by Newman,James
I sat there as still as that boulder then, and I chewed at my bottom lip as I listened…
Right away I knew what they were doing inside the cab of Henry’s Ford. The sloppy wet sounds of building passion drifted out of its windows to echo throughout the grove. The sounds of deep kissing. I had heard Dan and Julie make those same sounds on more than one occasion, when they thought they were alone, but with my big brother and his girlfriend they were different. Slower. Gentler. Longing, yes, but nowhere near as desperate.
I didn’t feel like taking a shower when I heard Dan and Julie make those noises. My stomach didn’t flip-flop and I didn’t feel sick to my stomach.
“Yeahhh,” I heard Henry say. It was a deep-voiced, lascivious sound that made my arms crawl with goosebumps.
“Mmm,” moaned his date. “Henry…”
“You like that?”
“Mm-hmmm.”
Their voices carried to me on the night’s breeze…so dangerously close…
“You taste like strawberries,” Henry said, and she giggled.
More moist kissing noises. I glanced down at Burner beside me, made a face like I’d just tasted something awful.
“Has anyone ever told you what a great kisser you are?” I heard the blond girl ask Henry.
“Nope,” Henry replied.
“Well, you are. You kiss like…like I’ve always imagined Clark Gable would kiss.”
“Cool,” Henry said. “Who’s he?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen Gone With the Wind.”
“I’ve never seen Gone With the Wind.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she said. “It’s very romantic, you know.”
“If you say so.”
They started kissing again. My stomach rumbled in time with the flickering lightning over Midnight, like thunder trapped somewhere deep inside of my gut.
“Henry?” the blond girl said.
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t want you to get mad at me. It’s just something I’ve been wondering.”
“So ask.”
“Promise you won’t get mad at me?”
“Now how can I promise that,” Henry said, “When I don’t even know what you’re gonna ask me?”
“I just don’t wanna hurt your feelings.”
“Just ask me, already,” Henry said. “I’ve got a thick skin.”
She giggled. “Okay. I’ve just been wondering…”
Henry interrupted her by leaning into her again for another deep kiss.
“Mmm,” she said, when they were done. Then she said quickly, as if fearing she might lose her nerve if she hesitated further, “Why you do that, Henry? Are you scared or something?”
Henry said, “Do what?”
“That. You just did it again. With your hand.”
“Oh.”
“I’m just curious. There. That’s what I’m talking about. That thing you just did with your fist. And your head. Is there something wrong?”
Henry didn’t respond right away. When he did explain, his voice was low. Uneven. As if she had hurt his feelings. “I can’t help it, Sherrie. It’s this thing I have.”
“Thing?”
“Yeah. It’s a condition. It’s called Tourette’s Syndrome.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
Henry sighed. He sounded as if he had gone through all of this countless times before, and it never got any easier, so he’d finally just memorized the definition of his malady from some medical encyclopedia: “A neurological disease that manifests itself through uncontrollable behavior such as nervous tics or vocal outbursts.”
“Hmm,” said the blond girl.
“I can’t help myself. Every so often, I just…I just jerk, like that. I take haloperidol for it, but it only works about half the time.”
“Happa…haplerduh—”
“Haloperidol.”
“Can you get high off that stuff?”
“No.”
“Darn. Do they hurt? Your nervous tics, I mean?”
“What?” Henry seemed perturbed by her question. “No, they don’t hurt.”
“Is it contagious?”
“Are you serious? Of course it’s not, Sherrie. Can we just drop it?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
Several long, awkward seconds passed. A car horn honked in the valley below.
“So where we before?” the girl named Sherrie said, just when I’d started to think they had fallen asleep in there.
Henry said, “Hmmmm,” as if in deep thought.
“Come here, lover boy.”
They kissed again. Deeply. Wetly. This one seemed to go on forever.
I cringed.
When that round of tonsil hockey was finished, I heard the girl say, “I don’t do this with just anyone, you know.”
“Do what?” said Henry.
“Park. With boys.”
“Ah. Well…that’s good to hear.”
“I’m not easy.”
“I believe you.”
She fell into his arms then, and once again they began to swap spit.
“Mmm,” moaned the blond girl. “Oh, Henry…”
“Can I?” I heard Henry say a few minutes later.
“Yes…please…”
“You’re so sexy,” Henry said.
Another giggle.
“You drive me crazy, Sherrie.”
“That feels good…like that…”
“Can I?”
“Yes,” she said. “Please…”
I heard what sounded like a rustle of clothing. Like a shirt or a blouse slowly being removed. The pick-up shook slightly with their movements.
“Oh, Henry…”
“Come here…mmmm…”
“You’re stalling.” She giggled. “Can’t you get it off?”
“I’m trying. I swear to God…”
“Here,” she said. “Let me.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Henry said a few seconds later. I imagined him staring at her naked boobs in the darkness, and I felt hot all over. I imagined him licking his lips, reaching out for them as if they were some grand treasure that would make him king of the world.
“You like?” she asked him.
“Yeah. Oh, God, yeah…wow…”
“My turn now,” said the girl.
