Tainted

by A. E. Rought

  “Well,” she asks when I put her down, “can you tell me where we’re going?”

  “And spoil it?” I open her door and nudge her into the front seat. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  A pretend scowl darkens her features. She holds the fake expression until well after I climb in the car, and turn onto the deserted street. I kill it, though, when I stop under a red light, incline toward her and run my fingertips from her cheeks, down the sides of her neck, and unzip the neck of her winter coat. Her are cheeks pink, and a smile crooks her lips. Close to her, kissing distance, I say, “You’re so cute when you angry.”

  “And you’re annoying,” she says, her lips touching mine.

  “Only around you.” I love this game, teasing, touching, seeing the blush rise in her cheeks. I reach into the glove box and pull out a blindfold. She blinks, looks from me to the black silk in my hands. “Don’t you trust me?” I ask.

  She goes very still. “With my life.”

  I tie the blindfold over her eyes, then bury her in a kiss. This is not playtime, this is me pouring every emotion I’ve felt into one touch. Her mitten-covered hands come up, grab the sides of my head and lock us together. I slide a hand behind her back, pulling her up from the seat to hold her tighter to me. She sighs, and then giggles when I slide my fingers under her jacket. “That’s tickles,” she whispers.

  Good thing, too. We might’ve ended up with indecent exposure instead of what I have planned.

  “Tell me,” she says.

  “Tell you what?” I play dumb.

  “Where we’re going.”

  “Somewhere.” I drive the twisty, turny, snow-choked back roads toward Stony Lake. “It’s beautiful out here,” I tell her. “The world is a black and white fairyland, dark tree trunks, white-coated branches and ground.”

  She fumbles across the console to hold my hand. “This is exciting,” she says, voice soft and wistful.

  “Good.”

  Trees tower over us, trunks so dark they almost disappear in the night. Here and there, snow clings to branches, highlighting saplings vying for life among the monsters. I park the car in the private drive of a family friend who winters in Florida. Paul’s brother owns property out here next to this summertime estate.

  “Are we there yet?” she asks.

  “Not quite,” I say, and fish the paddock keys from my glove compartment. “We have a little hike.”

  Cool wind smelling of the winter lake whisks through when I exit the car, and then open the door for Emma and take her hand. She stops, braces a mitten on the car. She tips her head back and draws deep breaths through her nose. “I can smell the lake,” she says.

  “It’s just over the hill.”

  “And pine trees.” She inhales again. “And wood smoke. Where are we?”

  “I’m not telling you. And if you don’t promise to stay quiet until I tell you it’s safe, I’m putting you back in the car and bringing you back to Bree’s.”

  She pantomimes zipping her lips beneath the blindfold.

  Holding her hand, I lead her down a path I recently shoveled, through our friend’s property to the fence bordering Paul’s brother’s farm. Skirting around the edge, we finally reach the gate to the animals’ paddock. I pull out the key, unlock the gate, then lead Emma inside. At the inner gate, I scoop a bucketful of treats and then lead her into the enclosure.

  Shadows dart and slip between the trees, creeping closer, brought by the smell of food.

  “Cup your hands in front of you,” I tell her.

  She obeys, and I pour the food into the bowl formed by her mittens.

  The youngest, inquisitive with a shiny black nose, picks her way through the snow and leaves little cloven hoof prints behind her. With careful movements I take the ties off Emma’s blindfold and remove it. “Keep your eyes closed until I tell you.”

  She nods. A second form slips from the woods, almost fluid in its movements. The ears flick, nostrils snort air. I don’t move from Emma’s side, just watch and wait while the young one creeps closer. The fawn lifts her muzzle to Emma’s hands, then cautiously sniffs. Her ears twitch, a hoof stamps, then she steps closer and puts her muzzle in the food.

  “Now, Emma,” I whisper.

  She opens her eyes slowly, just as the fawn lifts her head. A grin lifts the corners of Emma’s lips, a tear beads in her eye.

  “Hi, baby,” Emma says in a soft voice. “Hungry?”

