Red Hourglass

by Scarlet Risqué

  “Clean up this room if you don’t want a beating!” He stormed out and slammed the door.

  I found another pocketknife I’d hidden under my bed and started playing with it. I liked the way I could control how the light shined off the blade … and knowing that I could use it to cut through anything I wanted.

  If only I were strong enough to overpower my stepfather. If only I could run away from this hell. I swore that I would take my revenge one day.

  * * *

  To avoid the wrath of my stepfather, I began cooking and cleaning every day. He would put his spare change on the table beside the front door before he left to work the fields. He only ever used the money for booze and cigarettes, so I started taking some of it to buy food from the nearby market. I’d seen my mother cook, and I recalled enough to make meals.

  My stepfather drank himself stupid every night after dinner. During the week he sat in front of the old TV that didn’t get reception when the weather was bad. It didn’t matter what was on, and if the reception was bad he would just stare at the snow on the screen and drink. When my mother was still around, she’d watch with him. After she was gone, he sat in the same spot on the sofa, next to her empty seat. He went to the local bar for his drinks on weekends. Years passed, and he continued to drink away his nights.

  I planned to escape when I turned sixteen. I read as much as I could about city life and other places and countries that I could explore after I left the farm. I had maps tucked under my bed, and every night I would unfold them and imagine where my travels would take me once I made my way out of hell.

  Max

  Max bullied the weak boys at school and coerced them into giving him protection payments. He was always escorted by two big boys as he collected his money—and he was constantly swarmed by crazy fangirls.

  I wanted to unlock the secret of his popularity and I began sketching him in class. With his angular chin, spiky hair, long sideburns, and intense black eyes, he made a good subject.

  I was reading a book with the nerds in the schoolyard when Max and his gang approached me.

  “I’ve heard about you … Mary Summers,” said Max.

  “Who are you?” I continued reading my book. I was worried that he was mad because he’d found out that I’d been secretly sketching him.

  “What? You don’t know who I am?” He eyed me carefully from head to toe. “Sorry. I guess I should introduced myself. I’m Max. These two guys here are my buddies. Wanna hang out later?”

  “Sure, why not?” I knew Anna had a secret crush on him in fifth grade. I’d seen her write love letters and slip them into his locker. But who was I to decline an offer from the most popular guy on the planet?

  “Great. Meet me outside after school.” He smiled and did a stealthy little fist pump as he walked away.

  The other girls were all staring at me. I knew they were jealous. Hah, stupid girls.

  The clock seemed to tick in slow motion the rest of the afternoon. It felt like an eternity. I couldn’t pay attention in class as I daydreamed and feverishly drew on my notebooks—hearts, swords, and lots of other nonsensical things. Why did I agree to meet someone I wasn’t at all attracted to? I knew I was acting silly, but the thought of doing something out of the ordinary excited me. I guess it was the thrill of the unknown, and being envied by the other girls was quite … satisfying.

  The loud school bell at the end of the day brought me back to the chaotic classroom. As everyone else scrambled to leave, I erased the scribbles on my notebooks.

  I skipped toward the school gates. Max was standing next to one of the stone pillars, beside his shiny motorcycle. The frame and tank were painted metallic-white with electric-blue flames.

  “Wanna go for a ride?” Max asked.

  “That would be … nice.” I didn’t want to sound too excited, but I was screaming with delight on the inside, like a little girl.

  “Put this on.” He handed me a helmet.

  I took the clunky helmet and clumsily put it over my head. Max helped me tighten and fasten the chin strap.

  “There you are. Now we can explore together. Let’s go,” he said as he got on the bike and put on his black leather gloves. He signaled for me to hop on the back.

  I threw my leg over the saddle and climbed onto his dangerous weapon. I’d never gone out with someone I barely knew, much less ridden on a motorcycle.