“What?” Henry panted.
“I want to touch you.”
“Oh. Okay. But, umm…”
“Can I? Please?”
“Umm…I…”
“Is something wrong, Henry?”
“N-no.” Henry’s voice cracked. “It’s just that…I…ummm…er…”
“Don’t be shy. What’s the matter? Is it because you have a little dick?”
“What? N-no…it’s not anything like that…not really…”
“Here,” she said. “I promise, it’ll be okay…”
“N-no. D-don’t,” Henry stammered.
“Stop playing hard to get, Henry.”
I heard the metallic rasp of a zipper being pulled down slowly.
“Oh, G-God, Sherrie…oh, God…n-no…wait…”
“You ready?” she asked him.
“I can’t…look…”
“I want you, Henry.”
“Sherrie, no…wait—”
And then, abruptly, the night grew silent again. The breeze had died in the treetops. For at least the next few seconds, even the crickets ceased their chirping.
It was as if the volume on the world had suddenly been turned down all the way.
I wondered if I had made a sound, if Henry and his date might have spotted me watching them from behind that boulder.
I waited. Not moving. Not making a sound.
Finally, I heard the girl’s voice drift out of the open window again.
“Ugh!” she said, sounding sick. “What is this, Henry? Jesus…is this some kind of sick joke?”
When Henry spoke, his voice
was so low I could barely hear it. It had deepened at least an octave, and now it reminded me of his father’s voice.
“Don’t make fun of me, Sherrie,” he said. “Don’t you dare make fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun, Henry, I just—” She snorted through her nose, a laugh she tried—unsuccessfully—to stifle. “What the hell is that? What happened to it?”
“It’s not fucking funny!” Henry shouted at her.
Again she laughed. Her voice was high-pitched and cruel as she taunted him: “What did you expect me to do with that…that’s all I’m sayin’…”
“You shut up! You shut the fuck up! Don’t you fucking laugh at me!”
But she did. Again. She snorted through her nose. “It looks…Jesus, Henry…it looks like a piece of roast beef…”
And that’s when Henry Baker snapped.
“Fuck you, you fuckin’ whore!” he growled at her, and that was followed by the harsh, undeniable sound of flesh against flesh.
There was no doubt in my mind what had just happened. He had slapped her. Hard.
I gasped from my place behind the boulder.
The blond girl started crying. “I can’t believe you hit me!”
“Laugh at me again!” He dared her. “I warned you!”
“Fuck you, Henry!” she screamed at him. “Take me home. I wanna go home right now!”
“Shut up.” Henry sounded as if he had started crying too. But his were oncoming tears borne obviously from shattered feelings as well as violent rage. “We’re not going anywhere till you tell me you’re fucking sorry!”
“Fuck you. I’m not going to apologize to you. Take me home.”
“You heard what I said,” Henry sobbed.
“God damn you, Henry, I wanna go home! Right now! Take me the fuck home!”
He slapped her again. Harder than before.
“You better fuckin’ apologize, bitch!”
“Owww, Henry,” she wailed. “Owww…you…bastard!”
No longer could I sit by and allow this to continue. Henry had done the same thing to another girl that night after the Apple Gala, and now three people were dead because I had done nothing. I had to stop him. I knew it was risky, knew I might regret it, but I knew I would never forgive myself if another girl ended up bloody and bruised—murdered—at the hands of the sheriff’s son.
I could not let it happen again. Even if it meant exposing myself to a killer.
When he hit her again, it was not the sound of a slap. This time the awful, resounding wham of a bony fist striking the blond girl’s face echoed through the night like a gunshot.
“Do it now, Sherrie,” he shouted at her. “I’m not playing. You tell me you’re sorry!”
I burst from my hiding place in the woods, bounded for the driver’s-side window of Henry’s Ford as if jerked to him on invisible strings.
Too many people had been hurt already. Too many people had died. I couldn’t let this continue…not any more…
“Stop it!” I screamed at him, approaching his window before I had even conjured up some coherent plan of action. My voice sounded so tiny, so high-pitched, insignificant and infantile, but I did not let that stop me. “By God, Henry, stop it! Stop it now!”
Henry’s eyes grew wide. His jaw dropped as he turned to me.
“Who the fuck—”
“Stop!” I said again, as he turned toward his open window. “Not again, damn you!”
“Why, you little…what are you—”
“He hit me,” said the girl in the passenger’s seat. Her hands covered her breasts, and as she sat there trembling like a woman standing naked in a blizzard, she stared at me as if I were her personal messiah. I could see a small, blotchy tattoo over her right nipple. It looked like a rose, but I couldn’t be sure in the darkness. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her left eye was swollen, purple. A trickle of blood ran from her lower lip down to her chin.
“Please,” she cried. “Get help…”
“You’re not gonna hurt them anymore,” I snarled at Henry.
An eternity seemed to pass as we stared into one another’s eyes.
Then he blinked, several times fast, like a man coming out of a deep trance.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “She laughed at me—”
During that moment Henry Baker resembled little more than a very scared, very confused little boy. I could see it in his eyes. He had never meant for it to go this far. He really did not want to do the things he did.
