He’d left school early himself, meeting me at home. Grateful for the company, I hadn’t commented on his actions, didn’t want to be a hypocrite. I laughed instead. “The skies are dark? You forgot it, too, nerd. I’m not the only one forgetting.” Our smiles matched and then faded. Facing off in the kitchen, we took a moment to study each other.
My little brother’s eyes brimmed. I’d forgotten he was only ten. He seemed so much older sometimes. His lip quivered. “If we forget her songs, Cass, won’t we forget her?”
Restricting, my throat worked to do what I wanted. I swallowed and hmm-hmmmm’ed. “No. We won’t forget her. I promise.”
But the tears came anyway. He shook his head. “I can’t picture her anymore. I don’t remember what she looks like. I can’t…” A small gasp moved his slight frame. I hadn’t really looked at him since Mom’s death. Thinner, his appearance gave him a younger slant – like he might be closer to eight than ten. Dark hollows shadowed the sockets of his eyes and his cheeks had taken on a gaunt look.
I closed the distance between us and pulled him into my arms. Cheek against the top of his head, I closed my eyes. “Okay. Close your eyes.” He tried to pull from me, like I was trying to get him to take drugs or something. I pinned him to me. “Seriously, close your eyes.”
He did. I continued in a soft croon. “Picture the last time you saw Mom. Her hair and that ridiculous bun she always wore. Do you remember the shirt she wore? Most likely a tee, right? She loved her t-shirts. Only a little bit of mascara, maybe a touch of chapstick?” I patted his back. “What was she doing?”
His lips moved against my arm. “She made me a sandwich for my lunch and gave me some cheese.”
I shut my eyes. The picture of Mom doing exactly what he said ran fresh through my mind. The warmth of the kitchen, the smile as she slid the slice of cheddar across the counter, the tilt to her head as she asked one of her questions. I could clearly see her eyes, so like mine and my brothers – dark brown, deep and warm. “Can you see her? She’s smiling, bud. She reaches over and wraps you in a huge hug.”
He sighed. “She always smelled like vanilla.” The joy in his voice at remembering Mom had a contagious effect on me.
We laughed together. And he returned my hug. Tears cover both our cheeks.
“I miss her, Cass.” He straightened from my hold, but the distance between us had been decimated.
I swallowed. “I know. Me too.”
“Why doesn’t Dad? He doesn’t care about anything anymore.” He sniffed, wiping his nose and hunching toward me.
How did I answer that? I didn’t understand our dad anymore than a stranger would sitting through one of his sermons. “I don’t know. But I care, okay? If you need anything, to talk or whatever, you tell me. I’m here.”
Reassured, my little brother nodded and rinsed soap from his hands, then wiped them on a towel. “Thanks, you too.” He left the room.
I called after him. “Hey, pizza later tonight. Let’s do a movie, too.” Doing things alone had less appeal than I’d willingly acknowledge. Loneliness in my day-to-day dealings took a lot out of me and I welcomed being home with someone that I knew loved me. My brother was my top choice – second to Mom, of course.
Saturday would be the big day. Everything would have to be perfect. Part of me doubted Deegan would come. Another part of me hoped he hadn’t forgotten me. But the last part, the part with the inked flowers on it, just couldn’t believe Deegan would ever forget me, like I’d never forget him. He was branded on my skin in a part only I could see. That had to account for something. Right?
To get into Mr. Weston’s house, I’d need to dress trampy again. My outfit would need to be appealing too, though. If Deegan did show up, I couldn’t waste the opportunity to make an impression without the wench there. I’d have to wear a belt of some kind to hold my knife on it. The strong, sharp blade’s value had increased since the last time. Even as cheap as it had been, I couldn’t bring myself to replace it.
Wait a minute… I stopped, thinking hard. Where had I put that thing last? I’d tossed it in my backpack when I’d gone hiking a few weeks back, the weight slipping to the bottom of the bag. But where had it gotten to after that?
