by Bryan Hall
Freddy was smiling, a feral smile that promised hurt.
“I’ll be damned,” he told Dean, “you’re just full of fuckin’ surprises, man. I was only kiddin’ you about bonin’ Scarface and here you were about to let her gobble your rod. That’s really somethin’.”
The bell clanged on, ignoring the hush of the tide.
Somewhere far out to sea, a ship’s horn sounded.
The ground around the car was sandy, a thin layer scattered above concrete. Pieces of broken glass gleamed in the half-light from the streetlamps that peered between the canopies of box elder and spruce. This also provided a perfect shield from the road. Few cars would pass by tonight, and those that did would not see much should anyone deign to look in this direction.
“Don’t hurt her,” Dean said, knowing as he did so that anything he said would only bring him more pain at the hands of Freddy and his comrade.
“That sounded like an order to me, Fred,” Greer said, and giggled. It was the contention, of most people who knew him, that the last time the principal’s son had been lucid, Ronald Reagan was taking his first spill over a curb.
Stephanie was shivering, her pupils huge, the scarred side of her face lost in shadow, and while Dean was filled with terror, he couldn’t stop himself from reflecting back on what they’d been doing before Freddy had come along.
But then Freddy stepped close enough to drown Dean in his shadow and the memory was banished from his mind.
“Since when do you give a shit about her?” Freddy asked, somehow managing to sound convincingly curious.
“I—I ... I don’t know.”
Freddy nodded his complete understanding and turned back to Stephanie. She watched him fearfully.
“You do know he set you up, right?”
Greer giggled and muttered “Oh shit, that sucks” into his hand.
Stephanie looked at Dean and he felt his insides turn cold. There was no anger in her eyes, no disappointment; just a blank look, and somehow that was worse.
“That’s a lie, Stephanie.” He stepped forward. “I swear it’s—”
In one smooth move, Freddy swiveled on his heel and launched a downward kick into Dean’s shin. Dean howled in pain and collapsed to the ground.
“Shut the fuck up, weasel,” Freddy said, and drove his boot into Dean’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Dean wheezed, tears leaking from his eyes. When they cleared, he saw Stephanie, her arms still crossed across her breasts, her face drawn and pale but for the angry red on her cheek.
I swear I didn’t he mouthed to her but knew she didn’t understand, knew she couldn’t understand because the look in her eyes told him she wasn’t really here anymore, that she’d retreated somewhere neither he nor Freddy and Greer could reach her.
Greer stopped giggling long enough to ask: “What’ll we do with her, Fred?”
Freddy shrugged and turned back to face Stephanie.
“Can’t fuck her,” he said, as if he were talking about the weather. “They’d swab her scabby ass and I’d be off the football team.”
“Please, leave her ... alone,” Dean managed, though every word felt like red-hot hooks tugging at his stomach.
“If you don’t shut up, we will leave her alone, and do all the unpleasant things to you instead,” Freddy said over his shoulder, and for a moment Dean stopped breathing.
Do it, his mind screamed. Tell them to go ahead and beat the shit out of you. At least they’ll leave her alone!
But he said nothing, merely wept into the sand.
He didn’t want her to get hurt, but he had been hurt so much himself that he couldn’t bear the thought of more. Even if all of this was his fault. Even if the memory of the way she was looking at him haunted his sleep for the rest of his life.
He.
Couldn’t.
Do it.
Incredibly, sleep danced at the edges of his mind and he almost gave himself over to its promise of peace, but then he heard a grunt and Greer’s manic giggle and his eyes flickered open. The world swayed, stars coruscating across his retinas, then died.
Stephanie was no longer kneeling.
She was lying flat on her back, breasts exposed with Greer holding her wrists in his hands, as if preparing to drag her over the broken glass. As Dean watched, heartsick and petrified, Freddy grinned and straddled the girl. Still, she would not take her eyes off Dean. He wished more than anything that she would and “please,” he moaned into the sand, sending it puffing up around and into his mouth.
“How did she taste, shithead?” Freddy asked and, setting his hands on either side of Stephanie’s midriff, leaned down and flicked his tongue over her left nipple. As Greer giggled hysterically, Freddy sat back and smacked his lips as if tasting a fine wine.
“Charcoal, perhaps,” he said and that was too much for Greer. He exploded into guffaws so irritating that eventually even Freddy had to tell him to cut it out.
And still Stephanie stared at Dean.
Oh fuck, please stop.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and knew she didn’t hear.
“Then again ...” Freddy tasted her right nipple, repeated the lip smacking and put a thoughtful finger to his chin. “Maybe soot. You wanna taste, Greer?”
He didn’t need to ask twice. They exchanged positions, Stephanie never once breaking eye contact with Dean and never once trying to struggle against what Freddy and Greer were doing to her. She said nothing, but bore the humiliation in expressionless silence.
Dean, unable to stand it any longer, scooted himself into a sitting position, his back against the car, drew his knees up and buried his face in the dark they provided, surrounding them with his arms. In here, he was safe. All he could hear were the sounds.
It lasted forever and he wept through it all, looking up only when a sharp smack made him flinch.
