Trembling

by V. J. Chambers

  Mr. Sutherland moved fast. He leapt forward, one hand going to the hand which held my gun. In a swift movement, he wrenched my wrist. I cried out, dropping the gun.

  Twisting my arm, he pulled it above my head. His other hand grasped my other wrist, which he pulled into the same position. And his hips settled against mine so that he pinned me to the couch.

  I panicked. I struggled against his body, but he held me fast. I kicked as his legs with mine. He just laughed.

  What the hell was going on here?

  "I used to be a teacher, actually," said Mr. Sutherland, his bruised face inches from mine. "I mean, a real teacher. In England. You know why I lost my job?"

  I shook my head. How was I going to get my gun back? What was I going to do?

  "Linda Thames," he said, a wistful look in his eyes. "She was so intelligent. So beautiful. So young. Flawless skin." He smiled, as if savoring a particularly nice memory.

  I renewed my struggles. I didn't like the sound of his voice. I didn't like what he was saying.

  "She made the loveliest noises," mused Mr. Sutherland. "And her tears . . . But strangling her was by far the best part." He looked me in the eye, his smile wide and maniacal.

  Oh God. Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.

  And to think, I'd come here voluntarily. Why was I so stupid?

  Mr. Sutherland lowered his face to my neck. I felt the dry pressure of his lips, the wetness of his tongue.

  I made a face, but I didn't make any noise. After that comment about the other girl's noises, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

  Maybe . . . maybe, I just needed to keep him talking. If he was talking, he couldn't . . . hurt me.

  "So you killed one of your students?" I squeaked. "That's why you lost your job?"

  "I didn't just kill her," said Mr. Sutherland. "I kept her locked in a cellar for weeks, and I raped her repeatedly. When I finally did kill her, she was begging for it."

  Oh. I made another face. Could I really keep him talking about this?

  "So how did you get caught?" I asked.

  "I was sloppy back then," he said. "Too many people knew I liked Linda. She was my favorite student."

  "People know you like me," I pointed out.

  "Yes, but I'll be long gone from the U.S. before they find your body," he said.

  My . . . body? He was going to kill me? Oh, Christ, what had I gotten myself into? I needed my gun.

  I could see it. It was lying on the floor next to the couch, barely two feet away from my body. How was I going to get it?

  "So," I said, "if they caught you, how come you're not in jail?"

  He grinned. "I told you I find good information. I've made my share of bargains."

  Wonderful. Wonderful. "So you aren't scared of the law, then?" I said.

  "Not a bit."

  "Or the Sons?"

  He laughed.

  "When Jason finds out that you did this, he will hunt you down and kill you," I said. I was serious. It was true.

  "I'm not afraid of Jason either," he said.

  Of course he wasn't. "Jason will know that," I said. "He'll use it to his advantage. You've never seen when he's angry. He's unstoppable. He killed five members of the Sons in the span of two minutes. I watched him do it."

  Mr. Sutherland looked a little taken aback. "Five?" he asked.

  His grip on my hands loosened a little bit. I kept talking.

  "Five," I said. "And Jason and I took out an entire church full of them in Shiloh. Did you hear about that?"

  "I always wondered about that incident," said Mr. Sutherland. "What did he do?" His grip was a little looser still.

  I yanked my hands away from him as hard as I could. "We did it together," I grunted as I freed my hands. I clenched them into fists and forced them up into Mr. Sutherland's body, right below his rib cage.

  He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and his eyes got wide.

  I rolled away from him, off the couch, feeling for my gun.

  Mr. Sutherland recovered quickly. He was behind me, his arms reaching around me, trying to pin me down.

  I elbowed behind me as hard as I could. I made contact with some part of his body. Some soft part.

  Mr. Sutherland let out a cry of rage. "Maybe you are imbued with the spirit of demon," he growled.

  Where was my gun?

  Well, there was no time. I scrambled to my feet. "Think about that the next time you plant a stolen bell in a girl's purse," I said, running for the door.

  Mr. Sutherland was right behind me.

  I tugged open his door, threw myself through it and ran out into the street. I didn't look back, and I didn't hear Mr. Sutherland running after me.

  But I did hear him calling after me from his doorway, "Azazel, I didn't put that bell in your purse!"

  * * *

  I ran and ran. There were no footsteps behind me, but I ran anyway. I ran, taking streets at random, hoping that if he were following me, I'd lose him. My breath went ragged and quick. My lungs started to hurt. The joints in my knees ached each time my foot hit the pavement. Eventually, I stopped, looking around me. There was no one there. And I wasn't entirely sure where I was.

  I tried to catch my breath.

  Damn.

  What was wrong with me? Was there a big sign on my head that said, "Please attempt to violate me sexually"? First there was Toby. Then there was the veiled threat of that guy on the beach. Now Mr. Sutherland?!

