Once There Were Sad Songs

by Velda Brotherton

  “Thank you,” she said again. So damned polite and proper.

  For a moment he forgot what she was thanking him for. Then remembered the flashlight. The softly spoken words literally walked over his arms, raising the hairs.

  “You’re welcome.” He croaked like one of those damned frogs yelling their heads off down by the lake.

  “But did you have to come in acting like John Wayne?”

  “Christ Almighty.” He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “John Wayne?”

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Might as well be. Crazy little fuckers. Got no idea what they’re doing. Suppose I’d a shot one of the little shit heels, then what? The law woulda put me away where I’d never see daylight again.”

  “Dear Lord. Would you have? Shot them?”

  “Could’ve. Might’ve. Probably should’ve. No telling what they’ll be up to next. Start with pranks and go on with busting into folks’ cars and houses, ends up with one of them killing someone. Do the world a favor, put ’em away first.”

  “My goodness, you surely don’t mean that.”

  “I’ve got the weapon.” He raised the semi-automatic and noticed it was still cocked from firing the first shot. Damned careless of him. Pointing the barrel at the ground, he eased the hammer down with his thumb.

  “Yes, I noticed you were the one with the gun. Not them.”

  “Well, excuse the hell out of me. I seem to remember they were the ones started all the ruckus. I just put a stop to it, and no one got hurt, as I recall.”

  She soaked that in, shuddered. “Must you be so cavalier? What would you have done if they hadn’t left?”

  That was indeed the best question she’d asked so far. He’d shot men, plenty of them. At a distance and up close and personal. Some of them not much older than those kids. But that was different. That was in country. Still, it bore thinking about. What he would’ve done.

  In the darkness, the white of her shirt looked like a puny flag of surrender. By God, he could smell her, licked at his lips to see if her taste was there. Meanwhile, he considered an answer that would suit himself and to hell with her.

  “Well, then,” he said, feeling a deadly calm settle around his heart. “I’d a picked me one, pointed this old pistol at the little son of a bitch and…bang, bang, you’re dead. Good night, ma’am.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned on the light, touched his forehead with the tips of his fingers in a salute, whirled, and thrashed off through the brush toward his own tent.

  At his back she screeched in a very unladylike manner. “Bang, bang, you’re dead? Jerk.”

  Well, he’d finally gotten to her, broken through the facade. All the same, he cursed her assumptions. Goddamned women anyway. Ain’t none of ’em any different. Can’t wait to put you down where you belong. Right down there under their heel where they can stomp you good, and then act shocked when you fight back.

  Engrossed in his indignation, he almost fell over a figure crouched in his path. The dancing beam picked up Shadow’s dark-skinned features.

  “What the hell you doing?”

  “I was your backup, man. Reckon you routed ’em all by your lonesome, though.” Armed with a thick limb, he used it to heave himself upright.

  “Some backup. Plain to see you never had battle training.” Steven glanced around. “Where’s Lefty?”

  “Here. Here I am.” Out of the night, the stocky figure loomed, brandishing a hunk of firewood.

  “Well, Jesus H. Christ.”

  “My sentiments, too. If we don’t look plumb silly, nearly bare-assed naked, running around in the woods waving these here weapons. Save that little lady’s butt, did you? Big hero, you.”

  Oddly, Steven wasn’t in the mood for the type of banter he usually enjoyed. Something about his confrontation with the woman bothered him, but he hadn’t figured out what.

  “Get her all het up, did it?”

  Without answering, Steven stalked off, leaving them scurrying to stay with him. Damned if he'd admit he was the one who got “all het up.”

  Not about to let anything go without gnawing it to death, Lefty said, “I was thinking, wouldn’t it be fun to—”

  “Hell, no.” Steven turned to face his friend. “No games.”

  “Aw, shit, come on. It’ll be fun. We won’t hurt her none. Once she gets the hang of it, hell, who knows, she might even like it.”

  “I said no. You leave her be.”

  Lefty studied him in a splash of light from the restrooms. “What’s going on, you?”