  The fawn dips her head into Emma’s mitten bowl again and takes another mouthful. Emma’s face lights with an expression as glorious as love. I could bring her here every day just to see it.

  Ghost-like, the doe steps from the edge of the shadows, cautious, but tail down and inching closer. Her glossy nose twitches, testing the air for trouble, and I have to wonder what she smells on us. Whatever it is, it doesn’t keep her from reaching into Emma’s palms and taking a nibble of food, too. The doe watches us with wary eyes, and snuffles up the last of the grain from Emma’s mittens. After another sniff, she headbutts Emma’s empty hands. Em turns one palm over and holds it toward the doe.

  After a couple sniffs, the doe touches her muzzle into Emma’s mitten and then turns and bounds away. The fawn follows, blending into the moonlight and shadows beneath the trees. I hold the bucket up for Em, and she scatters the rest of the food in a wide arc on the ground.

  “Oh, Alex,” Emma says with a sigh. “Thank you.”

  “I thought it might make you feel better,” I say.

  “It really did.” She places a mittened hand over her heart. “It really did. What a great way to start the new year.”

  “A new life,” I add.

  She surrenders to my touch, allows me to reel her in. “A new life together.”

  “Sounds perfect to me.”

  Then, before I realize what’s happening, Emma uses a trick I taught her and sweeps my feet out from under me. Snow wafts up around me in a white cloud. With a wicked little grin on her face, Emma drops down to straddle my thighs. She grabs a handful of snow, scrubs my face with it, then leaps up and dances toward the gate.

  “Full of it, aren’t you?” I call after her.

  Em lets herself out the inner gate and taunts me with my own words, “Only around you!”

  “So, I bring out the best in you?” I roll to my side and pop to my feet. I’m through the gate in a flash, but pause to lock it.

  Emma stands outside the paddock gate and says, “Or maybe the worst,” as she sings, and wiggles her butt at me before dashing for the car.

  I lock the last gate and tear after her retreating form.

  If only every night could be like this.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Much to my dislike, only a smattering of cars litter the theater parking lot on Saturday night. Definitely not as public an escape from Sadony’s Reindeer Games as I’d hoped. Still, the four of us are out, Emma’s pink-cheeked and feisty, and though Jason’s disease is slowly progressing, today is a good day for him, too.

  “I officially love your Mom,” Emma tells Bree when she attack hugs her. “New year, new rules, no grounding,’” she quotes Mrs Ransom. “Can you adopt me?”

  “Then,” Bree says, “you would be stuck spending ninety percent of your home life in the family room, only allowed in the living room on special occasions, and dusting will become a finely honed skill.”

  “Sounds like one of those ‘grass is greener’ things,” Jason stage whispers beside me.

  Bree hears, as he intended. She whips around, points a finger at him and says, “Watch it, babe.”

  Jason makes kissy-faces at her, elbows me and we both laugh. When Bree turns her focus back to Emma, and engages in a last minute debate about which movie we are going to, I ask Jason, “Any improvement in your condition?”

  “No,” he shoots me a narrowed glance. “This is a permanent thing. I’ve accepted it – you should too.”

  “What about your girlfriend?” Because I know Bree won’t accept her boyfriend is dying. “
Did you tell her yet?”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t quite figured out a good time to tell my extremely lively girlfriend that I have an early expiration date.”

  His off-hand dismissal of his disease succeeds in putting me on edge. He’s the best guy friend I’ve ever had – I can’t imagine not having him around. I’m sure his girlfriend couldn’t either. “Well,” I suggest, “I think you should figure it out.”

  “Thanks for the advice Happy Helperton.”

  “So,” I sneak between the girls and hug one blond to either side of me. “What are we going to see?”

  “We should,” Emma stresses, “go see the one RANDOM.ORG picked for us.”

  “Oh, yay,” Bree deadpans, “Boobs and explosions.”

  “No boobs,” Jason says, and pulls Bree into his arms. “Just a bunch of old dudes with big guns blowing shit up.”

  “Come on, B,” Em goads her best friend. “We saw the first one and you liked it.”

