by Naomi West
Minutes later, she was in Professor Hurt’s office. As the fresh-faced, youthful professor, who couldn’t have been older than thirty, looked over her information, Carey couldn’t help but imagine that he was trying to find out the best way to break to her some terrible news.
“Here’s the long and short of it,” he said, sitting back in his office chair. “You passed your evaluation.”
The relief was palpable.
“That means,” he said, folding his hands on his lap, “that you’ll be all set up to come back and finish the rest of your program this fall, and graduate with your MFA on track.”
“Oh my God,” said Carey. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
“You sound surprised,” said Professor Hurt.
“I mean, I am,” she said. “I felt like they ripped me apart in there.”
“That’s just how the process goes,” he said. “But …”
“But?”
“The team did have some concerns about your, ah, let’s call it an ‘artistic milieu’.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that they feel that your art comes from a place of privilege, you see. Meaning that they felt that your art, while technically very, very impressive, didn’t properly capture the discursive attitude that our school hopes to instill in our students.”
“Um, I see,” said Carey, not sure what to make of all of this.
“But they proposed a solution that you might be very interested to hear.”
Carey’s ears perked up at that.
“Have you ever been to Holyoke before?”
Carey didn’t know what to say, struck by how strange it was that the small city had been brought up again, just a little while after Lily’s offer.
“There’s a local artist there, a woman named Penelope Dupree. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?”
“I have,” said Carey. “I mean, I’m not all that familiar with her work; I just know she does abstract sculptures and such.”
“That’s right,” said Professor Hurt. “And judging by the type of work you do, it’s not all that surprising that you’re not particularly familiar with her.”
Carey wasn’t sure if she should’ve felt insulted by that or not, but she continued listening.
“She has a small crew of local artists that she likes to use for little errands here or there, sometimes helping her out with projects. She’s an alumnus, actually, and was here the other day to speak with Professor Wilkins about one thing or another. I overheard her mention that she was looking for a new crew for the summer, and I told her about what I do here, and that I could keep my ear to the ground and see if there were any students that might fit the bill for what she’s looking for. And I think you might be perfect for the job.”
“Really?” asked Carey, a little intrigued.
“It wouldn’t be full-time work, mind you, but it’d be a great experience if you’re looking for something for your CV. And …”
“… and?” asked Carey.
“I think it might do you a little good to, well, let’s say ‘broaden your horizons’ a little bit. Don’t get me wrong—I love your realistic style. But it never hurts to expose oneself to other styles of art. Here—”
Professor Hurt typed at his keyboard for a moment before turning his monitor around towards Carey. The screen was filled with pictures of strange, almost sinister-looking sculptures of mostly female bodies, all of them appearing to be made of random items.
“They’re … interesting,” Carey said.
“I know, I know—not your style. But like I said, it’d be a good experience to get under your belt. Not to mention that if the evaluation panel hears that you’ve taken an assignment like this, they’ll likely be impressed when it comes to your final, end-of-MFA evaluation. What do you say?”
“I think … I’d like to think about it,” she said.
“I understand; take your time,” said Professor Hurt. “Big decision. But let me know before too long—by the end of the day if you can. Plenty of other students would love an opportunity like this.”
The two of them wrapped up their meeting, and soon after Carey was back out on the sidewalks of campus, the proposal occupying her thoughts. It all seemed like the universe was pointing her in a particular direction, towards Holyoke and whatever waited for her there.
What exactly are my alternatives? she thought. Sit around at the Cape house, watching Netflix and probably putting on ten pounds before the summer’s out? Or, stick around back at home and wait until my parents finally harangue me into going out with Brady? Not a damn chance. I guess … Holyoke, it is.
Shaking her head and wondering what she was getting herself into, Carey pulled out her phone and fired off to a text to Lily, letting her know of her change of plans.
Here goes nothing, she thought as she continued on along the broad streets of the college she’d soon be leaving.
Chapter Three
Carey
“Tell me again why we’re taking the bus?” Carey asked, her eyes looking out the window onto the lonely, dark road that led to Holyoke.
“Because not all of us have a fancy car that our parents bought for us,” said Lily, flipping aimlessly through her phone.
“Lot of good that does me now,” said Carey. “Not like they’re letting me bring it here for the summer.”
“I still can’t get over that,” said Lily. “Making you leave your car at home? You’d think we were driving into Afghanistan or something. Not some place two hours out of Boston.”
“They’re insane like that,” said Carey. “They think that any place that’s not a gated community or an upscale shopping mall is a warzone. I’m just glad they agreed to let me come.”
“Oh, how’d they take it, by the way?”