  “Just let her alone, that’s all.” It’d been a long time since Steven had wanted to push somebody’s face in, but Lefty was kindling that urge. And he wasn’t sure why. He’d played his own brand of game with the woman.

  Still gnawing at the well-chewed bone, Lefty moved on. “All we gotta do is see who can talk her into staying with him all night, till the sun comes up. Make her think something awful is after her. Hide her out. Whoever can talk her into it wins.”

  “It?” Shadow asked tremulously. “I ain’t gonna do nothing like that with no white woman. Hell, you wanta get me lynched? This is Arkansas, you fool.”

  “They ain’t lynched anyone in Arkansas in a few years now,” Steven said, even though he wasn’t so sure.

  Lefty plowed on. “We do nothing like that, you. We only play this game, see. Tell that one them boys come back to seek vengeance, and we gotta hide. That be all. Just a game. No bad stuff. None.”

  “You crazy Cajun,” Steven said. The idea intrigued him a bit, though. He could just imagine her reaction. Those eyes flashing like green fire, her fury driving him to distraction. Perhaps forcing her to reveal the true woman he sensed hid under that ladylike facade. It might be fun. Besides, he was sure he could get her to go with him before she’d even consider either Shadow or Lefty. Then he could see nothing happened to her. And those tits saluting from under that thin shirt. He couldn’t stop thinking of them.

  “It’ll be way more fun than laying in that stinking tent all night. Come on, Steven.” Lefty pressed his advantage.

  They’d played the captive game before, with women who got into it wholeheartedly. Terror blended with the sexual tension of such a game to produce unexpected results. Humans were indeed wired in strange ways. Especially when it came to sex. But this woman? He didn’t know. She certainly deserved it, considering how she’d treated him when he rushed over to make sure nothing happened to her. Putting him down, talking oh-so-snooty to him, like he was some misbehaving kid.

  “Come on, Steven. We won’t hurt her. Never hurt none of the others.”

  Could bring her down off her high horse. No one was as naive as she liked to put on, surely. And if she was, what was she doing out here alone in the wilderness? Looking for a little excitement in her drab life?

  Lefty danced around in front of him, wiry hair catching light. “Hey, buddy. ’Member when we chained that little naked hooker to the steering wheel of the mayor’s limousine while he was meeting with all them preachers? ’Member that? Down in Valdosta? And when they all come out, them men of the cloth stood around staring at her sweet naked little butt like they weren’t men of God? Some of them old boys acting like they was seeing such a sight for the first time in their lives? It was a true-to-life Baptist hard-on.”

  It had been funny. Still, Steven hesitated. “This isn’t such a hot idea. She definitely is not a hooker, and I don’t think she’d take to this game too well.”

  “I know what is the truth,” Lefty said. “You’re afraid she’ll like one of us best, and you won’t get a chance. What if we made it so you get first chance at her? And if you can keep her away from us all night, well, then you win the bet.” Lefty scratched at a bite on his shoulder, tilted his head to look up into Steven’s face. “Hell, son, it’s just a game, it don’t mean nothing.”

  What Lefty said was true, nothing meant nothing. If the war taught him anything, it was that life was all a game, every frigging hour and da
y of it. Do whatever felt good, and to hell with everyone. Still, something about playing such games with this particular woman bothered him.

  Lefty raised to the balls of his feet, peered into the darkness in the direction of her campsite.

  A worm of worry crawled through Steven. “You’re gonna do this whether I go along or not, aren’t you?”

  Without looking his way, Lefty nodded. “Thought to.”

  “Aw, hell.”

  Lefty rapped Shadow on the shoulder so hard he stumbled sideways. “We’ll give you ten minutes to make a believer out of her. Then we’re coming in. Me and this boy.”

  Shadow looked startled, but he didn’t veto the idea.

  What the hell? Steven stared across the dark expanse. She was nothing but another Jennie, wrapped up in different clothing. Ready to rip him to shreds at the slightest provocation. But for some reason he couldn’t stop thinking of his mother the day he left for Vietnam. Standing out in the road, thin body hugged by the blowing tail of her dress, one arm raised but not moving for as long as he could see her in the rearview mirror.

