by Rick Hautala
She shook her head. “I reached my limit with that before I had my first one.” She looked away again, and Bob finally realized that, as they had agreed, she was playing it very cool. He nodded, took the glass for himself, and stood watching the dancing students.
When they finished the song, the lead singer announced that the band would be taking a fifteen-minute break. A wave of babbling voices filled the gym.
“Well,” Bob said, “I’m glad we can finally hear ourselves think.” He took a sip of punch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt a slight jolt when he saw the back of his hand was smeared bright red.
“Not a bad turnout, huh?” a voice close behind him said.
Bob turned and almost knocked over Ned Simmons. He was the last person Bob would have expected to see at a school social function.
“No, uh, not bad at all.”
Ned smirked and looked down at his feet with an unfocused stare. Bob looked at the boy and wondered if he had been drinking. His face looked deathly pale and he was wobbling, as though he needed support.
“Have you got a date tonight, Ned?” Bob asked brightly.
Ned looked up at him. His eyes looked distant and lifeless. “Uhh, no. I asked, ahh, Julie, but she was busy tonight.”
“Julie Sikes?” Bob asked with surprise. He cast a quick glance over at Lisa, who had heard the exchange. Her eyes were widened with surprise too, but she shrugged and looked away.
“Yeah,” Ned continued, “she couldn’t make it, but I thought I’d drop by. There’s no place else to go.” Ned chuckled. “I mean, I’m not into smashing pumpkins or anything.”
“Yeah. This is the place to be,” Bob said cheerfully. He had watched Ned carefully as he spoke, and he was becoming increasingly concerned about the boy’s health. Bob kept thinking that he looked like someone who had just gotten over a serious illness.
“You did a great job on the decorations,” Ned said. “Real nice.”
Bob tensed. Ned’s comment again reminded him of Wendy Stillman and what had happened to her. “Yeah. We worked real hard on them that night…” Bob said, but he let his voice trail off.
“The night Wendy Stillman died,” Ned finished, half under his breath. To Bob, he sounded like someone talking in his sleep, and his eyes were glazed over as he looked out at the crowd of students.
Suddenly, the band started again. Someone hit the light switches, and the banks of fluorescent lights on the ceiling winked off. More students had arrived during the break, and soon the floor was packed with gyrating bodies. Bob was grateful for the sudden transition because he wouldn’t have to reply to Ned’s last comment. He looked down at the frayed edge of his paper cup and tossed it into the wastebasket beside the table.
He grabbed a new paper cup and started filling it. “You want some?” he called over to Ned.
Ned nodded and, walking over to the table, accepted the cup from Bob. When he looked up to hand Ned the cup, Bob was stunned into a split-second of immobility. The red spotlight was directly behind Ned, and the angle was just right so a hot red glow surrounded his head like an unholy halo.
Ned took a sip and said, “Too bad there’s nothing stronger.”
“Sorry,” Bob stammered unthinkingly. He tried to look away but couldn’t. His hands shook, sloshing cold red punch onto his wrist. The red nimbus behind Ned’s head seemed to pulsate with Bob’s rapidly beating heart.
The music, once loud and abrasive, now seemed muted, fading and flickering in and out as though someone were playing with the controls. Bob, feeling flushed and on the verge of fainting, struggled to fight down his rising panic.
Finally, he tore his eyes away from Ned and looked out over the sea of smiling, bobbing faces. Heads bounced lazily to the distant, hazy beat of the music. The dancers’ movements, like the music, seemed to be slowing down into sluggish, plodding motions.
Happy grins suddenly took on aspects of frozen grimaces, as though everyone had worn masks. Tight mouths twisted into soundless, open-mouthed shrieks. Eyes filled with the angry red light from overhead reflected a dull, dead blankness. It appeared as though everyone in the gym was merely a part of one gigantic, writhing animal.
Bob staggered back a few steps and swiped his hand across his face. His cup dropped to the floor with a dull plop. Waves of heated panic swept over him.
