Inconstant Moon - Default Font Edition

by Laurel L. Russwurm

  Quentin says, “It's OK, Jake, really,” when the guard rounds on him with raised fist.

  “You. SHUT UP,” shouts the guard as Elsie comes out of the building and barges into the tableau lit by strobing cruiser lights.

  Elsie says, “Just get into the car, I'll tell you where to go.”

  “What the hell are you talking about girl?” The guard is not about to take any more crap from these snotty rich kids.

  Elsie shifts the large cloth bag she has over her shoulder so she can whip out her cell phone. She punches a single digit then says, “We're having a problem, can you come out to the lot?”

  Elsie snaps the phone shut and tucks it in her coat, folding her arms and glowering up at him. “I'm sorry, I mistook you for someone with a brain.”

  “You aren't making it any better for yourself, bitch,” bellows the guard, “I don't know what you smart ass kids think you are up to but I'm going to take you all in, and then we will get it straightened out.”

  The guard is startled by a very large hand clamping itself on his shoulder. “I don't think so,” says the owner of the hand, who wears the same uniform but with a bit of gold braid on the shoulder boards. Val Thompson, the campus security chief, has a physique roughly equivalent to the Incredible Hulk's. “I think you're about done here, Connor.”

  “Uh, sir, but I was on my rounds and these people were behaving suspiciously.” Val fixes him with a look; Connor pales and shuts up.

  “This is what we're gonna do. You are going to give me the keys to this car and then you will go inside and cover the main desk until I get back. You will be polite. And deferential. Think you can handle that Connor?”

  Connor swallows, “Uh, sir,” carefully avoiding looking at anyone but Val, “I'm not sure what deferential means.”

  Val pins him with a laser glare. “Deferential means you kiss ass. Do you think you can handle that Connor?”

  Wearing a poker face Connor executes a military precision salute. “Yes sir.”

  Val holds out his palm and Connor digs the car keys out of his pocket and hands them over before marching back to the building, head held high.

  Disgusted, Val gets into the driver's seat. “Guys, if you'll get in back, please, Elsie will ride shotgun.”

  Quentin and Jake pile in although they have no idea what is happening. After belting up, Elsie twists around in her seat to tell them, “Liz found Natasha and she's hurt. When we get there you'll need to stay on the path to flag down the ambulance.”

  Elsie says, “Val, this is my roommate Jake, and his friend . . .”

  “Quentin Bradbury. I live in the cottages.”

  Val nods, carefully backing out, doing a three point turn onto the footpath, then driving slowly. “Tomorrow I'm gonna want to talk to you about what was happening with Connor.”

  “He was acting like a Nazi thug.” protests Jake.

  Quentin nods, “No problem, I'd love to come by and give you a statement.”

  “Sorry. Our budget doesn't buy us the cream of the crop. I've had suspicions about him but suspicion isn't grounds for termination. That's why I'd like to talk to you both. Later.”

  “Elsie, what happened to Natasha?” asks Jake.

  “Liz said she was attacked. She's probably been out there most of the day, and she's hurt, so it's really lucky Liz found her.”

  Quentin mutters, “Luck, my ass.”

  The campus security car arrives at the fork in the path. Val makes the tight turn and drives toward the parking lot.

  “Please keep your eyes open for . . .”

  “There!” yells Jake. As the car approaches they see Ethan standing at the side of the road, shivering in a T shirt. Val stops the car, and Elsie is first out, handing Ethan a large sweatshirt.

  He starts “They're in here.”

  Elsie shakes her head. “Put it on, you're freezing, then you can take me.” Ethan nods and pulls it over his head, while Jake climbs out and hands Elsie his brightest flash light, then one of the penlights to Ethan. Elsie flashes Jake a non-predatory smile and follows Ethan into the woods.

  Quentin climbs out of the car and positions himself with Jake just off the path, and they watch Val take the campus car down the path to the parking lot. Sirens wail in the distance.

  Elsie's light bounces along the path, variously skidding off trees and shrubs until it lands on Liz kneeling at the side of the path, cradling Natasha's head in her lap.