  And him crying. Nineteen fucking years old and crying like a goddamned baby because he’d got caught up in something he really didn’t believe in and in the end forfeited his freedom.

  He never saw her again.

  “Hell, why not?” he said, and swallowed angrily past the lump in his throat.

  ****

  Mary Elizabeth lay on her back, shifted to one side, punched at the lumpy pillow, twisted to the other side. Sleep would not come. It was that scruffy hippy’s fault. In his presence she tended to bristle at every word. Understandable, considering the obscene vocabulary and arrogant posturing. The expression in his silver eyes might reach out to her, but she sensed a predator lurked there, unseen but viable. And that wasn’t really what bothered her. She didn’t want to admit to the betrayal by her body, the hot wash of desire so long tamped like coals in a stove.

  Damn Ruedell and his provincial beliefs. She couldn't conceive, therefore no sex was permitted. Such behavior was only meant to procreate. She hated him to the core of her being, no longer felt like a real woman.

  Angered at where her thoughts were leading, she trapped both hands between her bent knees. She would not satisfy this desire fired by being near that savage, instead closed her eyes and listened to the chorus of hooting, screeching, barking, howling, buzzing, that filled the nocturnal world. Fought the tension that tore through her, begged for release.

  In some indistinct way Steven reminded her of Levi. His expression when he gazed overlong at her, maybe. Or the graceful, long-fingered hands. Those of a musician. Fingers that played over her body, making magic. She tightened her thighs against the thrumming like strings plucked by those long-ago hands.

  Imagination let loose, she recalled the man in ripped-off jeans. He might as well be naked. Seeing him stripping to sleep, she squirmed and touched herself. Cried out as an orgasm washed through her. Dear Lord, she had to stop this kind of fantasizing. But her hand remained where it was, moving, moving in a rhythm to which she danced.

  She must have dozed off, and was startled awake by a furtive scratching.

  Levi. Running his nails along the screen of her bedroom. She cupped her breasts in anticipation and turned over.

  “Go away. Mama will hear you. Go away, Levi.”

  “Mary Beth, come here. I see you, darlin’. Pretty as a dove in the moonlight. Like a picture in the Bible. The way we feel is no sin. Loving is no sin, Mary Beth. I love you. Love you.”

  She massaged her nipples, moaned, turned over on her back. Murmured his name. Clenched her thighs against yet another vivid arousal. Lord God, she might as well have had wild sex half the night. Yet lurking within her was an unsatisfied yearning, and she feared it was going to get her into trouble. Women reached their sexual peak in their forties.

  The scratching came again.

  At long last fully awake, she stared at the wall of the tent. Dream lust left a vague itch she dared not scratch. But this was no dream.

  A voice through the canvas. “Psst. Wake up.”

  She scrambled into the corner. Not again.

  “You awake? Come on, hurry. Undo the zipper.”

  It was the pale-eyed savage who’d rescued her earlier, the hollow voice unmistakable. “Go away. Get out of here. What do you want?”

  “Listen, be quiet. Open that damned flap and get out here. Quick. They’re coming.”

  A vague unease trailed up her backbone. “Who, what?” A part of her embraced the fear his voice invoked, and she inched toward the door to carry on this ridiculous conversation.

  “Dammit, you want to get caught? Hurry. Do as I say.”

  Fingers trembling, she worked the zipper open, peeked out.

  Squatted on his haunches, he hugged up against the canvas, only a vague figure in the splash of light from the rest area.

  “What is it? Who’s out there?”

  “I don’t know. Be quiet and slip out. Stop talking. I’ll hide you.”

  Her teeth chattered, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. Dear God, what was going on now?

  “Good Christ, woman. You want to die right here, just holler one more time. I’m outta here. I’ll save my own hide and yours can be damned. You coming, or not?”