He blinked his eyes forcefully, but the visions did not disappear. A quick, paranoid thought flashed through his mind that someone had spiked his drink with LSD. His anxiety rose higher, and he wanted to scream to relieve the tension.
His mouth was open, and he could feel gulps of air scratch his sand-coated throat. He wanted to shout, to cry, to scream until everything returned to normal, but his voice was frozen.
Suddenly, Lisa realized what was happening and darted forward. She grabbed him by the elbows and steadied him as she led him over to the side door. The backs of his knees ached wildly, and he leaned on her for fear of falling down.
By the side door, she let him lean against the wall. He watched as Lisa’s mouth formed words, but what he heard sounded like gibberish. The darkness swelled and pressed against him.
Again, Lisa’s mouth moved, and this time Bob understood her. “Are you all right, Bob? What’s the matter?” she asked frowning.
Bob shook his head with a sharp snap, but still the fogginess remained. He stared into Lisa’s wide-open eyes, seeing his own panic reflected there. Then, with an abrupt whoosh, the music grew louder. Once again the dancers moved normally.
“Yeah, yeah,” Bob said, shakily, “I think I’m OK.” He massaged the back of his neck and looked up at the ceiling. His voice sounded strange to him. “Must be the heat that’s getting to me.” He forced himself to inhale deeply, evenly.
“You still don’t look so hot,” Lisa said. “Do you want to sit down for a minute?” Her grip tightened on his arm and pulled.
Bob pulled away from her grasp. “It’s so damn hot in here. I think I’ll take a walk outside and have a cigarette. Want to come?”
Lisa shook her head. “I’ll stay here, I think.”
“I’ll be right back then,” Bob said quickly. He turned and barreled through the door, ignoring everyone in his path.
.II.
Once outside, Bob let the cool air wash over him like water. He shivered because he had not taken his jacket, but the cold felt good and he decided not to go back for it. He lit his cigarette and decided that once around the school should unwind him.
He walked slowly, taking long, even puffs, watching the smoke drift lazily away. He tried not to think about what had happened in the gym. He tried to convince himself that it had been the noise, the heat, the confusion, but he couldn’t shake the image of Ned standing there with the red spotlight glowing eerily behind his head. The image unnerved Bob, and for some unexplained reason, he felt that the image was connected with Wendy Stillman.
He turned a corner of the building and was just moving along the backside of the school when he saw someone else come around the corner at the far end. The man was walking unsteadily (Bob could tell that even at such a distance) when he suddenly stopped, unhitched his pants, and urinated on the side of the building. Bob could see his profile clearly against the backdrop of the lighted parking lot.
The man finished his business, zipped his pants shut, and was starting toward Bob again when someone else came around the corner. It was a woman. Bob stood still and watched as he heard Lisa’s voice cry out, “For crying out loud, Jeff, will you please take it easy?”
“Shut up!” the man snapped.
“It’s nothing to get excited about!” Lisa shouted. Her fairy princess veil, bunched up in her hands, glowed with a blue haze.
“I tole yah to shut the fuck up,” Jeff slurred. Lisa stood still as Jeff took a menacing step toward her with a raised fist. “I tole yah I’m gonna settle things my way, you goddamnbitch.”
“Jeff, please!”
Bob was not sure whether or not he should interve
ne in this family argument, but he knew that Jeff was drunk, and he didn’t want Lisa to get beaten up again. He started toward the couple and had come to within ten feet of Jeff’s back before the man knew he was there and turned around.
“Just the man I’m looking for,” Jeff slurred thickly, as he dropped into a crouch and raised both fists. “Come on! Come on, you bastard, and get what’s comin’ to yah!” He belched loudly and wavered unsteadily.
“Wha—what the hell are you talking about?” Bob asked in surprise.
Jeff lurched forward. “You know goddamn well what I’m talkin’ ’bout, mister hot-shit English-teacher! You been dippin’ your wick in places you ain’t supposed to.”
Bob took a quick step backward. Although Jeff was so drunk that he was almost falling over, he was still bigger than Bob, and Bob didn’t want to tangle with him; his fighting reflexes might not be impaired by the alcohol.