He was just as afraid as me. Only he had dear old Daddy to drag him out of his predicaments.
But then he seemed to realize the levity of the situation, that he did not have to explain himself to me, and his expression morphed from one of humiliation to anger.
“Who the fuck are you anyway? Were you…were you fuckin’ spying on us?”
“I won’t let it happen again, Henry,” I said. “I won’t let you do to her what you did to Cassandra Rourke.”
His eyes grew wider than I would have ever thought humanly possible.
“Whaaaa…how did you…you kn-know…?”
It hit me then, what I had said. Terror gripped my soul, and my knees grew weak. A rash of frigid chills ran from the top of my head down to my feet.
The distance between myself and my bicycle seemed like hundreds of miles. From the Earth to the moon. Or worse.
“Waitaminute,” Henry said, his face burning bright, bright red. “I know you. Yeah. You’re Dan Mackey’s little brother.” He pointed a long, skinny finger at me. “Your mom…my dad…”
“No,” I said, not wanting to hear about that at all.
He reached to open his door.
“Come ’ere…”
“No!” I braced myself to run. But to where, I was not sure. For the forest? For Burner?
“Let’s just talk about this.”
Henry opened his door. The sound it made as it yawned open reminded me of a dying man’s final breath.
“No,” I said, taking two steps back. “Henry…”
I squatted to the ground, not really realizing what I was doing until after the deed was done and it was too late to take it back.
“Come here.”
Henry slid out from behind his steering wheel, his hands held out toward me in a placating gesture that was almost—but not quite—convincing.
He lunged for me.
I threw a handful of dirt and gravel into his eyes.
“Aggh, fuck!” Henry screamed, his hands covering his face.
“Run!” I said to the girl, but she was already out of Henry’s truck and running for the woods.
Her sobs filled the night as she crashed through the forest like a very large, disoriented animal.
As she left me alone with Henry Baker.
Henry fell to his knees. He clawed at his eyes with one hand, reaching out for me with the other.
“Sh-she…she laughed at me,” he cried. “I didn’t mean t-to…”
I did not wait around to hear his confession. His pale, quivering fingers were only an inch or so away from grabbing my shirt when I scrabbled across the grove to that graffiti-streaked boulder, ready to get the hell out of there. I tripped once, but wasted no time in getting back up.
I jerked Burner off the ground, nearly crushed my testicles when I jumped atop his hard blue seat.
We took off.
I didn’t dare look back over my shoulder, to see if Henry had made it back to his truck. I didn’t wait to hear the pick-up come rumbling alive. Burner and I just raced for home, bouncing violently back down the rutted path the way we had come, and I prayed we would not crash…prayed that Henry Baker’s big brown truck would not suddenly appear behind us once we reached the highway, blinding us with its headlights, roaring after us like a demonic beast intent on swallowing us whole…
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
What had I done?
I asked myself that question a million times as Burner and I sped back toward my house at 2217 Old For
t Road, as the rain began again and its ice-cold drizzle seemed to chill me to the bone.
I had sealed my fate. It was only a matter of time now…
How long, I wondered, until Henry talked to his father? A day? Several hours? Mere minutes, perhaps?
How long before Sheriff Baker knew it was me who witnessed their horrid deeds that night in the Snake River Woods?
It was inevitable, I knew…
They would come for me. Soon.
How long did I have to live?
****
Of course, as I raced for home I never considered the possibility that they might be waiting for me when I got there. Though word traveled fast in places like Midnight, North Carolina circa 1978, such modern wonders as cell-phones, Instant Messaging, and the immediate exchange of information made possible by such technology might have seemed as distant as the possibility of time travel or lunar colonization.
Alas, after I passed Glenn and Gerta Freeman’s split-level with its FOR SALE BY OWNER sign in the yard directly across the road from my own, a second after I jumped that final speed-bump just six feet or so from my mailbox so hard I bit my tongue and Burner nearly bucked me…my heart sank. I skidded to a stop, made a startled little “Uh-gaaa!” sound that echoed down Old Fort Road like the hoarse caw of some injured alien bird.
For several long, long minutes I just sat there atop my bicycle in the middle of the street, staring at it.
I couldn’t move. I could barely even breathe.
Apparently they had decided to take care of business sooner than I’d thought.
“Oh, my God,” I wept, as the frigid autumn rain fell down upon me like all of Midnight’s lingering secrets suddenly plunging to the earth once and for all. “Oh, no…”
KEEPING POLK COUNTY SAFE, read the motto on the back of that slick beige vehicle sitting in my driveway. SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT.
The bubble-light atop the patrol car’s roof reminded me of a dark cyclopean eye. An eye that slept for now, yet one that could come to life at any moment, alerting Burt Baker to my presence telepathically.
I waited for him to come barging out of my front door like Leatherface in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, a satanic brown hulk lumbering after me in the uniform of a kindly civil servant.
I couldn’t believe it. He was in there. The killer was in my home, waiting for me.