I’d never taken it out. I exhaled hard and slapped my palm to my forehead. “Come on, Cassie.” Jeesh. The clock said four-oh-five. If I was lucky, the building would still be open. No way was I going to Mr. Weston’s without my knife, like it would jinx my kill or something. I couldn’t have that. Without Deegan, things were already desperately altered. I couldn’t guarantee my psyche would be stable before or after, but I could hope… I hoped.
In jeans and my vintage-style Converse tennis shoes, I twisted my hair into a lower ponytail and covered my dark brown t-shirt with a light turquoise windbreaker. Just because I’d hit sixteen didn’t mean I had my license. I’d be hoofing it until my dad returned emotionally and mentally to the family.
My brother wouldn’t come out of his room for a while, but just in case he did, I left him a note by the phone. “Went to high school for backpack. Will grab pizza on way home. Pick out a movie.”
No way would I run in my tennies. Plus, sweating in jeans – blech. I walked the few blocks to the school campus. Friday night, no one my age would be there – another hope.
In the side door, I walked the hall leading toward my locker. Half the lights had been turned off and the lack of windows to the outside gave a different ambience to the corridor. All the doors were shut. Horror movies always had the chick walking like a dumbass through the empty halls while the killer took his time getting closer and closer. The girl’s footsteps echoed loudly, even if she was wearing rubber-soled shoes that didn’t even squeak. She would have been dressed much sluttier than me, most girls were.
If I wrote it, I would have had the girl be the killer. So much more interesting when the “weaker” prey turns out to be the predator. The school had a wet paper odor, like paper mache but with a moldier undertone. I wrinkled my nose. Smells must be easier to hide with hundreds of kids running around.
At my locker, I spun the dial of my lock, snapping open the metal panel in seconds. And there my backpack was. I grasped the handle and removed it from the inside hook, pulling it onto my shoulder.
A hand at the small of my back turned my minimal sigh of relief into a gasp. I whirled around, my hand to my mouth, my right foot falling behind me in my boxer stance.
Mr. Weston’s grin brought every horror movie I’d ever seen to mind. Lecherous was too nice of a word to describe the awful tilt to his lips and the dark slant of his eyelids.
Shaken, I created a smile from my terror and thrust a hand to my chest. I had my pack. Just get out of there and get home. I’d deal with him the next night. “Mr. Weston, you scared me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be in here this late.” He angled his head toward me, the shadows across his cheek and eye out of place with his friendly demeanor. “Did you come to see me, Cassie?” His gaze dipped down my form, taking in every line and valley with a lava-like heat in his eyes.
“Um, yes? I forgot my backpack and was just going to stop in your room to say hi.” If only I’d thought of it. But confronting him in a public place hadn’t been the plan. And even with nobody around, the building was still a public arena. I’d wanted higher profile for a larger impact, I just hadn’t planned on a teacher.
“Well, why don’t we go there now? I have some beautiful pictures I’d love for you to take a look at.” His overly shiny lips suggested he coated them with some sort of Vaseline or jelly. Not even chapstick would give that kind of shine.
I nodded and he placed his hand again on the small of my back, corralling me to his room. The bang of the door closing made me wince which I covered by tucking a swath of hair behind my ear. His room faced the track, away from the road, away from potential help for either of us. The thought both terrified me and gave me an enormous sense of relief.
New green leaves fluttered
on the tree just outside his window. Spring. The smell, in the last few years, reminded me of Deegan and the special nights we’d shared together. From earlier in the day, his concern, which could only be false, had given me pause. If he’d been so worried about me, where had he been? Why hadn’t he sought me out?
Yes, I had promised to trust him, but it wasn’t like the faith my father preached about on Sundays had any relevance to the faith he had asked for from me.
Thirty desk-chair combos faced the front of the room. Symbols and numbers in blue dry erase ink still graffiti’d the white board covering the far wall. Mr. Weston’s desk manned the corner with a complete view of the room and its contents. He walked me to his desk and motioned for me to have a seat in his chair.
I quirked my eyebrow but sat. My backpack slid to my lap where I carefully unzipped a hole big enough to fit my hand in.
The teacher pushed items around on his desk and then turned and sat on the flat surface. With his foot, he rolled me closer to him, putting his lap inches from my chest, forcing me to look up, allowing him to look down. “Why don’t you take that jacket off? I have the heat up high in here. Might as well be comfortable.”