“Please, Jeff,” Lisa pleaded. Bob glanced over at her, hunched in the shadow of the school building. He had a sudden, silly image that she was a princess, and he was her champion.
“Really, Jeff,” Bob said soothingly, as though talking to a frightened child. “Why don’t you just take a minute to cool off and think about it.”
“Bullshit!” Jeff bellowed, his voice almost breaking. “You’ve been messin’ with my wife, ’n’ nobody does that without answerin’ to me!” He thumped his chest with his fist and took a step closer to Bob.
“Let’s go inside and—” was all Bob got to say. Jeff attacked quicker than Bob thought he could, his fist landing squarely on Bob’s jaw. Bob spun around from the impact and fell to his knees. The warm, salty taste of blood filled his mouth. He held his jaw with one hand and raised the other to ward off a second blow, but when he looked up, he saw that the momentum of his punch had carried Jeff around. The drunk man stood off to the side, yelling. “Come on, you mother-fuckin’ coward. Where’d you go? Where are you?”
Bob stood up slowly and spit out a mouthful of blood. He worked his tongue around in his mouth to check for loose teeth and was relieved to find none.
Lisa was still cringing in the shadows, uncertain who to go to for help.
Jeff, from his crouch, spotted Bob standing there on weak legs, rubbing his jaw. “There you are, you prick,” he shouted.
This time Bob was ready, and when Jeff threw his punch, Bob sidestepped it easily. Jeff’s haymaker whistled through the air, throwing him wildly off balance. He spun around in a complete circle and flopped onto his back with a loud grunt. He lay unmoving, staring up blankly at the stars. His breath rattled in his lungs.
Lisa screamed and ran forward to her husband. She knelt down and cradled his head in her lap, stroking his forehead. Jeff struggled for a moment to get up, found that he couldn’t, and then dropped back into Lisa’s lap with a sigh.
“I never even hit him,” Bob said as he walked over and stood behind Lisa.
Jeff rolled his head from side to side. His groaning grew louder, and then a thick gurgle rolled in his throat. Without even raising his head, he vomited all over his chest. Lisa sat, unmoved.
“Honest, Lisa,” Bob pleaded, “I didn’t touch him. I didn’t want to hurt him.”
“I know, I know!” she shouted in a pained voice that Bob could barely hear above Jeff’s retching. Jeff suddenly stiffened and then, mercifully, lost consciousness.
“For God’s sake, Bob, will you help me with him?” Lisa cried out. Tears streaked her face. Her fairy-princess dress was stained with vomit.
She shifted from underneath Jeff’s dead weight, and Jeff’s head hit the ground with a dull thud. Drool smeared his chin. His eyes were still open, gazing blankly at the sky.
Bob leaned down and grabbed Jeff under the arms. With Lisa’s help, they got Jeff standing up. It took both of their strengths to support the dead weight. With one of them on each side, they slowly started to drag Jeff toward the parking lot, his head flopping loosely back and forth with each step they took.
Once they got him over to parking lot, they laid him across the hood of his car. Lisa fished in Jeff’s pants pocket for the keys.
“Do you want me to drive?” Bob asked, after they had loaded Jeff into the passenger seat. “You’re going to need help getting him upstairs.”
Lisa pointed at the school. “One of us has to stay. And I’m sure as heck not going in there looking like this! I can get Mr. Herlihy from downstairs to help me.”
“You sure?”
Lisa nodded and managed a weak smile.
“What are you going to do about your car? Do you want me to bring it over after the dance?”
Lisa nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Bob said.
Lisa started to get in behind the wheel of Jeff’s car. Bob caught her by the shoulders and looked at her intently. “I’ve got to say this, Lisa,” he said seriously. He tried to ignore the tearstains on her cheeks. “I don’t think he’s much of a person, or husband.”
.III.
An hour later, after a phone call to Lisa assured him that everything was all right, Bob stood quietly at the foot of the stage. The band was on break, and he was grateful for the relative quiet in the gym. He was standing near a group of students when a dancer rushed up and said, “He’s leaving now. Come on.”
