to watch her play. And she feels she has a right to watch her play. Beth is her daughter, after all.

  The pep band picks up and the local team runs out onto the court, forming itself into two lines for a layup drill. Anna knows the basic terms. Her husband taught her them when they were dating. He’d taken her to some games and they’d even horsed around at a playground basketball court not far from his apartment. He’d been good. Anna could still remember the ease with which he moved. The power in his legs when he exploded toward the basket for a dunk. She’d marveled at his pure athleticism. It had been one of the things she’d loved about him.