Greer was on the ground, his giggling stopped, a hand to his cheek. Stephanie was in the same position as before, but her skirt was bunched up around her waist, her panties down almost to her knees, exposing her sex, a V-shaped shadow in the white of her skin. Freddy towered over Greer, one fist clenched and held threateningly at his side.
“I said no, you fuckin’ retard.”
Greer looked cowed, and more than a little afraid. “I was just goin’ to use a finger.”
“Get up,” Freddy ordered and Greer scrambled to his feet. They stood on either side of the prone girl, the threat of violence in the air.
“You do as I say or fuck off home to Daddy, you understand me?”
Greer nodded.
“Good, now go get the car. We’re done with this bitch.”
Another nod from Greer.
The sigh Dean felt at the thought that it might all be over caught in his throat when Freddy turned and walked toward him. Dean’s whole body tensed, anticipating another kick, but Freddy dropped to his haunches and smiled.
“Do we need to have this conversation?”
Dean said nothing; didn’t know what he was supposed to say.
“Do I need to tell you what will happen if you tell anyone what happened here? Not that anyone will believe a little fucked-up perv like you anyway, and I have ways of making sure the finger gets pointed in your direction if you start making noise. Capisce?”
Dean nodded, tears dripping down his cheeks.
“Good. Besides, we didn’t hurt her, now did we? We were just havin’ some fun. Harmless fun, right?”
Dean nodded.
Freddy’s grin dropped as if he’d been struck. He leaned close enough for Dean to smell the beer on his breath.
“Because you open your fuckin’ mouth, shithead, and two things are gonna happen. First, we’ll have a repeat of tonight’s performance, only this time we’ll go all the way, you know what I’m sayin’? We’ll fuck that little burnt-up whore ‘til she can’t walk no more, and then I’ll get Greer to do the same to you, just so you don’t feel left out, understand?”
Dean nodded furiously with a sob so
loud it startled them both. Freddy laughed.
“Yeah, you understand,” he said and rose to his feet, taking a moment to dust the sand off his jeans. He looked over at Stephanie, still lying unmoving where they’d left her, and said to Dean: “She’s not much of a talker, is she?”
Dean was silent.
“Pretty fuckin’ frigid, too. Must be your aftershave got you that itty-bitty titty, shithead.”
Greer’s Chevy rumbled to a halt a few feet away.
Freddy glanced back over his shoulder, then looked from Dean to Stephanie.
“Well, folks, it’s been fun. I hope you’ve enjoyed me as much as I’ve enjoyed you!”
He turned and walked to the car, his boots crunching sand.
With a whoop and a holler, Greer roared the engine and they were gone, the Chevy screeching around the corner onto the road behind the trees.
Night closed in around the pier and there were only the waves, the clanging of the bell, and the soft sigh of the breeze.
“Stephanie?”
He had brought her clothes, gripping them in a fist that wanted to tremble, to touch her, to help her, but when he offered them to her, she closed her eyes and didn’t move.
“Stephanie, he said if I asked you out, he’d quit picking on me. He scares the shit out of me and I’m tired of getting my ass kicked and creeping around worrying that he’ll see me. So I agreed, like an idiot. I’m sorry. I really do like you, even if I wasn’t sure before. I do like you and I’m so sorry this happened. I swear I didn’t know.”
There was an interminable period of silence that stretched like taut wire between them, and then she opened her eyes.
Dark.
Fire.
Slowly, she reached out and took the clothes from him.
“Wait for me in the car, I don’t want you looking at me,” she said coldly, but not before her fingers brushed the air over his hand.
“Okay,” he said and rose.
She stared, unmoving.
“I am sorry,” he told her and waited a heartbeat for a response.
There was none. He made his way back to the car and stared straight ahead through the windshield at the endless dark sea, ignoring the sinuous flashes of white in the corner of his eye. Echoes of pain tore through his gut and he winced, wondering if something was broken, or burst.
When the car door opened, his pulse quickened and he had to struggle not to look at her.
“Drive me home,” she said and put her hands in her lap, her hair, once so clean and fresh now knotted and speckled with sand and dirt, obscuring her face. “Now.”
And still the smell of lavender.
He started the car and drove, a million thoughts racing through his mind but not one of them worthy of being spoken aloud.
When they arrived at her house, the moon had moved and the stars seemed less bright than they’d been before. There were no voices, no basketballs whacking pavement, but the breeze had strengthened and tore at the white plastic bags impaled on the railings. Stephanie left him without a word, slamming the car door behind her. He watched her walk up the short stone path with her head bowed, until the darkness that seethed around the doorway consumed her.
Still he waited, hoping a hand might resolve itself from that gloom to wave him goodbye, a gesture that would show him she didn’t think he was to blame after all. But the darkness stayed unbroken, and after a few minutes, he drove home.
He awoke to sunlight streaming in his window and birds singing a chorus of confused melodies in the trees.
A beautiful morning.
Until he tried to sit up and pain cinched a hot metal band around his chest. He gasped in pain. Gasped again when the pain unlocked the memory of the night before, flooding his mind with dark images of a half-naked, scared girl and maniacal giggling.