  Elsie bites back an admonition; a lay person should never move a head injury. Blood encrusted in her hair clearly indicates Natasha has one. She has also been bundled in Ethan's voluminous pea coat. Elsie fleetingly hopes the rescuers haven't done more damage than good as she passes the big flash to Ethan and she opens her bag. Ethan fiddles with the flash light until it slides open, transforming into a lantern.

  Elsie pulls out a gray felt blanket and kneels beside Natasha's supine figure. Ethan goes around and crouches beside Liz, one hand holding up the lantern for Elsie, the other arm slipping protectively around Liz's shoulder.

  Elsie can see matted blood on Natasha's head, quite a lot of it, clotted into her hair. Reaching out to gently touch Natasha's neck, Elsie deftly takes her pulse. “Getting her warm was good, and her pulse is strong.” she tells Liz matter-of-factly. “May I have the light please?” Ethan hands it over silently, and Elsie lifts the corner of the coat and shines the light in.

  Liz asks, “Is she going to be okay?”

  Natasha's clothes are ripped and bloody, the beginning of heavy bruising forming on her thighs. Looks like blood and semen. Elsie lightly probes her arms and legs.

  “Nothing seems broken”.

  “But there's so much blood.”

  “Scalp wounds bleed a lot. Doesn't have to be serious. I can't tell about the head injury, it could be bad or she might be fine. I'm just here for first aid. We are not even going to try to move her, we just keep her warm until the paramedics arrive. I'd say she's in damn good shape for someone who's been laying out here for hours.

  She passes the light back to Ethan, and settles the heavy wool blanket over the unconscious girl. “I think they're here.”

  The thrum of the ambulance engine slows and stops out on the footpath. Doors open and close and lights strobe as Val leads the paramedics through the trees.

  With practiced ease a portable gurney is set up, and Elsie gets up and steps out of the way. The paramedics squat on either side of Liz, expertly sliding a board under the unconscious Natasha smoothly transferring her to the gurney.

  Ethan gets up, and Liz tries to as well, but she's shaky from squatting so long. Ethan encircles her with his arms and pulls her to her feet. Liz rotates one ankle and flexes her knee, to restore circulation, then the other. She leans back into Ethan, and they watch the gurney being carried out.

  chapter 54 . . .

  The ‘Untrue’ lyrics are like a knife slicing pieces off his heart, Eric thinks as he listens to the song playing on the CD player in the common room. It might have been written expressly for Elsie. God, that Amelia can sure pick depressing songs. He thinks he might counter with Queen's ‘Somebody To Love’, but then he decides against it. That might be too cruel.

  In the kitchen, the air heats up and the popcorn kernels begin to rattle, then explode one by one. Amelia tucks a bowl under the outlet to catch the popped corn shooting out. Eric tries not to let the ‘Untrue’ lyrics get to him. The butter is exploding so he shuts off the microwave before it can beep.

  Eric says, “So we listen to depressing music.”

  Amelia nods. “Yup. I pick, you pick. Having fun yet?”

  Eric wonders, is it just this song, or will every break up song rip out his heart out now?

  It's starting to get to him but Amelia's popcorn machine is going nuts. The popping is picking up and shooting popped corn kernels into the bowl with such force they are bouncing out, landing on the counter or the floor.

  Eric and Amelia scramble to catch errant popcorn, with little luck. The come
dy inherent in being pelted with flying popcorn removes some of the sting from lyrics that are just a touch too close to home. The laughter they're sharing isn't exactly something he expected from Amelia's description of a 'depression party'.

  Finally the corn is all popped so Amelia pulls the plug. “That was an exercise in stupidity.”

  “I have to tell you, your popper's design kind of sucks.” he says as he opens the broom closet and pulls out the whisk broom to sweep the mess from the floor.

  “Only kind of? Try massive fail. This is the first time I've used it. But my mom didn't think I would actually go off to college again without one, so she bought me this hunk of junk new.”

  Eric asks, “Popcorn junkie?”

  “Oh yeah, the worst.”

  “Me too.” He dumps the dustpan contents in the trash. “Do we decide what movies the same way, you pick I pick?”