  “Despite myself,” Bree mutters. Then she throws her hands up. “Fine. Fine. Boys buy the tickets, girls get the snacks.”

  A few people pass Jason and me while we stand like a couple of lovesick suckers and watch our girlfriends walk to the concession stand. Em turns, gives me a come-hither wink. “She’s doing alright,” Jason says.

  “Em? Yeah.” I give Emma a thumbs-up when she points to a combo on the menu board. “We still don’t know what happened, or why, but I have hope. She handles the procedure better than me already.”

  “Do you think it’s because of how she died?” He pulls crumpled bills out to buy tickets. “Do you think the cold helped? Maybe the length of time?”

  “Not sure.” He brings up good points. Many countries are using temperature now to stave off further tissue damage. “I’ll remember to bring those up to Paul. And put away your money – I’m buying.”

  “No way.” He tries for a stern face and fails. “You always buy when it’s our turn.”

  “Shut up, Weller.” I edge in front of him and motion to the ticket girl for four tickets.

  “Fine, Franks.” He crosses his arms. “Someday, you’ll let me pay the bill.”

  After getting the tickets, we hold the snacks and drinks, and wait for Em and Bree by the hall to theaters one through six, the ones with stadium-style seating. Tradition mandates the girls use the bathrooms before we get our seats. Jason joked once that it was a pack mentality thing. Once. Bree smacked him for it and he never made that mistake again.

  How many more stupid mistakes will he have time to make? I can’t help but think things like that, now that I know about his health. Maybe keeping it from his girlfriend is a good idea. Bree would make herself nuts over it.

  Tradition also mandates Bree lead our little troop to the theater, stand in the aisle and direct traffic like she owns the place. We sit boys on the outsides, girls in the middle. Emma pushes back the armrest between us, making our separate chairs into a love seat. Holding up the popcorn, she twists to the side and lies back in my lap.

  When the polite announcer reminds everyone to silence their cellphones, we all comply. The lights fade, opening credits roll and then a village native girl runs across the screen, boobs naked and shaking. Jason chuffs an obvious breath. The sound of Bree’s smack says exactly how she feels about the opening scene.

  Em nestles closer and half the movie passes without another snort, smack or relationship-ish incident. Then Emma’s cellphone vibrates. She sits up to wiggle it free of her pocket, cups her hands around it to shield the light from disturbing others, then mutters something I can’t understand. She snaps the phone shut, stuffs it away and bumps my knee.

  “Can you let me out?”

  “Is everything OK?” I ask.

  “What? Yeah. Fine.” She won’t meet my eyes. “That was a wrong number. I’ve got to go to the bathroom again.” I make room in front of my seat and let her out into the aisle. She stands, then leans in and kisses my cheek. “Be right back,” she promises.

  A scene plays out on screen, a daring rescue full of gun fire and explosions. I can’t get my mind off Emma. A few minutes into the next scene and Em still hasn’t returned. Bree pokes me, points to Emma’s empty seat and holds her hands up in the universal “what’s going on” pose. I shrug. I wish I knew. Then I might not struggle with a growing sense of something wrong.

  I check my phone to make sure I didn’t miss a text or call from her. Nothing. After telling Bree, “Be right back, I’m going to go look for her,” I leave my seat, and follow the way Emma went.

  The theater lobby has become a glassed-in, empty box. The girl behind the ticket counter, Bianca Summers, a recent graduate of Sadony Academy, says, “Hi, Alex. Looking for someone?”

  “Yes, I am.” I pull up Emma’s picture on my cell phone. “Did you see this girl go into the bathrooms?”

  “Yeah. A little while ago.” She inclines her head toward the doors. “And then she left with someone.”

  What? “Did you see what they looked like?”

  “Hard to say.” The cash drawer pops open, and she idly arranges the bills while she talks. “They had baggy jeans and sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. From the back, it could’ve been anyone.”

  “Any idea how long ago they left?”

  “Maybe ten minutes.”

