Lucifer's Children

by Brett Williams

  “Nothing. I’m not looking at anything.”

  “The hell you’re not,” she said.

  “She’s a newb,” another girl, a brunette wearing too much makeup, said.

  “I don’t give a fuck who she thinks she is. You don’t look at me like that. I’ll gut a bitch.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t intend to look at you, or anybody, in any particular way. I’m looking for Mrs. Templeton’s room.”

  “A brown-noser, huh? If you hurry along maybe you can lick that old woman’s cunt before the bell rings.”

  “Yeah,” the one with too much makeup said. “Run along before Stacy fucks you up.”

  “Sorry,” Amanda said, rushing away. Had she given Stacy a look? She hadn’t even made eye contact until spoken to, right? Perhaps she had gazed too long at her cleavage. Sheesh.

  Amanda found her homeroom class, the second door on the left. She went inside, nerves jangled, and took a seat on the second row against the wall. Mrs. Templeton was seated behind her desk, her name written on the chalkboard behind her. She glanced up once and peered briefly at Amanda over the glasses perched on her pointy nose. She looked like a stereotypical teacher, with her average build, silver-streaked hair in a bun. Amanda removed her paperback from her backpack and pretended to read. She hoped her stomach settled before she blew chunks across her desk.

  Time passed slowly until the school bell rang, prompting a stampede of students into the room. Amanda watched the door out the corner of an eye. Neither the platinum blonde nor her friends entered. Relief came in the form of the tardy bell and Mrs. Templeton closed the door to her classroom.

  The teacher began to discuss campus rules and partway through the period Mrs. Templeton passed out the class schedules.

  Amanda’s schedule consisted of:

  1st Period—English

  2nd Period—Algebra

  3rd Period—Health

  4th Period—History

  Lunch

  5th Period—Study Hall

  6th Period—Media / Technology

  7th Period—Communications

  The schedule card also listed the building, room number, and instructor’s name, along with a locker assignment. Monarch Preparatory School website URL and login credentials were included.

  “Today,” Mrs. Templeton explained, “you will follow an abbreviated schedule due to homeroom. You’ll be allowed extra time to locate your locker before we commence with first period. Are there any questions?”

  “Where are the boys?” someone asked, to the amusement of the class. The bell interrupted their laughter, and everyone stood up and herded out the door.

  Lunchtime arrived without Amanda sharing a class with the platinum blonde. Hopefully Amanda would get lucky and not share any with her. Although still a little anxious about her first day in a new school, Amanda nonetheless felt much better than she did earlier. And her appetite had returned. She decide to get something in the lunchroom, then go outside to read and eat the banana she had brought.

  She entered the cafeteria, deciding on a turkey sandwich and bottle of organic juice. She took her tray in search of a place to sit. Noticing Stacy and her friends, Amanda veered another direction, and settled on a table with eight or ten students seated at it.

  Amanda took a seat, opened her juice bottle, and started to eat. She had only taken two bites when a girl sat down across from her. Long black hair spilled down the girl’s back, her large belly pressed against the table. She wore the black dress.

  “Hi,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind if I sit here.”

  “I don’t mind,” Amanda said, although she secretly felt a little uncomfortable socializing with one of the expectant mothers. For a moment she thought the girl might be the one she had seen performing oral sex on Matt the other day. But no. That girl had had curly hair. Thank goodness.

  “I’m Pammy. Not sure what my so-called friends’ problem is. Must be my belly. Lately, I’m a pariah. So I’m banished to the loser table—no offense.”

  “This is the loser table?”

  “Sorry to break it to ya.”

  “No problem, I suspected as much. I’m Amanda, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you, Amanda,” Pammy said around a mouthful of meatloaf. Two of everything filled her tray: meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy, peas, rolls, and plenty of butter. “You don’t eat much, do you?”

  “Me? No. Not usually.”

  “Skinny bitch.” Pammy grinned. “Once I squirt this kid out I’ll be back to my only slightly overweight self. Then watch out.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “But it’s not so bad. I get to eat for two.”

  Amanda glanced at Pammy’s tray and thought she could feed three or four.

  “What’s your story?” Pammy asked. “You’re obviously new here. We don’t get many new students.”

  “You don’t? Well, I … My new foster parents … My foster father works in the administration building. Kind of odd, I’ll admit, a foster parent sending someone to an obviously expensive private school like this.”

  “Maybe you attend for free, or something. Some kind of perk.”

  “That’s what I thought. Not that I thought about it much.”

  “Yeah. Not really one of those things you waste much brainpower on. If I want to waste brain cells, I can think of much better ways.”

  “You don’t …”

  “No, I don’t do drugs, if that’s what you’re asking. I like to drink. Sometimes I smoke but I’m too cheap to buy cigarettes myself, so mainly just when I can bum them off guys at parties and stuff.”

  “No guys around here, though,” Amanda said, trying to be witty.

  “Oh, there are guys around. Three or four that I know of come sniffing around on a regular basis. Sometimes they bring their buddies.”

  A thought of Matt flitted through Amanda’s mind. She didn’t know how to respond so she took a bite of her sandwich. Pammy shoveled in a mouthful of food and washed it down with milk before speaking next.