  “Yeah, and the best part is we can whine about our love lives as much as we want.”

  Eric cocks an eyebrow, “You know all about mine, but I am at a disadvantage since I have no idea what your problem is.”

  Sighing, Amelia says, “Just the usual, unrequited love. He doesn't know I exist.” She opens the cupboard and she gathers up a half dozen spice bottles— popcorn toppings.

  “This is for the popcorn?” he asks in surprise.

  Amelia drizzles melted margarine over the popcorn. “We can do this one of two ways. Pick one flavor. Or if you're boring we could just sprinkle it with the salt. But the other way we can go is to dump a bit of each topping into these Chinese tea cups and then dip as desired. Kind of like popcorn dim sum.”

  Eric laughs. “Popcorn dim sum. I love it.” As they pour toppings into the little cups, Eric says, “Tell you what— next time we do scratch toppings.”

  “Oooh. A connoisseur!” Amelia laughs, “Looks like I've uncovered another popcorn junkie.”

  Eric stacks the desert bowls and carries them in to the common room. He sets them out in a semicircle on the coffee table by the sectional sofa.

  As the song fades down he crosses to the equipment stack and opens the DVD player, popping in a disk while Amelia opens the wine. She carries it out and sets the bottle beside the wine glasses and the popcorn, then flops down on half of the sectional. Eric flips through his CDs, selecting one before returning the Tim Louis CD to its case so he can put on his own choice, one guaranteed to rip her heart out. Time to get depressing.

  “What've you got?” she asks.

  “An oldie but goodie.”

  Amelia begins to eat popcorn but it's not long before she's captivated by the lyrics of the song ‘Loneliness’, and stops eating, her hand poised above the bowl, staring up into nothingness as she listens to the words.

  “Oh, this is good.” Amelia closes her eyes to feel the music.

  Eric drops onto the adjacent sectional section.

  “Told you.” But when he looks over at Amelia he is suddenly uncomfortable. There are actual tears trickling out of Amelia's closed eyes. He wants to pat her shoulder or something. Watching Amelia's tears flow as the words about hopelessness and the darkness in your heart pour out of the speakers, Eric wishes he'd chosen something else.

  Finally unable to stand any more, Eric asks, “Are you Okay?”

  Amelia sits up and shushes him and they sit in silence as the song plays out.

  As the last note fades he says, “I'm so sorry I should have picked something else, I didn't mean to.”

  “No, that was perfect.” She brushes her eyes with her sleeve and says, “You did good. That's the point!”

  “What? I didn't mean to make you cry.”

  “Shut up and hand me a tissue.” Eric passes her the box.

  Amelia grabs a wad and blows her nose. He watches as she scrubs at her blotchy face and mops her eyes, then gives him an unexpected smile through her tears. “You surprised, me that's all, Eric. Guys aren't supposed to know about the really good depressing shit like this.”

  “But I thought that's what you wanted?”

  “God, it was perfect. Whining about people we love, crying our eyes out, maybe interspersed with a bit of hysterical giggling— THAT's what a depression party is for, it's cathartic. You're an English major, you know what cathartic means right?”

  “Yes, I know what cathartic means.”

  Munching on popcorn Amelia asks, “Who's the singer?”

  “Annie Lennox. She writes awesome lyrics. Hang on.” Eric jumps up and gets his PDA out of the CD box, passes it to her so she can read the words of the song they just heard.

  “You've got all your favourite the lyrics on this?”

  “Not all, but a lot. There are tons of lyrics online.”

  “Huh. I didn't know that. I can't tell you how many times I've sat there stopping and starting a CD to get down all the words to a song I love. I mean look at this, they're brilliant.”

  “Yeah, powerful imagery. Sometimes I toy with the idea of writing song lyrics, 'cause lyrics are like the poetry of today.”

  “I never thought about it before but that makes sense. Poetry used to be huge but it sure doesn't come across as being ‘cool’ nowadays.”

  “Guys can't admit we read or write poetry, but writing songs is acceptable. Only thing is, I'm not very musical.”

  “If you're good at picking songs with great lyrics, you might be good at writing them.”