  I shove my fingers into my hair and grab a handful. Think… I just need to think. Tile floor passes beneath my feet while I pace. Then I release my hair before Bianca thinks I’ve lost my mind – most of Sadony already thinks that. Why would Emma leave? Why didn’t she text me? Maybe the signal didn’t go through because of the brick building. No, that’s stupid. She got a text.

  My cell, still on silent, buzzes in my pocket. I snatch it out, and tap the screen.

  Unknown number.

  And a picture message.

  Damn. The bottom drops out of my gut. I stop where I am, lean against the glass.

  Cringing inside, dreading what I might see, I touch the message indicator to load the picture message. When the image comes through, I let out a groan. Emma stands outside the rental hall where Sadony Academy holds the Reindeer Games. Neon light from the gaudy reindeer sign washes one side of her, the other half is in shadow. She’s two different girls at once.

  A new message appears in the thread: See you at the Games…

  I try the number and get another out-of-service message.

  Trent Landry. Grasping, pathetic Alex Franks wanna-be. It has to be him. Heat builds in my chest, my jaw clenches. The hand not holding my phone clenches into a fist. He’s behind this. He’s pestered me more than once to bring Emma to the damn Games. So did Hailey.

  What did he say to get her to leave with him?

  I exit out of the thread and text Jason: Something’s up. Emma left. Going to track her down. Will call if I need you.

  Freezing night air snaps at my face when I step out and then run for my car. She’s been gone ten minutes. By the time I get there it will be twenty. Is she in her right mind? If she is, she’ll punch someone if they need it. If she’s flipped… I have no way to gauge what she will do if she isn’t herself – except for what she did the first night. It took me a long time to wash the blood off her.

  My nerves scream at me to hurry. An antsy kind of dread buzzes through me, a bad combination with the extra wattage already circulating in my system.

  Streets pass by in a blur. Why does it have to be the Reindeer Games? Nothing more than a holiday-themed rave, held in a small Veterans of Foreign Wars hall and famous with the Sadony Academy student body. Anything you want to eat or drink, loud music, party lights, sneaked-in booze, clandestine drug deals behind the building – hell, Stacia Nowlin had sex, and according to her best friend, got pregnant there last year.

  My mind runs scenario after scenario of Emma and what could happen to her there. She could be drunk, stoned, or worse.

  The brilliantly-lit, custom-designed neon Reindeer Games sign comes into view when I turn the car of
f Water Street and onto Walsh Road. Two girls dressed in skimpy Santa’s Helper costumes stand in the road flagging traffic down.

  Tiffany Schultz, the brunette wearing the least red velvet and showing the most skin, recognizes me when I turn in. “Hi, Alex!”

  A car horn honks behind me when I stop in the driveway and roll down my window. “Hi, Tiff. Are Trent or Hailey here?”

  “Trent is.” She shivers, goosebumps coating her skin. Tiffany waves when the car behind me toots another complaint. “I’m not sure about Hailey.”

  “Did Trent come with somebody?”

  “I don’t know. I saw him inside with some new girl.”

  “Thanks.”

  “See you in there!” Tiffany’s all smiles and shivering, and utterly clueless. I’m here to get my girl and get out.

  Music drifts heavier than the filthy snow around the building. One parked car, at the end of the aisle, rocks with a recognizable rhythm. Two people are against the building making out, tangled up like abstract art. The front door belches light, while the open side door frames somebody vomiting. Same shit, different year.

  I shove my hands deep into my pockets, bury my nose in my coat collar and stalk through the slushy parking lot to the foyer. Tiffany waves at me with a flash of pale skin and red mitten from the street before I step through the door. Keifer Presley, looking like a bull with a military haircut, mans the inner door, a cash box on the stool next to him. His eyes are bloodshot, he reeks of beer. When he recognizes me, he puffs up in his Sadony Academy letterman’s jacket, like I’m a threat.

  “Well lookie here,” he slurs. “The Golden Boy returns.”

  “Bite me, Presley.” I shove a five-dollar bill under his nose. “Just take my money and mark my hand.”

  “I don’t have to let you in, y’know. You’re not Sadony anymore.” He tries to stare me down, and can’t keep his eyes focused long enough.

  “I don’t have to hurt you, either.”