  Though he hadn’t grabbed her, she felt the acute need to go with him, be gone from this place. Something horrible was about to happen. But what? Had the boys come back, this time armed?

  He made a move to leave without her. She pawed at his arm, cried out. “No, no, wait. I’m coming.”

  “For God’s sake, keep it down, and follow me.”

  On hands and knees she slithered through the small opening.

  “Keep low.” His hot breath filled her ear.

  His indistinct shadow melted into the surrounding underbrush, and she scuttled along behind, terrified that someone was chasing her. The odor of moldy leaves and wet earth invaded her nostrils as she scrambled into the underbrush. A hand snaked out, grabbed her wrist, and jerked her roughly. When she opened her mouth to cry out, he clamped a damp palm over it.

  “Ssh, don’t move, don’t breathe. Wait.”

  Terror embraced her, restricted her heart until she thought it might burst. She wanted to run, to scream, to pass out, but could do none of those things.

  He held her head back against his shoulder and, with the barrel of that tremendous gun, parted the brush. He remained frozen in that position so long she began to gasp for air.

  “I said, don’t talk,” he hissed in her ear, but lowered his hand from her mouth, cupped it around her throat.

  With exaggerated care she turned her lips toward his ear, whispered, “Who is it? What do they want?” His not-unpleasant odor, a mixture of wood smoke and male sweat, invaded her senses. Behave, Mary Beth.

  He replied in a hiss. “Don’t worry, they’ll never take you. Not as long as I’m alive.”

  “Take me?” She actually whimpered. “Where are the others?”

  He shook his head slowly.

  Dread all but stopped her frantically beating heart. “Dead?”

  “Not dead. Gone over.”

  “Gone over?” She shivered and clenched her teeth tightly to keep them from clacking together.

  She clung to him, his muscles a fortress that kept out the danger. She felt protected. Something else, too. That carnal desire returned, horrified her.

  Well, are you proud of yourself?

  The warrior shifted uneasily but didn’t release his hold on the prize. The woman.

  He raised his head, watched as if from afar, saw…

  …an erotically beautiful oriental woman, filthy rags wrapped around her delicate form to protect her from the damp coldness of the Asian night. Expressionless eyes and a ravaged face altered his perception of the enemy. Overpowered him with a need to shelter her, though she would gut him in a swift minute. Or blow him to hell.

  Hundreds of nights in the bush. Nights crouched in hiding
. Waiting.

  The girl moved so close he could see the eerily white part in her long, black hair.

  She shouted words that attracted the attention of the men slouched in a crooked line to either side of him. A short, chunky soldier rose to his knees in slow motion, M-16 trapped under one arm.

  With the wave of a frail hand, the woman addressed that lone, armed man.

  In a fluid movement, the soldier came all the way to his feet as if mesmerized, took a few steps in her direction.

  Before Steven could yell out a warning, Sarge barked a staccato command off to his left. The soldier continued to approach the woman, and as he reached her she spread both arms wide and exploded in a burst of fire and smoke. The thunderous whump rocked the ground, filled the air with the stink of human debris.

  Blood hummed in Steven’s ears, his bones tingled.

  His hostage hugged up close, grated in his ear, “Let me go. You’re hurting me. Stop.”

  Batting his eyes, he gazed past her into the silence of the peaceful night, the memory of that long ago night in ’Nam so real he’d actually gone back there. He could smell his own fear in the sweat that slicked his body. And hers, as well. This innocent woman he’d grabbed from her tent to play a game like they were children.

  He turned her loose, rubbed a hand over his face, took a deep breath.

  “May we go now, please?”

  “No. Be still. Just till the sun comes up.”

  “What’s going on? You tell me this instant, or I’ll get up and walk away from here.”

  He couldn’t let Lefty find them, allow that insane Cajun to drag this vulnerable woman off for his own pleasure. While sex was not what the man had in mind, his warped mind games could be very damaging to someone unused to them.

  The woman squirmed, set dry leaves to crackling.

  “Dammit, settle down.”

  “Something’s crawling up my leg.”