In an instant, four or five students ran and got their coats and slipped out the side door. Curious, Bob followed them.
He stood for a moment, hiding in the shadows of an alcove as more of the costumed partiers went by. “Everything’s set,” he heard someone say as they headed toward the parking lot.
Staying hidden in the shadows, Bob watched with interest as the students gathered together around several cars. Then the door to the gym crashed open, and Ned Simmons strode out into the night.
Ned hesitated for a moment when he saw the group hanging around, then he squared his shoulders and walked over to his truck.
Everyone pretended indifference as Ned got in, shut the door and turned the key. A faint chugging sound came from the motor. Then, just before the truck should have started, there was a dull thump that sounded to Bob like a firecracker going off under water. The young people laughed loudly as a billowing cloud of blue smoke rose from underneath the hood of Ned’s truck.
“Trick or treat!” several of them shouted and whooped.
“Hey!” someone yelled with mock surprise. “What’s the matter with Ned’s truck!”
“Do you need a tune-up?” someone called out.
The crowd spread out and made a circle around Ned. Their wild hooting filled the night as he sat tensely gripping the steering wheel.
Bob started across the parking lot when he saw Alan Tate walk up and lean against the truck door so Ned couldn’t get out. The cloud of smoke still hung, suspended in the air. Bob caught the sickening aroma of burning sulfur.
“You’re OK, aren’t you, Neddie-pooh?” Alan said in a taunting voice. “Don’t worry, we’ll get your crate, I mean truck, going. Won’t we?”
The crowd laughed as Ned forced his way out of the cab and went to the front of the truck. He raised the hood and waved his hands to dispel the remaining smoke. Alan Tate stood nearby, his arms across his chest and his hip cocked to the side. Everyone else backed away when they saw Bob coming.
Bob heard Ned curse softly as he peered down at his truck motor. A small pumpkin had been smashed on top of the distributor, spewing pumpkin seeds all over the inside. Taped to the inside of the radiator were the remains of a smoke bomb. Ned ripped this out and threw it at Alan’s feet.
“You prick,” Ned whispered shrilly, glaring at Alan.
“What?” Alan said, with mock innocence. “I didn’t do anything.”
“If this is wrecked, you’re gonna pay for it!”
“Sure, sure,” Alan said, smirking.
Ned snatched up a piece of the shattered pumpkin and threw it at Alan. It bounced off the boy’s chest, then splattered on the ground. Alan looked at Ned with surp
rise, then rushed forward. Bob jumped in between the two boys, holding them apart at arm’s length.
“Hold it! Hold it!” he shouted. “We don’t want any trouble here.”
“He started it,” Ned said through clenched teeth.
“Well you can end it right now by just forgetting about it,” Bob said calmly. The anger that raged in Ned’s eyes frightened even Bob.
“The hell I will!” Ned shouted. Spittle flew from his mouth, spraying Bob’s cheek.
“Can’t you take a joke, Neddie-pooh?” Alan asked.
Bob turned to him angrily and said, “You can just cut that out right now!”
Alan pinched his nose and waved his hand in front of his face. “Whew! What’s that stink. Did you let one, Neddie-pooh?”
Ned pressed against Bob’s restraining hand, pushing toward Alan. Bob could feel the boy’s chest heaving with agitation. Then, abruptly, Ned pulled back and shook away Bob’s hand. “You’re gonna be sorry for this, Tate,” he said, in a voice so controlled and tense that it was more frightening than his shouting. “You’re gonna be real sorry you even showed your ugly fucking face around here!”
“Let’s just take it easy,” Bob said, still afraid something more would happen.
Ned spun on his heel and slammed the hood down. He climbed up into the cab and started the truck. Alan jumped up onto the running board on the passenger side and pressed his face against the glass. He stuck out his tongue and smiled viciously.
Ned stepped on the gas, and as the truck lurched ahead, Alan jumped off and stood with his hands on his stomach, laughing.
Ned rolled down his window and stuck out his head. “You’ll be sorry for this! All of you!” he shouted to the cheering crowd as he drove out of the parking lot.
.IV.