For some reason, his smooth-as-glass voice sliced my calm in half. I grasped the two pieces of my control with a fierceness I hadn’t seen since the last kill and hung on. I peeled off my jacket, placing it over my lap. Digging into my backpack, I hid my movements the best I could as I dug around in my bag for the knife. Who knew where the dang thing had gotten to? I hoped it was there.
The tips of my fingers pinched at the tip of the sheath just as Mr. Weston said, “Kick that pack and the coat over there.” He pointed but never took his eyes off me. Like I’d bolt or something – which I desperately wanted to do. Mr. Weston reached forward and tugged on my shirt collar. “Come here.”
I stood, unsure what he wanted but certain I knew.
He passed me a key. “Can you get in that drawer over there? There’s a small white box inside I’d like you to see.”
A snake? Maybe he had a trap in there? I didn’t want to open the drawer, but I took the keys and did as he asked.
As if noticing my reticence, he smiled. “Go ahead. It’s just a box.” He watched me move away, kicking my stuff to the side. Had I left my knife in there, it would have been out of reach.
Real fear slid into my spine.
The knife had slid into my pant pocket fairly easily when I’d stood, hopefully, I could get it out just as smoothly.
Approaching the standard-issue desk, I retrieved the only plain white box in the only drawer with a lock. Returning to Mr. Weston, I offered him the box. I wished I didn’t have to sit back down, but I had a feeling he’d want me to. I waited anyway for some kind of sign of what he wanted.
Waiting for my chance to practice my solo skills.
Chapter 12
He lifted the lid. “Go ahead and take a seat, Cassie. You’ll want to be sitting when you see these.”
Curiosity got the better of me and I craned my neck to see the pictures he withdrew from the box.
The first thing I saw was dick. No other way to say it. The shot had been taken of a man’s lap and the only thing in the picture was a large dick. On either side of the member leg flesh spread toward the knees. The testicles didn’t stand a chance under the form and shaft of the penis standing at attention.
I held in my shock, pretty amazed at my control.
Mr. Weston flipped to the next one. A similar shot but of a different ethnicity, the hair and skin color decidedly darker than the last one which had to have been a blond. I couldn’t look away.
He watched me, his breathing deepening as he flipped again. A close-up of a woman’s crotch stared at me – and it wasn’t covered in panties or anything else. Legs spread wide, she left nothing to the imagination.
I couldn’t hold in my gasp. I’d never seen one. Even my own.
Before I could recover, Mr. Weston revealed another, this one with a coming together of a male and female, the pelvic region up close and personal. A boiling blush spread up to my hair line. An itching burn pricked at the backs of my arms and between my shoulder blades.
He continued watching me, as if waiting for my reaction.
Clearing my throat, I shifted in my seat. “Mr. Weston, I… uh… this doesn’t seem…” I bent over and snatched my jacket from the floor, thrusting my arms into the sleeves. The brisk whir from the zipper enhanced my anxiety. I moved to stand.
Before I could go further, he held up his hands, laughing. “I’m sorry. I’m new to this. What I’m trying to ask is… well, here. I’ll start over. I’m moonlighting at the community college just across the river, teaching sex-ed classes. I can’t get pictures like this without being labeled as a pervert.” He straightened on the desk, rolling his shoulders back. “I’ve been offering modeling jobs to men and women. I need someone with young anatomy.”
Young anatomy? Seriously.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, fingering the knife and praying that somehow I could hold my composure together. He’d tamped right through my defenses and not in a good way. He made it sound like I’d had the situation wrong the entire time.
“Think about it. I’d pay you – really well. And your face wouldn’t be on any of the pictures, so no one would know it was you. I’d even be your partner for the pictures, to help maintain anonymity, of course.” Mr. Weston leaned forward, his hands angling the stack of photos my way. His voice had taken on an odd purring sound. He tapped the newest picture. “Look, here’s my favorite.”