  “I’m gonna start the engine,” he said as he used his foot to put up the kickstand and turned the key in the ignition. “Hang on tight to my waist and lean with me when we turn. But most of all, make sure you don’t fall off.”

  “Okay,” I said as I put my arms around his sturdy waist and clasped my hands in front of him.

  Max gently turned the throttle and we rolled out the school gates. He waved goodbye to the security guard, and all the girls were trailing us with envious eyes as we rode away.

  We drove along the winding country roads for a short distance, and then he pulled over.

  “This is where I live,” he said, pointing at a cottage. “You can come over anytime.”

  “Really?” I said, removing the hot helmet. I looked around and noticed a lap pool by the side of the cottage. “That might be nice.”

  He dismounted and helped me off the bike.

  “Could you teach me to ride this thing?” I asked, caressing the bike’s flamed tank.

  “If you want to ride this beast, you can’t have any fear,” he smiled.

  “That’s not a problem. I don’t have any fears.”

  “Really? A girl with no fears? That’s amazing.”

  “You don’t know me very well … yet.” I blushed. “So, how does this thing work?”

  “First, you have to make sure it’s in neutral. You pull the clutch lever with your left hand and use your left foot to push the shifter pedal down until it doesn’t go down any more. Then, move your foot underneath the pedal and lift it to click the bike into neutral. You can let go of the clutch when it’s in neutral. Then you’re ready to put up the kickstand, turn the key, and press the starter. Engage the clutch again and press down on the shifter pedal to put it in first gear. Turn the right grip toward you to give it some throttle as you let go of the clutch. When you need to shift into second, pull in the clutch and put your left foot under the shifter to click up into second, and so on. Use the last three fingers on your right hand to grab the brake lever for the front brake. That little pedal by your right foot is the back brake. And don’t ever touch the exhaust pipe … unless you want to get burned,” he said, pointing down at the shiny silver pipe.

  “Okay, let me try.” I climbed on the bike and my feet barely reached the ground. The bike was already in neutral, so I put up the kickstand, started the engine, and turned the right grip. The engine started to roar. “I think I’m getting the hang of this …”

  “All right girl, that’s enough. I’ll teach you to ride, but not today,” he said, grabbing the grips.

  I scooted back and Max climbed on. I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned into his warm body.

  “Let’s ride,” he said as we tore off down the road.

  * * *

  We went for long rides around the countryside most afternoons after school. It was fun speeding down the twisty roads and up the dirt tracks in the rolling hills. We explored the terrain and out-of-the-way, isolated places, having our own mini-adventures and picnics in the hills. Our fruit and sandwiches seemed to taste much better under the wide open bright blue sky.

  Max taught me how to ride over the next few months. Commanding the lethal machine between my legs with him at my back, the wind in my hair, and nothing in the way to stop us was exhilarating. The smell of freedom as we raced toward liberation was intoxicating. We were young and carefree, cruising along highways and byways that seemed to go on forever.

  One night, after a long ride, we went up into the hills and sat under the pitch-black sky. There was no one around for miles, and the moonlight was shimmering off the lake a
t the bottom of the hill.

  “I’m moving out soon,” I said. “I can’t live with my stepfather anymore. I need to go to the city and find my mother.”

  “I’ll help you,” said Max. “We can live at my house until I go to college.”

  “Are you serious? You’d do that for me?”

  “Yeah … you’re my love. When I get my acceptance letters from the schools, I’ll know my options. Anyway, I’ll be moving away to go to college in a few months and I’ll take you with me.”

  “You know I can’t afford to go to college, right? My stepfather doesn’t even want me to leave the farm.”

  “Your stepdad’s selfish. He just wants to keep you to himself.”

  “Yeah … so I can do all the cooking and housework and keep him company. He still talks about my mother. He occasionally calls out her name when he’s passed out drunk on the sofa. And he still hits me sometimes.”

  “Ouch, that must hurt,” said Max, putting his arm around my neck and looking up at the stars. “It’s not your fault that your mother took off, and you shouldn’t be stuck here as that jerk’s slave. You have me now.”