The clanging of a bell.
oh god
He wished it had been a dream, a nightmare, but the pain forbade the illusion. Real. It had happened and the light of morning failed to burn away the cold shadow that clung to him as he recalled his cowardice.
Jesus, I just sat there.
When his mother opened the door and spoke, startling him, he exaggerated his discomfort enough to convince her to let him stay in bed. He endured her maternal worrying until she was satisfied he wasn’t going to die on her watch, and then cocooned himself in the covers.
When she was gone, he buried his face in the pillows and wept.
I just sat there.
He wondered if Stephanie had gone to school today, or if, even now the police were on their way to Dean’s house, to question him. The momentary thrum of fear abated with the realization that he had done nothing wrong. Freddy and Greer were the ones in trouble if the authorities were brought into it. And still he felt no better. Doing nothing somehow made him feel just as guilty as if he’d been the one holding her down, or pawing at her breasts, mocking her.
He wanted to call her, to try to explain without panic riddling his words, without fear confusing him, but knew he’d lost her.
But what if I hadn’t lost her? he wondered then. What if Freddy hadn’t interrupted us and we’d ended up having sex? What would that mean today? What would that make us?
He saw himself holding her hand as they walked the halls at school.
He saw himself holding her close at the prom as they danced their way through a crowd grinning cruelly.
He saw the look of need in her eyes as she stared at him, the possessive look that told him he was hers forever.
He heard the taunts, the jeers, the snide remarks but this time they wouldn’t be aimed at Stephanie alone. This time, they’d be aimed at him, too, for being the one to pity her. For being blind to what was so staggeringly obvious to everyone else.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Pain of a different kind threaded its way up his throat.
He didn’t like the person his feelings made him.
He didn’t like who he was becoming, or rather, who he might have been all along.
I just sat there ...
As the light faded from the day and the shadows slid across the room, Dean lay back in his bed and stared at the ceiling.
Watching.
Waiting with rage in his heart.
For tomorrow.
“Mr. Lovell, we missed you yesterday,” a voice said, and Dean paused, the only rock in a streaming river of students.
The main door was close enough for him to feel the cool air blasting down from the air-conditioner, the sunlight making it seem as if the world outside the school had turned white.
Dean turned to face the principal, a tall, rail-thin man who looked nothing like his son. Small green eyes stared out from behind rimless glasses. His hands were behind his back, gaze flitting from Dean’s pallid face to the object held in his hand.
“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “I was sick.”
“I see,” Principal Greer said, scowling at a student who collided with him and spun away snorting laughter. “Well, this close to exams, I would expect you’d make more of an effort to make classes.”
“It couldn’t be helped.”
Greer nodded. “Where are you going with that, may I ask?”
Dean lingered, his mouth moving, trying vainly to dispense an excuse, but finally he gave up and turned away. He walked calmly toward the main door.
“Excuse me, Mr. Lovell, I’m not finished with you.”
Dean kept moving.
“Mr. Lovell, you listen to me when I’m talking to you!”
Now the scattering of students in the hallway paused, their chattering ceased. Heads turned to watch.
The doorway loomed.
“Lovell, you stop right this minute!”
Dean kept moving.
“You ... your parents will be hearing from me!” Lovell sounded as if he might explode with rage. Dean didn’t care. He hadn’t really heard anything the old man had said anyway.
The hallway was deathly silent as he passed beneath
the fresh air billowing from the a/c, and then he was outside, on the steps and staring down.
At where Fuckface Freddy was regaling two squirming girls with tales of his exploits.
“I swear,” he was saying, “the bitch told me she got off when guys did that. I mean ... in a goddamn bowl for Chrissakes! Can you believe that shit?”
It took four steps to reach him and when he turned, he squinted at Dean.
Sneered.
“The fuck you want?”
Dean returned his sneer and drew back the baseball bat he’d taken from his locker.
He expected Freddy to look shocked, or frightened, or to beg Dean not to hurt him. But Freddy did none of those things.
Instead, he laughed.
And Dean swung the bat.
His parents, talking. He lay in the dark, listening. They were making no attempt to be quiet.
“Did you talk to him?”
“I didn’t know what to say. He says he’s sorry.”
“Sorry? He gave the guy a broken jaw, a busted nose, and a concussion! Sorry isn’t going to cut it.”
“He was upset, Don.”
“Oh, and that’s supposed to get him off the hook, huh? Did you ask him what the hell he’s going to do now? Greer expelled him. You want to appeal against that? Just so our darling son can beat the shit out of the next guy who’s dumb enough to cross him? Everyone gets upset, Rhonda, but not everyone pisses away their future by taking a bat to someone. I can’t wait to hear what that kid’s parents are going to do. They’ll probably sue the ass off us.”
“He says the guy was picking on him.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
“Well, I don’t know ... you go talk to him then.”
“I’m telling you ... if I go up to that room, it won’t be to talk.”
“Then talk to him tomorrow. He’s obviously got some problems we didn’t know about. You being angry isn’t going to help anything.”
“Yeah, well, jail isn’t going to do him much good either, now is it?”
He lay in the dark, listening.