Curiosity controlled me. The danger of the moment, the disgusting portrayals on the pictures, the acts I couldn’t understand and yet feared all coming together to pull me in, drag me, commanding that I look.
I looked.
His favorite would be an image of a large penis being taken into a bright pink painted set of lips. Like a damn lollipop. Smacking sounds above me had me glancing up away from the horror before me. Mr. Weston licked his lips, watching me again. “Cassie, I think you and I could have some fun. Again, it’s strictly for educational purposes, but why not enjoy the work, right? You’re a beautiful girl. We could even start out slow and you can help edit the pictures as you like.”
A beautiful girl and all he wanted to do was defile me. Exploit me. I didn’t smother the rising anger in my gut as it bubbled and seethed inside. “What would we do with the pictures?”
“Well, the whole reason I need them is to teach sex-ed to my classes. No one else would get them. I’d leave them in that box there.” He fingered the collar of my jacket and slipped from the desk to stand over me. “You could come and look at them whenever you want.”
I tensed, but held an interested smile to avoid suspicion.
“Let’s pull this down.” He slid the zipper down and pushed the sleeves of my coat to the desk, where it pooled behind my back. Eyes held on me, he leaned over and closed the blinds, shutting us away from any possible help… or witnesses.
My fear blinded me. Why was I there? Hadn’t I learned the last three times that only bad things came from being alone with dangerous men? Hadn’t I learned that I needed Deegan more than I could ever let on?
How far did I let Mr. Weston go? I couldn’t just stab him in the gut and run. I needed him more vulnerable, in a more compromising position or he’d be left alone as an accidental death and not as the perverted jackwad that he was.
“There, isn’t that better?” His warm hands roamed over the bare flesh of my shoulders, under the tank straps and onto the smooth skin of my back. “We could do some practice runs tonight.”
I couldn’t reply. Nothing would be able to make me speak at that point. His fingers crawled, creeping, searching, and then they slid down my chest into the valley between my breasts. I pulled back, covering myself with my hands. “I’m sorry. I’m…”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you a virgin, Cassie? It’s okay. You can tell me.”
No, I couldn’t. The intimacy of
the discussion didn’t belong to him. Deegan could ask me. He could see me. Touch me. If he wanted. But this man – this shark – he didn’t have the right to ask me and I didn’t have the desire to tell him.
My silence must have been answer enough. He withdrew from my cleavage and rested his chin in his hand. “Let’s start a little slower than, okay?” He pondered my attire. I hadn’t worn a bra, thinking I would be going right home. I couldn’t be more unprepared to be trapped in a classroom with the teacher I planned on killing the next night.
I nodded, unable to vocalize my disgust in his actions.
Mr. Weston jumped down from the desk and pulled another chair alongside me. He leaned on his elbows placed on his knees and watched my heaving chest. He paused a minute in silence weighted with expectations. After a moment, Mr. Weston sat up and draped his arm across the back of my chair, pivoting it closer to him… me closer to him. With his other hand he traced geometric designs into the leg of my jeans with one finger, from my knee to my upper thigh, higher and higher and higher.
I jammed my hand on his. “Stop. This isn’t what I wanted.” I’d give him every possible chance to stop, but I could recognize his type. He wouldn’t stop. Which meant I wouldn’t have to either.
He leaned closer, shoving my hand away and continuing higher with his finger until he skimmed the V of my lap. I jerked in response, not from desire, but because dang if I came close to being raped and molested once a year and the tension wore on me, cutting at my nerves, my reflexes.
Pressing his mouth to my neck, he spoke sharply. “You’ve been teasing me and teasing me with your little tits and mouth. You’re not backing out now.” He sucked in whatever scent I had on me. Then spoke with more of a longing and fervor in his voice. “You want whatever happens. You do. You’re just nervous. I’ll make it fun for you.”
His finger traced up my tank to the tip of my chest and cupped me forcefully in his palm.
I couldn’t wait anymore. I couldn’t handle the filth touching me. But I nodded to get him to move back, relax his hold on me. “You’re right. Where will we do this? I’d like my first time to be,” I glanced around the room and half-shrugged. “Not so… cold?”
Psycho Inside Me Page 11