“Not well,” said Carey. “I mean, once I told them that it was because of a school thing they warmed up to it, but they’re pretty peeved I’m not hanging out at home getting doted on by Prince Brady.”
“Has he said anything to you?”
“We texted a little bit,” said Carey. “He sent me a frowny-face emoji when I told him.”
“Ew!” said Lily, letting out a quick ringing laugh. “Not a good look.”
“No kidding.”
Carey looked off into the distance ahead of the bus and saw a sign that indicated they were only a few minutes away from the bus station, the bright lights of the outskirts of the city cutting through the dark of the night.
“Are we getting picked up?” asked Carey.
“Nope,” said Lily. “Mom’s pulling a nightshift at her restaurant, so she told us just to call a cab.”
Carey knew that Lily’s father had abandoned them long ago, so she knew better than to ask about that.
“And what about Liam?” asked Carey, referring to Lily’s brother, a man who’d she only heard about in passing.
“The less said about that asshole, the better.”
Carey took that as a clear sign to drop that line of conversation.
After another ten minutes or so of driving, the bus pulled into the depot and the passengers began milling out, grabbing their belongings as they did.
“Shit,” said Lily. “We gotta hurry if we want to catch a cab; they never have enough waiting out by the depot.”
The two girls scrambled off of the bus, and Carey scanned the area eagerly for a cab. But, just as Lily had warned, the passengers who had gotten off before them had taken them all.
“Dammit,” said Lily. “Gotta wait here until more come, then.”
The girls plopped down on the curb. As they did, Carey took in her surroundings. To say that Holyoke was a little rundown would be an understatement. The place struck her as one of those halfway forgotten towns that had been in steady decline since the middle of the twentieth century, possibly a former bustling manufacturing city that was now a shadow of its former self.
Whatever the reason for the state of the city, Carey couldn’t help but feel nervous. Despite f
eeling that way, however, she didn’t want to share her concerns with Lily. The last thing she wanted was to sound like a complaining, rich brat who was scared to be out of her comfort zone for even one moment.
They continued sitting for a time, the depot growing more and more desolate by the minute. Finally, a voice called out to them.
“Yo, ladies! We’re closin’! Find someplace else to be!”
“Fine, fine,” Lily called back over her shoulder.
Then, the main lights of the depot shut off, the area darkening significantly.
“What?” asked Carey. “They’re just kicking us out?”
“It’s no problem,” said Lily, standing up and stretching her legs. “We can just start heading towards the downtown area; we’ll find a cab on the way.”
With that, Lily started off, not seeming to be bothered in the slightest. Carey, not wanting to be left alone despite also not wanting to wander further into town, grabbed her bag off of the pavement and hurried along after Lily.
“How long of a walk is it to downtown?” asked Carey, her eyes on the desolate urban area around her.
“Um, around a forty-five-minute walk. But we won’t have to go that far. Like I said, we’ll be able to flag down a taxi cab before then.”
Lily then turned her gaze to Carey, apparently sensing her anxiety.
“Chill out, girl!” said Lily, giving Carey a friendly pat on the back.
“I’m not nervous,” said Carey, blurting the words out. “I’m just, um, ready to get to your place and get some rest.”
“You’re as bad of a liar as you’re good as an artist,” said Lily. “You look like a scared little Chihuahua trying to sneak through the lion pen at the zoo or something.”
“No, I don’t,” said Carey.
She stopped before she let out another bad lie.
They continued on for a time, the sidewalks as desolate as the bus depot. After a time, however, Carey heard the sound of some kind of commotion around the next block. As the girls continued on, the sounds grew louder, and Carey could tell that it was a group of rowdy men drawing closer and closer by the second. Her stomach began to tighten, and she frantically scanned the length of the road for any sign of an approaching cab. But there was no car to be found.
After another few moments, the commotion growing louder all the while, the group of men finally turned the corner. Once they spotted Lily and Carey they stopped for a moment, sizing up the girls.
“Oh, great,” said Lily. “Bunch of obnoxious drunk guys. Just don’t make eye contact and keep walking. If they say anything, just give them the finger and that’s it.”
Lily sounded confident, as though she’d dealt with situations like this in the past. But Carey could only feel her fear grow by the second. The men turned towards the girls, their commotion now more restrained as they approached the pair. Carey flicked a short glance at the men, long enough to see that they were all sloppy, middle-aged men in working clothes and boots—there were around six or so in total.
“Mmm,” said one, a tall, lower-class-looking man with a shaved head. “Don’t see pussy like this around here very often.”