  I wasn't even that pretty. I wasn't ugly or anything, but if anybody should be getting all this negative sexual attention, it should be someone like Lilith. Not someone like me.

  But I couldn't ponder that. I was lost on the streets of Bradenton, out of breath, and I'd lost both my purse and my gun. That really sucked. I'd lost my fake ID. I'd lost my driver's license. And I'd lost my check card. I was going to have to get that cancelled immediately. On top of everything else, I'd lost my phone.

  And just when I really, really, really wanted to call Jason, too.

  What was I going to do?

  If I could find my bearings, I guessed I should go back to my apartment. Luckily, my keys were in my pocket, so I could get in.

  But Mr. Sutherland knew where I lived. Was there any reason that he wouldn't have just gotten in his car and driven there? He was probably waiting for me.

  I rubbed my face with my hands. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. My eyes were dry. My chest was loose. I wandered to the end of the street to look at the street signs.

  Oh. Well, I wasn't that far from home after all. A few blocks.

  I didn't have anywhere else to go, so I guessed I'd go home. I'd be very careful. Look around for Mr. Sutherland's car. Then, as quickly as possible, I'd get inside, find the other gun, load it, and hide in a closet somewhere until Jason or Hallam got home. We didn't have a landline phone, so I couldn't even call anyone.

  I walked the few blocks to my apartment and cautiously approached, looking around for Mr. Sutherland.

  And then I saw Jude. He was standing outside my door, his phone to his ear.

  Dammit. Jude was probably calling me. What was he doing here, anyway? Well, if Mr. Sutherland was around, he might go after Jude. Jude could be in danger.

  I broke into a sprint again, snatching my keys from my pocket and feeling for the one to the front door as I ran.

  "Jude!" I yelled as I approached.

  He looked up and half-waved, confused because I was running towards him.

  "Azazel?" he said as I approached. "Why are you—"

  "Don't move," I said, fitting the key to the lock of my door and swinging it open. "Inside," I ordered.

  Jude obeyed, his eyes wide.

  Once we were safe in the house, I slammed the door after us and locked it.

  "What's going on?" Jude asked.

  I shook my head. I dashed back the hallway and went into Hallam's room. He kept his gun under his pillow, and the bullets in his top bedside drawer.

  "Azazel?" said Jude, followi
ng me.

  I didn't answer. I just got the gun, got the bullets, and methodically loaded the gun.

  "Jesus!" said Jude. "Why do you have a gun?"

  I turned on him, angry now. "Why are you here?" I asked. "You're gonna get yourself killed."

  "Why?" he said. "Is someone after you?"

  I strode out of Hallam's bedroom, more confident now that I had the gun. I didn't think that Mr. Sutherland could have broken into our apartment, but I wanted to make sure. I went from room to room, checking closets and under beds. No one was there.

  "Azazel," said Jude, "you are freaking me out! What's going on?"

  I looked at him, finally. What was I going to tell him? What kind of lie would keep him safe, but keep him from being so curious that he'd keep wondering what was going on? I guessed I'd better stick as closely to the truth as possible.

  "I went to Mr. Sutherland's house this evening," I said.

  "Why?" said Jude.

  "I don't know. I got this weird idea that maybe he was the guy in the parking lot last night. Because he wasn't there at school today, and because he seemed so weirdly into me."

  "So you went to his house?" Jude said. "Why would you do that?"

  "I don't know!" I said. "I guess I just thought . . . I wanted to tell him to leave me alone."

  "What happened?"

  "When I got there, his face was bruised and messed up," I said.

  "So it was him," said Jude.

  I nodded. "Yeah. And then he . . ." I trailed off. I didn't really want to talk about what Mr. Sutherland had tried to do to me.

  "I was right," said Jude, "he is a pedophile."

  I remembered Jude's joke in the car earlier that week. I laughed bitterly. "Yeah," I said. "He told me that he did this to a girl at his last job. He said he kept her in a room and . . . over and over. And then he strangled her." I swallowed.

  "Jesus!" said Jude, looking disgusted and little terrified. "How'd you get away?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know, really. I struggled, and hit him and I ran, and . . ." I looked around again, half-expecting Mr. Sutherland to jump out at me, his bruised face twisted into an expression of psychotic glee. "He knows where I live, because he followed us to the shooting range the other day. I was afraid he'd be here, waiting for me."

  Jude looked around too. "He's not, is he?"

  "I don't think so. I left my purse there. All my money was in it, and my phone and—" I broke off. "Jude, do you have your phone?"

  "Sure," he said, taking it out of his pocket and handing it to me.

  "Thanks," I said. "I want to call Jason."

  I flipped Jude's phone open and stared at the numbers. I started laughing.

  "What?" said Jude.

  I couldn't stop laughing. The laughter rolled out of me. I doubled over from the force of it. Could hardly catch my breath.