  “Say, aren’t you in Templeton’s second-period Algebra class?”

  “Yes.” Now Amanda recalled seeing Pammy there. “What’s the rest of your schedule?”

  Pammy told her and Amanda confirmed that they also shared seventh period Communications. Amanda was curious about the father of the baby, but didn’t dare ask Pammy about it. She did, however, allow Pammy to drive their conversation. Amanda decided against reading a book outside, opting instead to stay and talk with Pammy for the duration of lunch. While Pammy chewed, Amanda elaborated on topics of boys, students, and the platinum blonde named Stacy.

  “Stay away from that bitch,” Pammy said. “She’s crazy.”

  “She said she’d gut me for looking at her the wrong way.”

  “She’s mostly talk. Mostly. But she did fuck up a girl over summer break, or so I heard. Steer clear of her. Nothing would surprise me when it comes to Stacy.”

  “Thanks for the warning. She’s already on my radar.”

  The bell rang and they returned their trays. They walked together back to the general education building where they went their separate ways. Amanda read her book during study hall. Seventh period she met up with Pammy. After class, Pammy followed her to the elementary school building to find Amy.

  Amanda told her new friend her plans for a part-time after-school job.

  “We should totally go after school. I’m sure you could find something. How about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? I still need to ask my foster parents. I need to show them how I can keep up with my homework first.”

  “I bet you don’t give them any trouble at all, do you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well then, how about Friday? I’d bet you can convince them by then.”

  Amanda smiled. It did seem possible.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Great. I’ll take you to the old downtown area of Overland Park. There are always mom and pop places hiring
there.”

  “Thank you, Pammy.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  A loud voice drew their attention.

  “Amanda!” Amy came skipping up to join them.

  “Pammy, this is my foster sister, Amy. Amy, this is my friend, Pammy.”

  “Hi Amy.”

  “You wear the dress.”

  “Yep. Got a big ole belly, too.”

  “Can we go?” Amy asked.

  “Amy. That’s not nice.”

  “It’s okay,” Pammy said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget to ask your foster parents.”

  “Okay. See you later.”

  On the walk home, Amy told Amanda all about her day at school. But Amanda could only think about her new friend. And her need to ask permission for Friday.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Amanda opened the web browser and navigated the Monarch Prep website on the Apple computer. She had already completed her homework but wanted to double-check her class assignments. She also wanted to check her email. Mr. Henning had instructed her not to use the computer for chatting. She assumed it would be okay to access her Yahoo account but decided doing so wasn’t worth the risk. Not when she was trying to work up the nerve to ask about getting a part-time job. Besides, she only had a couple of friends from her previous life who might email her. Not close friends, though. And for some odd reason she believed, due to a last-minute falling out between them, it would probably be a waste of time. She lived with the Henning family now and attended Monarch Prep. She would never see those old friends again. She wanted to see, however, if Pammy had sent her any messages to her Monarch Prep inbox.

  One unread message awaited.

  Behind her a door creaked and footsteps approached the study.

  “Hey. Wanna play a game?”

  “Not tonight, Amy.”

  “But you didn’t play after school today. I thought you were my best friend.”

  “I thought Tara was your best friend.”

  “Well, yeah. You know what I mean.”

  “I’m sorry, Amy. I’m your big sister. And sometimes big sisters have to do big sister things.”

  “No fair.”

  “Didn’t we have fun while making dinner?”

  “So? That’s work.”

  “Work can be fun. Look, we’ll play tomorrow. I promise, okay?”

  “Oh, okay. I guess so. What are you doing?” Amy asked. “Can I see?”

  “I’m doing school stuff.”

  “Blech. See you later.”

  “Later,” Amanda said. Then she clicked open the unread message.

  Pamela > Did you ask about Friday yet?

  Amanda sighed, feeling a little guilty for not having yet asked. Why did she have to make it so tough on herself? She knew the answer, though. Because it meant so much to her. It meant everything, it meant a big step on her way to adulthood, it meant stepping out of her comfort zone. And it meant a new life in little less than a year, something she could barely comprehend. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Henning would help her strike out on her own when the time came but she didn’t, no, couldn’t take that risk. She had always been much too responsible, much too calculating, because she just always wanted to be in control of her own destiny. Perhaps because other people had always assumed control. So she took a deep breath and committed herself to the task by typing:

  Amanda > I’ll ask before school tomorrow.

  If not tonight, tomorrow morning for sure. She clicked Send. Too late now, she thought. Just as she was about to logout of the web portal, she heard footsteps. Heavy footsteps. She turned to find Mr. Henning.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “It’s going fine. I was just checking my school assignments. I’m finished now. Do you want to use the computer?” She clicked to logout.

  “Oh no. I have a laptop downstairs in my office.”

  “Is something wrong, then?”

  “Nothing is wrong. No trouble using an Apple computer, I see.”

  “No problem at all. I’ve used them before. I like them.”

