Thunderland

by Brandon Massey

  Standing only five feet away from the window, she beckoned for him to come outside.

  He looked to the back door beside him. It was only two steps away. Two steps, and he could have this incredibly erotic woman in his arms. He could imagine them together on the grass, fucking like dogs.

  His mouth was dry.

  He looked at the woman. She placed her hands on her breasts. Smiling, she kneaded them slowly, lovingly.

  He could feel his hands on her breasts. Could see himself licking the dark nipples, sucking greedily.

  “Come on, Thomas,” the woman said. He heard her voice clearly, almost as if she were whispering in his ear. “You did it with Rose. Aren’t I more beautiful than she is?”

  “Yes, but ... hey, how do you know about Rose?” he said. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know plenty of things, sweetheart. I know what you need right now. Me.”

  A chill passed through him. Weird. This was some weird shit.

  The back door was two steps away. But he was not going out there. His body hungered for this fabulous-looking woman, but he would not allow himself to indulge his lust. Not only was it wrong; some subconscious feeling told him that it was dangerous. What kind of woman called at two o’clock in the morning and then showed up in someone’s backyard? How could she know his name and know about Rose, too? He had not told anyone about Rose.

  Too many questions. No logical answers. That meant it was time to end this encounter. He wasn’t some fool in a horror movie who willingly walked into strange shit.

  He glanced at the woman again—and then pulled the drapes across the window. He made sure the back door was locked, too.

  He stood against the counter for a few minutes, waiting for something to happen—for her to glide like a ghost through the door, maybe. Nothing happened. Gradually, his heartbeat slowed.

  By morning, perhaps he would not remember this incident. He did not want to remember it. He did not want to dwell on things he could not rationalize away.

  He would not tell Linda about it, either. Why worry her? She would only suspect that he had dreamed it up, anyway, and the last thing he needed was for her to think that he dreamed of other women.

  He switched off the kitchen light and returned upstairs. Linda was asleep. Quietly he lay beside her.

  “I love you, baby,” he said. He kissed her softly on the forehead. “God, I love you so much.”

  As if she had heard him, she scooted into his arms. He held her close. Lustful visions still flashed like photos in his mind: the woman in the backyard—inviting him, tempting him.

  It didn’t really happen, he assured himself. It was only a bad dream. And I won’t think about it anymore.

  Eventually, the disturbing images faded, and he drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Friday morning, Thomas and Linda enjoyed breakfast in bed. Fruit, toast, eggs, and orange juice. Like honeymooners, they took turns playfully feeding each other, stretching a meal that would normally take ten minutes into a half hour. They made love after breakfast—a slow, tender session that, in Linda’s mind, somehow surpassed the hot passion of the previous night. Around nine o’clock, they mutually agreed it was time for both of them to get to work. They shared a long, liquid kiss at the door, then Thomas left for the restaurant, Linda standing at the window watching him leave, a serene smile on her face.

  When she turned to go to her office, she was still smiling. Since yesterday, she and Thomas had talked, held each other, and loved more than they had in years. The past twelve hours seemed like a romantic fantasy, too sweet to be true.

  But it’s really happening, she thought. We persevered through the bad times, and this is our reward for staying together. It’s only going to get better.

  She settled in front of her computer to work on her novel. She wrote with unusual speed and focus. When she looked up at the clock, she was surprised to see that she had worked past noon. She would have continued to work, but she had learned that it was always better to take a break before inspiration dried up. Besides, she was hungry.

  Before heading to the kitchen, she checked the mailbox. The mail appeared to consist of bills, credit-card offers, and a book from one of the many book clubs of which she was a member. After a closer examination, she noticed that the large padded envelope that she had assumed contained a book did not bear a return address. The only address written on it was hers. It was printed in square, black letters.

  Curious, she tore open the envelope.

  A videocassette slid out.

  Nothing was written on the tape’s label. Odd.

  She popped the videotape into the VCR. She pressed PLAY and stood in front of the TV with her arms crossed. She could not believe what she saw on the screen. Thomas and another woman. In bed.

  At one o’clock, Jason opened the front gate of the Sawyer residence. He strolled across the walkway, climbed the steps to the porch, and stood there with his finger poised over the doorbell.

  He did not want to take his girlfriend to the carnival. Having slept only three hours the previous night, he was tired, hardly up to the half-mile walk to the county fairgrounds, where the carnival was located. He was tense, in no mood to eat, talk, laugh, shout, play, and otherwise act as though he were a typical teenager having a good time. Worst of all, he could not blot the Stranger out of his thoughts. Thoughts of the Stranger spread like a virus through his mind, crippling his ability to think of anything else.

  He would have liked to cancel his date, but he had promised Michelle that they would go. Used to living with parents who, for years, had casually broken promises they made to him, he was determined to stand by his word. He didn’t want to be anything like his crazy family.

  They would stay at the carnival for only a couple of hours. In a public place filled with hundreds of people, what could go wrong, anyway?

  Nothing, of course.

  He pressed the doorbell.

  The door opened. Michelle stuck her head out.

  Jason summoned his best smile.