  “Where have you applied to college?” I asked.

  “All over the country. When we move, I’ll find a place to rent and we’ll live together. You can work, and maybe I’ll be able to get a part-time job. If we’re careful, maybe we can save up enough for you to go to college the following year. I want to help you … I will help you.”

  “You’re so nice to me.” I turned to face him and put my hand on his chest. “Why?”

  “Because you’re worth it,” he said and gave me a peck on the cheek. “You’re different … a nerdy but fearless girl.”

  He kissed my lips deeply and fondled my body. His fingers played me like a string instrument and I sang to his touch. With the stars as our witnesses, time seemed to stop in that moment.

  Leave

  Max dropped me off at the farm after a short motorcycle ride. I noticed that the sunflowers were withering in the scorching summer heat. The climate was becoming increasingly unpredictable. When it affected the yearly harvests it made my stepfather’s mood worse.

  Tonight was the night. Max would come back at midnight and we’d start our new life together.

  I made dinner for my stepfather and then shut myself in my room. I stuffed as much of my life into my backpack as I could, and I strapped a thick canvas pouch to the bottom of the pack.

  I’d become quite skilled with blades. After my soft toy massacre, I moved on to large melons, bird carcasses, and legs of lamb when I could trade some of our farm produce for one. My cuts and slices were now fast and precise. I gathered up all the knives, daggers, and scalpels that I’d hidden around my room and put most of them in the canvass pouch. I slid a tight-fitting leather sheath over the blade of my favorite dagger and tucked it in the waistband of my jeans, and I slipped a switchblade in my back pocket.

  A few minutes before midnight, I grabbed my overstuffed backpack and crept out of my room. I couldn’t open the front door. It had a new dead bolt and I didn’t have a key.

  The television was off and I looked over my shoulder. My stepfather was on the sofa, cradling a can of beer and puffing away on a cigar in the dark.

  “I knew you were planning to run away with that boyfriend of yours you slut!” he yelled, shattering the still night air. He squeezed the can and I heard the sound of metal being crushed. “You’ll never leave this place, ever!”

  He got up and staggered toward me. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath reeked of alcohol. He gave me a hard smack across the face that sent me crashing to the floor.

  “I’ll never let you leave me!” He pounced on me and began pulling at my shirt, revealing my bra.

  “Leave me alone!” I shrieked as I struggled beneath his weight.

  “You’re exactly like your mother! I won’t let you leave me like Matilda did!”

  His eyeballs were bulging out of his head and veins were pulsating in his sweaty neck. He tried to pull down my jeans with his grubby hands and I screamed as loudly as I could.

  “Shut up you little whore! No one can hear you out here!” He slapped me across the face and unzipped my jeans.

  I was screeching in terror. The disgusting drunk maggot was going to rape me and I had to do something. I couldn’t reach my dagger, so I pulled out my switchblade.

  “STOP!” I shouted as I sat up with all my strength. I flashed my blade in front of his eyes and jabbed the tip into his neck. “GET OFF ME!”

  “How dare you!” he yelled, grabbing for my wrists. “This is my house and I’ll do what I like!”

  I was twisting and turning, using my body to push against him with all my might, but he wouldn’t get off me. I began swinging my arms wildly and the switchblade glided across his neck.

  “Yooooou … murderous … bitch,” he gurgled in horror as blood spilled from his gaping mouth and gushed out his severed carotid arteries.

  He instinctively put both hands to his neck before collapsing on top of me. His hot, purple-black blood poured all over my clothes. I pushed him aside and rolled out from under him.

  “You … won’t … get … away … with …” he coughed and spluttered as the last of his black blood drained from his body.

  My heart hardened as I witnessed his demise. I couldn’t believe that my stepfather tried to touch me, but I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted to cut him, to scare him off. He attacked me first. I had no control over what happened.