  “Me too,” Mr. Henning said, flashing a smile. He stepped into the study. He looked different, in shorts and a black T-shirt. He usually dressed nice, but for the past two days he had changed from suit to shorts after school. “I just came up to complement you on being such a help to your foster mother these past weeks. You’re a very responsible young lady and we’re happy to have you here.”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  “Even with school in session, you still manage to keep up with your chores. Of course it’s only been two days, but I don’t anticipate any problems. I also hear good things about you from your teachers. I trust you will be just as steadfast when it comes to your studies.”

  “Yes. Definitely. I was just checking my assignments.”

  “So you mentioned.” He stepped closer and, peering over her head at the computer screen, placed his hands on her shoulders and started to massage them. It made Amanda a little uncomfortable but she didn’t say anything.

  “Amy earns a small allowance for doing her chores. Since you’re so helpful and responsible, I’m going to give you an allowance, too. Not much, but it’s something. I’m sure a girl your age has plenty of things she’d like to buy. Right?”

  “Thank you so much. But you don’t—”

  “I insist.”

  “I …” Amanda stumbled. His offer tripped up her plan to ask about the part-time job and Friday night with Pammy.

  “What is it? Don’t be afraid, you can ask me anything.”

  “It’s just that …”

  “Spit it out.”

  “It’s just, well, I’m seventeen and I want to be prepared when I turn eighteen, when I leave the foster system.”

  “Oh, Amanda, you shouldn’t concern yourself with that. Sure, turning eighteen is a big deal. Trust me, I know what a huge deal it is. I get that. But live a little and don’t worry.”

  “That’s just how I am. I feel like …”

  “What exactly are you trying to say?”

  Amanda took a deep breath, exhaled. She swiveled the office chair a quarter turn and looked him in his deep green eyes. “I’d like permission to get a part-time job. Before you say no, let me say, I promise to keep up with my chores, with Amy, and of course my school work. I’ll need the money one day soon. I’m sure you can understand.”

  He thought about it a moment before simply replying yes.

  “Yes?” Amanda could hardly believe her ears.

  “Sure. We’ll give it a try. If at any time your chores or schoolwork slips, you will have to quit. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  * * *

  Elation became confusion. Amanda found herself standing alone near the entryway to the study and couldn’t remember how she had gotten there. A bad taste coated her tongue. A dull pain throbbed behind her eyes. She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and see if she could find any pain reliever. She didn’t find any aspirin or anything in the medicine cabinet but the pain would subside. After brushing and flossing, Amanda returned to the study to shut off the computer, something she had forgotten to do. Amanda nudged the mouse to wake the display. A nude image of a young woman pleasing multiple men stared back at her.

  “Oh my.”

  The image startled her and she twisted her neck to see if anyone was standing behind her who might see. Nobody was there. Who would view such a thing? Amy came to mind. But why would a prepubescent girl look at pornographic images? Then Amanda thought of spyware. That had to be the explanation. She closed the browser and shut down the computer. She switched off the light on her way out of the room. She almost knocked on Amy’s door, just to ask her if she had been using the computer but already knew the answer. If she knocked, she’d end up playing a game, something she didn’t want to do.

  Instead she went to her bedroom. She sat down on the floor in a corner by the closet, knees under her chin, arms wrapped around her legs. There she rocked as tears
welled in her eyes, until her headache subsided.

  FIRST TATTOO

  Psychobilly thumped from speakers mounted throughout Savage Skin Art & Piercings. Rock, nodding his head along with the music, turned a page of the Hot Rod magazine in his hands. Currently he drove a ‘72 black, nicely-tuned Monte Carlo, but he longed to own a chopped and lowered ‘57 Chevy. Maybe someday soon, considering the success of his business.

  He’d owned the business for three years now. By renting chairs to tattoo artists, along with his own growing clientele, he did all right. Shit, he did damn good, all things considered. He loved it here. It was one of the reasons he chose to come to work early a lot of days. Especially Tuesdays. After a relaxing (or not so relaxing) Sunday-Monday weekend he missed the place. Usually, like today, he kicked back in his tattoo chair, cranked music, and enjoyed daydreaming about cars, or chicks, until time to open.

  A loud knocking at the door demanded his attention.

  “Goddamn it,” Rock said, raising off the chair. It seemed there was always some dumb-fuck salesman stopping by to sell him something. Didn’t matter if the front door was locked and the goddamn sign said Closed. So he tossed the car rag on the chair and strode to the front door intending to give the guy a piece of his mind. Instead he found a teenaged girl holding the hand of a much younger girl with a doll. He unbolted the door and swung it open. A cowbell dangling from it clanked.

  “Can I help you?” Rock said. “You lost?”

  “Nope. I know right where I am.” The girl strode straight in, flaming-red mane swishing down her back. She wore either the sluttiest school uniform ever, or possibly a schoolgirl costume. But Halloween wasn’t for another month.

  “Hello? Can’t you read? We’re closed.”

  “Then shut the door. Lock it, too.”

  “Get out. Now.”

  The redhead ignored the request, as if compliance was optional.

  Rock closed the door and locked it—you never knew who might enter a business when it was open—although he didn’t plan to let the teen stay. Hell no.

  “What’s your damage? We don’t tattoo anyone under eighteen. Besides, like I said, we’re closed.”