  “Hey, sweet thing,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  She frowned. “I know you’re not talking to me.”

  “You’re the only one here.”

  “I’m not a ‘sweet thing,’ for your information. I’m an intelligent, responsible young woman.”

  “You forgot pretty.”

  “Huh?”

  “Intelligent, responsible, and pretty young woman.”

  She smiled shyly.

  “Okay. Since you said that, I forgive your ‘sweet thing’ comment.”

  “Did it really bother you?”

  “No, not coming from you. But if some other guy had said it, I’d have wanted to smack him. You can get away with saying almost anything to me.”

  “Really?” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “Don’t get any ideas. I said almost anything.”

  “Calm down. I was only going to tell you how beautiful you look today. So I’ll say it: Michelle, you look beautiful today.”

  “You’re too nice,” she said, but it was obvious that she was eating up his flattery. It made him feel good to see her smile. The past couple of days had been full of storm clouds; it was nice to see a little sunshine.

  “Ready to go?” he said.

  “Yep.” She closed the door behind her and came outside.

  He wasn’t merely acting flirtatious when he complimented her. With her dreamy brown eyes and bright smile, Michelle was the finest girl in the school. She wore a yellow blouse, white shorts, and sandals. He couldn’t help noticing how well her clothes hung on her blossoming figure.

  Sometimes he was surprised at how comfortable he had grown with Michelle in the two months that they’d been dating. He did not consider himself to be a ladies’ man, but somehow, being around her brought out his confidence. She had a calming effect on him.

  On their first date, he had been anything but calm. Anxious in the presence of such a pretty, popular gi
rl, he had stumbled over his words, made comments he later realized were stupid, and had been terrified at the thought of even holding her hand. When the date was over, he was convinced that she would never go out with him again, and that she would, in fact, tell everyone what a loser he was. To his astonishment, she agreed to another date. He soon began to relax around her. She was very pretty, but she was equally sweet. He wondered how she had ever made him nervous.

  “What are you looking at?” she said as they walked down the porch steps, side by side.

  “You. I’ve missed you the past few days.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. What have you been doing?”

  “Breaking into houses, joyriding in stolen cars, and stealing candy from babies.”

  “You’re so silly. Seriously, what have you been doing?”

  “Not much. Hanging out with the fellas, nothing special.”

  He hated to lie to her. But he could not risk telling her the truth and involving her in his problems. He valued their relationship too much to endanger her.

  “I wish I could hang out,” she said. “Mama’s trying to kill me this summer. She’s got me doing everything, from scrubbing floors to helping her paint the bathroom. Since I’m going out of town tomorrow to visit my cousins in Atlanta for a couple of weeks, it’s like she wants to work me to death before 1go.”

  “We’ll have fun at the carnival. It’ll be a good break for both of us.”

  “What do you need a break from? Playing video games all day?” She giggled.

  “Hey, video games can wear you out.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure.”

  “Really.”

  “Whatever you say. Don’t let me tell Mama. She’ll call you over to do some real work.”

  “As long as I’m with you, I wouldn’t mind.” It was corny, but so what? He wanted to be carefree for a change.

  “Aw, you’re such a sweetie,” Michelle said. She took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently as they walked.

  Warmth spread through Jason. How could he have thought about canceling their date? With all that he had faced recently, he needed a couple hours of fun and laughter. Michelle was the perfect solution for his abraded nerves. As long as they were together, he would be happy and nothing would go wrong. Nothing.

  Fifteen seemingly endless minutes later, the images on the television flickered into electric snow. Linda gazed blankly at the screen. She rose from the sofa and shut off the TV.

  Slowly, she returned to the couch.

  She had to sit. She felt off-balance, shaky.

  She leaned back on the cushions. She stared at the ceiling.

  Numbness lay like a marble slab on her body. She closed her eyes. She squeezed her hands into fists. Her heart began to hammer, beating so hard her entire body throbbed in unison with each pound. Sweat formed on her face in cold beads, her mouth dried up like a sun-scorched pond, and a single thought boiled in the depths of her storming mind, erupting into her consciousness with such power that she shouted it aloud.

  “How the hell could he do this to me?”

  Hadn’t she been busting her ass lately to rebuild their relationship? Hadn’t they talked about the importance of each of them doing their share if the marriage was to work? Hadn’t he given her his word that he had remained faithful to her?

  Yes, all of those things had happened. But one fact nullified everything: Thomas only cared about himself.

  Unable to sit, she sprang off the couch.

  She didn’t give a damn about the woman who had filmed their little rendezvous. It could’ve been any woman. She didn’t blame her. She blamed Thomas. The bastard. The selfish, cheating, manipulative bastard. He’d been acting really funny the past few days. Finally, she knew why.

  That asshole!

  She paced through the house, cursing. Tears began to spurt from her eyes, and her weeping only made her more furious, more unsettled. She felt as if she would literally explode.

  Wandering in a daze, she happened by the telephone in the kitchen. Without hesitation she snatched the handset off the cradle. Dialed The House of Soul. Hung up after the first ring, before anyone had answered.

  To hell with calling him.

  She was going down there.