  I felt his sticky black blood seeping through my clothes like a plague. I rushed into the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror. The sight of his blood smeared all over me made my hair stand on end and I jumped back. I peeled off my clothes and scrubbed the remains of his filth off my skin as fast as I could. Then I bleached my switchblade.

  I went to my bedroom and put on clean clothes. I carefully placed my bloodstained bra, panties, T-shirt, and jeans in a plastic bag.

  I put my switchblade in the pocket of my clean jeans and went to the living room. I stuffed the plastic bag in my backpack and looked for my sheathed dagger. Somehow, it wasn’t covered in blood and I slipped it into my waistband.

  Bending over the motionless body of my stepfather, I placed my fingers under his nostrils. There was no breath. He was dead.

  I’ve killed my stepfather. I couldn’t believe it. It was terrifying being in a room with a dead body … that I’d killed. I had to get out of there.

  I reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny new key. My heart was pounding as I picked up my backpack and went to the door. The key worked and I let out a sigh of relief. I locked the door behind me and ran into the yard. I can never return home.

  Max was waiting for me. “What took you so long? Come on, hurry up.”

  Cold sweat was dripping down my forehead and I was panting as I climbed on the back of his motorcycle.

  “Did you take all the stuff you need?”

  “Yes. Everything’s in my backpack.” I was trying to hide my shock. I held on to Max as tightly as I could and rested my head on his back. I wanted to cry, but I forced my eyes shut to stop my tears.

  “Is your stepfather all right with you moving?”

  “I got him settled.”

  “Good, let’s go.”

  He started the engine and the vibrations hummed through my body as we rode away. I couldn’t open my eyes.

  When we got to Max’s house I took my belongings into his room. He had a spare drawer in his dresser and I unloaded everything into it. I kept the plastic bag with the bloody clothes in my backpack, careful not to let Max see it.

  It was only a matter of time before the police found my stepfather’s corpse and came looking for me. If they questioned me, I’d deny everything and pretend that I was innocent, but I knew I’d probably end up in a juvenile prison. At least I could spend my remaining days of freedom with Max.

  It was awful being afraid of getting caught by the police. I knew I had to lie low
, but I still needed to get rid of my bloody clothes. The next day, I asked Max if I could go for a ride on his bike to clear my head. I took the plastic bag with my bloody clothes up into the hills and threw it in the lake.

  * * *

  Max’s parents were mostly indifferent about me moving in. At first, they treated me like I was just his friend. They didn’t ask many questions, but his mother began setting a place for me at the dinner table.

  They talked about sending Max to college, and I secretly wished that I’d grown up in a good family. I wondered why my mother didn’t take me along when she left. Things might’ve been different for me if she’d been around. I wouldn’t have had to kill anyone if I’d been raised in this family. Life isn’t fair.

  The only thing keeping me in the town was Max. He’d helped me escape from my stepfather, and he’d promised not to tell people that I was staying with his family. He said he’d tell anyone who asked where I was that I’d left to find work.

  Max’s parents owned a clothes shop in town, and they usually came home late. I began helping out with the housework and making dinners.

  One evening, Max’s mother came home early. “The house is sparkling clean and tidy,” she gasped in awe as she stood in the doorway.

  “I’ve just been doing some housework to keep busy,” I said. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

  “You’re a sweet girlfriend for Max. You should go with him when he leaves for college.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.” I giggled. His mother was so kind. “I’ve made soup. It’s on the stove.”

  “Thank you dear.” She walked into the kitchen and lifted the lid off the soup pot to take a look. “Have you applied to college?”

  “Not yet. I’m waiting to see where Max goes.” In reality, college wasn’t an option for me. Once I left this place, no one could ever know my name, where I was from, or where I was going.

  I was acting like everything was normal, but I rarely left the house. Their home became my refuge. My days were spent cleaning, cooking, and reading their books.