  "Azazel?" said Jude.

  I tried to squelch the laughter. I handed the phone back to Jude. Between giggles, I said, "I don't know his phone number."

  It was programmed into my phone. I'd never dialed it. I just always searched through my address book and selected Jason.

  "Oh," said Jude. "Maybe I have it."

  "You've never called Jason," I said, still laughing.

  Jude searched through his phone anyway. "You're right," he concluded. "I don't have his number."

  Suddenly, it didn't seem so funny anymore. The laughter caught in my throat, where an enormous lump was forming. And before I could help it, I was sobbing.

  It was just too much. Everything that had happened to me, and now not being able to call Jason. If he knew, he'd drop everything. He'd leave work. He'd come home. He'd wrap me in his arms. And then, I'd feel safe again. But I couldn't call him, because I didn't know his phone number! It had seemed so utterly ridiculous before, but now it seemed tragic. Cruel.

  "Oh God, Azazel," said Jude. "I am so sorry."

  As if he'd been reading my mind, Jude put his arms around me. I'd never noticed it before, but Jude had very strong arms. He was nearly the same height as Jason, and they had a very similar build. I buried my face in Jude's shoulder, and it felt so much like Jason's shoulder that I started crying harder.

  We stood like that for a long time—Jude holding me, and me crying onto his shoulder, clutching Hallam's gun like it was my lifeline.

  Finally, I quieted. I pulled back from Jude, feeling embarrassed. I scrubbed at my eyes. "I got your shirt wet," I said.

  Jude shrugged. "What's a little wetness between friends?" he said. He cringed. "Okay, I didn't mean that like it sounded."

  I laughed. "Well, that's the closest you'll probably ever get to wetness, anyway."

  He snorted. "Right."

  Jude and I went into my bedroom and sat down on the bed.

  "When will Jason be back from work?" he asked.

  "A little after eight," I said.

  It was six o'clock then.

  "I'll stay here with you until he comes back," said Jude. "You shouldn't be alone right now."

  "Thanks," I said. "You're a good friend, Jude."

  Sensing I'd had enough of talking about what had happened, Jude breezily changed the subject to something ridiculous. For over an hour, he and I critiqued Britney Spears' latest video, which Jude thought was "tasteless."

  He sighed dramatically. "I used to love her so much," he said, "but I don't know what's happened to her lately. She's just betrayed her roots."

  Since I'd never liked Britney Spears at all, not even when I was a kid, I found this hilarious, and we spent another fifteen minutes debating whether Britney had any actual roots to betray. I didn't think she did. She was a product of marketing and record companies. She didn't have anything personal to say.

  By this time, Jude and I were laying on my bed. I lay flat on my back and Jude lay on his side, propped up on his elbow.

  He looked shocked. "What about when she did 'My Prerogative'? That was personal."

  "That was a cover!" I said.

  "Still, she made it her own," said Jude, shaking his head solemnly.

  I threw a pillow at him.

  He caught it, laughing, and checked the clock. "It's almost eight," he said. "Jason will be back soon."

  "Good," I said.

  "He's going to be pretty pissed off at Mr. Sutherland, isn't he?"

  Oh. Yeah. He was. I hadn't thought about that before. I nodded. I thought about what Hallam had said the night before about Jason becoming more and more violent. I looked up at Jude.

  His eyes were dark and large like Jason's, but they didn't have the intense luminosity of Jason's. In Jason's eyes, there were depths. Layers and layers of pain and anger. Jude just looked kind. Safe. Happy. I wondered if Jason's eyes would look like Jude's if nothing had ever happened to him.

  "Jude?" I said.

  "Yeah?"

  "You remember this morning when you asked me if Jason ever scared me, and I said he didn't?"

  "Yeah."

  "I lied. Sometimes he does scare me."

  Jude was quiet. He just looked down at me, his expression concerned.

  "Not because I'm afraid he'll hurt me," I said. "He'd never hurt me. But other people . . . He just gets so, so mad. That guy at the party he beat up is just one guy. There have been others."

  Jude nodded, still not speaking.

  "You asked me if I'd forgive him if he murdered someone," I said. "I know Jason, and if something bad happened to me, he would. He'd kill someone." He has, I thought, but I didn't say that out loud.

  "Azazel—" started Jude.

  But at moment, the door to the apartment burst open, and I heard Jason hurrying back the hall to my bedroom. "Azazel, where are you?" he called. "I called your phone three times—"

  He broke off as he entered my bedroom. He looked at me and Jude, lying together on my bed. I watched emotions flit across Jason's face. Disbelief. Hurt. Anger. And then he put his hands in the air and backed out of the room.

  Jude shot me a look. "Um," he whisper
ed. "He knows I'm gay, right?"

  "He knows," I said.