Carey did as Lily said, keeping her head down and hurrying along the sidewalk. As she drew closer to the men, she could smell the telltale stench of cigarettes, whiskey, and cheap beer.
“No kiddin’,” said another. “What I wouldn’t do to get at that ass of yours, blondie.”
One of the men whistled, and the other laughed.
“Nah, me,” said another of the men, “I like that mousey one there. Girls like her who look like they spend all fuckin’ day at the library always know just how to work a dick.”
Carey felt her skin crawl. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Lily raised her hand and flicked a middle finger towards the men, who made impressed noises in response.
“I was thinkin’ the brunette, but I like a girl with some spunk,” said one of the men.
“Fuck, I’ll take ’em both.”
Carey and Lily picked up the pace of their steps, but the men followed hot on their heels. The skin on the back of Carey’s neck began to tingle, and a horrible mixture of panic and fear gripped her. Far from leaving them alone, the men soon caught up with the girls and formed a circle around them. Carey looked up in horror as she realized that they were surrounded.
“Leave us the fuck alone!” said Lily, her voice edged with anger.
“Now, I like a girl with some attitude, but you’re gonna need to shut the fuck up right now,” said one of the men.
“So,” said another of the men, “how’s about you girls come with the boys and I for a little nightcap? I promise that we won’t bite.”
“Until later in the night,” said another.
The men chuckled. Carey looked around frantically, hoping to spot some way to escape. But she and Lily were stuck in the center of the circle of men; they weren’t getting free unless the men allowed them—and it didn’t look like that’s what they wanted in the slightest. She’d never been more terrified in her entire life.
The circle of men began to close around the two girls, the lecherous smiles of the men like those of ghouls.
But before the men could close the distance entirely, a booming sound cut through the still evening air. Carey’s attention snapped in the direction of the noise, and before she could think about what the cause might be, more booms sounded out.
“What the fuck is that?” said one of the men.
“Sounds like bombs or something,” said another.
Then the booms turned to growls, and Carey soon recognized what they were: they were engines. At the far end of the road, a group of bright lights turned the corner and began tearing down the road in the direction of the girls and their male pursuers. The roar of the bikes grew to a deafening volume as the bikes approached, and as they passed, Carey caught a glimpse of them. They were musclebound men covered in tattoos and clad in leather and denim. Some had wild hair and even wilder beards, and one, the man in the front of the pack, had a head that was shaved completely.
The men blew past the girls, but Carey saw them turn their heads to check out the scene. Sure enough, before they reached the next block the men brought their bikes to screeching halts before turning around and driving up to the side of the disturbance.
At first, Carey was relieved. But as she got a closer look at the fearsome men, all seeming as rough and dangerous as they came, she wondered if she’d just gone from the frying pan and into the fire.
“What the fuck’s going on here?” called out one of the men as he popped out the kickstand of his bike and stepped off.
Carey’s eyes went right to the biker, who—judging by his bearing—was the leader of the group.
Holy shit, she thought to herself as the man approached. He’s gorgeous.
The man was tall—that was the first thing that Carey noticed. He towered over the men gathered around them, striking Carey as a grown up getting ready to scold a gang of unruly children. His head was shaved down to a rough buzzcut, and his muscular, powerful frame looked to be on the verge of bursting out of his tight white T-shirt and dark blue jeans. His face was dusted with stubble, the five-o’clock-shadow only mildly obscuring his stunning features of sensual lips, a strong, wide jaw, and piercing, sky-blue eyes sat under a furrowed brow. The man was so impressive-looking that Carey forgot for a brief moment about how dangerous her situation was.
The group of rowdy, drunken men turned their attention from Carey and Lily and to the bikers. The two sides squared up in front of one another, and it looked to Carey as though a fight could break out at any moment.
“Who the fuck do you think you assholes are?” asked one of the men as he stepped closer to the bikers.
The blue-eyed man regarded the drunks carefully, his face impassive as he sized up the scene. Breaking from his crew, he stepped closer to the men and began pacing slowly back and forth in front of them. He appeared to Carey to have not the slightest trace of f
ear in him.
“Wait a fucking minute,” said one of the bikers who’d just finished stepped off his ride. “Lily? What the fuck?”
Carey and Lily’s glance shot to the biker. He pulled off his helmet, revealing a long mane of blond hair that fell onto his shoulders. He wore the same denim and leather as the rest of the crew, and on his neck was a winding tattoo of a snake. As Carey looked over the man’s features, she realized that he struck her as very, very familiar.
“Liam?” asked Lily.
Holy shit, thought Carey, noting just how similar her friend looked to the biker. Is that …