  “Thanks, I think I'd like that. So what do you think, isn't it time? I think so.”

  “Time for the first movie?”

  “No, time to tell me why you are depressed.”

  “But you've got a movie ready to go.”

  “And it'll stay ready. I'm not letting you off so easily. What's getting you down?”

  “It's just the usual. Unrequited love shit.”

  “Maybe you could get it requited?”

  “Don't be such a man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Trying to solve my problems. That's a man thing.”

  Eric says, “What I can possibly say to that? I hate to have to tell you this, but I am. A man, I mean.” His words just hang in the air for a minute.

  Amelia nods. “Uh, I will admit that I have noticed you are in fact a man. Thing is, what I'm really looking for is a friend.” Amelia sees the frustration written on his face and tries again, “Look I'm not trying to drive you nuts, really. It's just, how do I explain a depression party? It's about just sharing feelings. We're not trying to fix them, just to process the feelings and let them out.”

  Eric says, “Wallowing, you mean.”

  “Yes! Exactly. Except it sounds better when you call it catharsis. The thing is, it It helps make it easier to cope with all the crap. That's why blubbering is good, though you don't seem comfortable with that part.”

  Eric says, “That would be a man thing.”

  “I'm not trying to—”

  “Yes you are, but it's fine. I have an older sister. And she never actually talked to me about anything. The only time I ever saw her cry was when I think she'd just been dumped.”

  “Oh, that's so sad.”

  Eric holds up a finger. “Just let me finish, Okay?” Amelia nods so he continues, “I heard her crying in her room. So, you have to understand, the rule was I wasn't supposed to go in without permission but she was crying, and so I went in to give her a hug. But she threw her radio at my head, but I ducked and it hit the wall and smashed into a million pieces, which was apparently my fault too. My allowance was docked for months to pay for the new one.”

  “But that's not fair.”

  “Yeah, well she told our folks that I broke it, and I didn't realize until years later that it really wasn't my fault. I mean, I made her mad, right?”

  “How old were you?”

  “First or second grade, I think. What's that, six or seven or something? Guess I still don't know how to deal with girls.” Seeing Amelia start to open her mouth he self corrects. “Women. You know I don't do so well in the girlfriend depa
rtment.”

  “Oh, Eric, no one's keeping score. It's just, well, you can't ‘fix’ feelings. You just have to live through them. And besides, your sister sounds like a bitch.”

  “You got that right.” Eric grins. “So. What do I do to help?”

  “Just listen, it works wonders.” She looks over with brows raised and he shrugs and then nods. Amelia takes a deep breath, then says, “Okay. I'll tell you. The guy wouldn't know who I was if he tripped over me. But for some stupid reason, well, I just fell hard for him. I mean, he's not even really that bright, which is unusual for me. Usually I get all hung up on brilliant geeky guys who don't know I'm alive.”

  “But not this time?”

  “No this time I'm just hung up on a drop dead gorgeous guy who doesn't know I'm alive.”

  “I can see where that might be a problem. So,” he glances over at her, “I'm not allowed to ask why you don't ask him out?”

  Amelia giggles. “Am I that bossy?”

  Eric nods, “Understatement.”

  Amelia laughs. “It isn't gonna work that way. If we're gonna be friends I guess I can't give you a hard time for being a guy. Do-over. You can do or say whatever you want to do or say.”

  “Gee thanks.”

  “Da nada.”

  “So why don't you just ask the guy out?”

  “Because he's carrying a torch for someone else. And it is huge, his torch, I mean. For me, well, I've got a crush. Unrequited, the oldest snub in the book. A couple of depression parties and I'll be over him. But he's just so fixated on her he doesn't even see any girls except her. And here I am still hung up on the guy even knowing that. I mean how pathetic is that?”

  “Let me grab the chocolate and we can watch a movie.”

  “Chocolate? You know about chocolate?”

  “Oh yeah, you need chocolate at a depression party. Gotta keep those endorphins flowing.”

  chapter 55 . . .

  Jose sits across from Mouse at a table by the jukebox. “What I don't understand, I mean, she likes me, she came onto me. So it's not that I'm repulsive to her or anything.”