  If she remembered correctly, Thomas had set up a VCR at the restaurant, in the employee room, where the staff took breaks and watched training tapes. She didn’t care what he might be doing when she arrived—didn’t care if the president was in there chowing on greens, rib tips, and corn bread. She was going to march in and demand that he watch this tape. If he refused, she would play it anyway for his employees, and if they wanted, she’d buy popcorn and soda for their enjoyment as they viewed the show.

  She was close to losing all control of herself. She didn’t care. If she tried to restrain her emotions, if she began to actually think about this madness, she would go crazy-before Thomas had been burned by the flames of her wrath.

  She ejected the videocassette out of the machine and jammed it into her purse. Rushing out the front door, she got in her car, gunned the engine, and sped to The House of Soul.

  The carnival was in full swing when Jason and Michelle arrived. Drenched in golden sunlight, the fairgrounds rocked, jumped, and twirled to the tune of a thousand people caught in an ecstasy of fun. The Ferris wheel, the Tilt-a-Whirl, the Dive Bomber, the Whip, the Caterpillar, the Whirl-Wind. Cotton candy kiosks, pokerino parlors, ring tosses, taffy-apple stands, and bottle pitches. The mouthwatering aromas of hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza, taffy, cotton candy, and pretzels. Bright colors everywhere; loud music pumping, pumping, pumping from scores of speakers; kids laughing, shouting, and screaming with glee. So much excitement and energy, it was impossible to absorb it all at once; you could only step in and let the atmosphere sweep you away.

  “I love coming here,” Michelle said. Looking around, she grinned. “I wish I could live at a carnival.”

  “I hear the freak show needs new help,” Jason said. “You might want to sign up.”

  She pinched him in the ribs.

  “Hey, I thought you said I was beautiful.”

  Grimacing, rubbing his side, Jason said, “I thought you said I was being too nice.”

  “I was kidding, Jason. I love compliments. Who doesn’t?”

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “I love taffy apples, too.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “It’d be nicer if you bought one for me.”

  “Will you give me a kiss if I do?”

  “Maybe. A quick peck on the cheek.”

  “I was hoping for a French kiss.”

  “Keep hoping, baby. It ain’t happening here.”

  He sighed. “I can dream, I guess.”

  At a taffy-apple stand, he bought apples for both of them.

  They took big, sloppy bites of the treats as they walked down the crowded midway, surveying the amusements, trying to decide which ride to try first.

  “There, let’s get on that.” She pointed.

  She was pointing at the Ferris wheel. It was the biggest one he had ever seen, like a wheel from a chariot a mythical god might use to traverse the heavens. As if burning slowly from within, the metal spokes and rims gleamed, though the burning phenomenon was created by nothing more remarkable than reflections of the sunlight. Each gently swinging gondola looked occupied, and a long line curved to the booth at which the tickets were taken.

  “The line’s long,” he said.

  “All of the lines are long. We have to start somewhere. That seems like a good place.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “It’s romantic,” she said. “Think about it. You’re high in the air; there’s a cool wind; the sun’s warm on your skin; you can see the country for miles around ...”

  “And you can feel your stomach about to turn inside out and make you throw up on your girlfriend,” he said.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Okay, that’s nasty.”

  “Sorry, but it might happen.”

/>   “Are you scared?”

  “What? I’m not scared.” He knew what real fear was, and getting on a Ferris wheel didn’t come close to what he’d been through lately. But he’d play along with her.

  “Prove it,” she said.

  “All right, I will.” He took her hand and led her toward the ride. They got in line. “What a typical guy.” She smiled. “You can’t admit that you’re scared of anything.”

  “I wanted to try the Ferris wheel anyway.”

  “Sure, Jason.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. It’s our secret.”

  “Thanks. I was worried about that.”

  They waited in line. Everything was going perfectly, more perfectly than he could have anticipated. There was nothing to worry about. Everything would be fine.

  Thomas was seated at the desk in his office, working on an inventory report, when Linda knocked on the door.

  Seeing her face at the square window in the door broke his concentration as effectively as a rock shattering glass. He’d plunged so deeply into work that he had forgotten the problems that plagued his personal life. The sight of Linda’s face brought everything back up, like bile.

  Why was she visiting him here? What did she want? Whatever it was, couldn’t it wait until he got home?

  She knocked again.

  “Thomas, it’s me,” she said. “Will you open the door, please?”

  Reluctantly he closed the file on his desk. He would see why she had come, then get her out of here. With only a few hours remaining until he went home for the day, he wanted to savor all the time he had left in his comfortable, secluded world of work.

  He opened the door.

  “What a surprise,” he said. “You’re visiting me at work. Next thing, you’ll be wanting a job here.”

  “I need to show you something. I couldn’t wait until this evening.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’ll see. Come on.” Beckoning him, she turned and walked down the short hallway, into the employees’ break room.

  The area was furnished with a long pine table, several padded chairs, and a shelf stocked with magazines such as Ebony, Jet, Essence, and Black Enterprise. A built-in media center housed a stereo, VCR, twenty-seven-inch television, and several videotapes, most of which featured restaurant-training seminars.