Blood Games (14 page)

    ‘What were you doing back there?’

    ‘Me? Nothing.’

    ‘Were you sketching me?’

    ‘No. Honest.’

    ‘I mean, it’s all right if you were.’

    ‘I wasn’t. No.’

    ‘Could I see?’

    ‘No, really. I was only…’

    ‘Please?’

    With a long sigh, he opened his notebook and handed it to her.

    
She sits lonely, so alone,

    
Like me Outcast

    
Solemn in her solitude

    
Lovelv

    
Solitary tulip

    
In rank weeds

    
Unloved

    
Unpicked

    
Kissed only

    
By the shy breeze

    
Caressed only

    
By my eyes

    ‘You wrote this just now?’ Helen asked.

    He shrugged and nodded.

    ‘It’s about me?’

    ‘Well… Kind of. I guess you might say you were the inspiration. You looked sort of lonely sitting there.’

    ‘I think it’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘Could I make a copy of it?’

    ‘Well, I’ll copy it for you.’

    ‘Would you like to go over to the student union with me? We could have coffee, or something.’

    That was how it began. She told Abilene and the others about it, late that night. She showed the poem. She told about their conversation in the student union, and how they’d both cut theii afternoon classes and spent hours wandering together, eaten supper at a downtown diner, gone to a movie theater and watched The Hungry Dead, then roamed through the parks.

    ‘He’s just so fabulously wonderful,’ she said. ‘He even likes horror movies. Can you believe it? I think he really likes me.’ After that, she saw him every day. She was often out late at night. Abilene had never seen her so happy.

    Until the night she came home bloody and crying.

    She and Maxwell, returning on foot after enjoying their sundaes at the Delight ice cream parlor, had been halfway across a street when a Porsche failed to stop for the red light and stunned them with a quick right turn. As it shot by, barely missing them, Maxwell kicked its side and shouted, ‘Asshole!’

    Brakes screeched.

    ‘Uh-oh,’ Maxwell said.

    ‘Let’s get out of here!’ Pulling his hand, Helen raced for the corner.

    She didn’t dare look back. But she heard a second squeal of brakes. Heard a door slam. Heard a shout. ‘You’re gonna die!’ Then quick smacking footfalls on the sidewalk behind her.

    The street was empty and quiet. The shops on both sides were closed for the night.

    ‘This way,’ Maxwell gasped. He dashed into the street, Helen at his side. They ran up the center line. It seemed like a good idea. Better to be out in the open, under the bright glow of lights, than off to the side where their pursuer might overtake them in the shadows and work his violence in the privacy of an alley or store entryway. And a car was sure to come along, sooner or later. Someone would stop and help.

    But the road ahead remained empty. As if everyone in town except Helen and Maxwell and the man giving chase were asleep or dead.

    He was gaining on them.

    Helen realized that Maxwell was holding back. Staying with her, even though he was capable of running much faster.

    ‘Go!’ she gasped. ‘It’s you he’s after.’

    ‘True.’

    With that, he halted and turned around.

    ‘Max!’

    ‘Run!’ he yelled over his shoulder.

    He was still looking over his shoulder at Helen and before she could call out a warning, the man from the Porsche shouldered into his belly. Lifted him off his feet. Drove him backward, rump first. Slammed him down on the pavement.

    Maxwell cried out as he skidded.

    The assailant, straddling him, punched Maxwell’s face. Right fist, left fist, right, left.

    It was then that Helen recognized him.

    Andy ‘Wildman’ Wilde.

    A senior. A star of the wrestling team.

    A skinny, short little guy. But quick and strong.

    Quick enough to grab Helen’s foot when she tried to kick him in the face. Strong enough to throw it high with just one hand, hurling Helen onto her back.

    ‘Stay out of it, lard-ass!’ he warned as she got to her feet.

    ‘Leave him alone!’

    ‘Beat it.’ He resumed punching Maxwell.

    Helen dived onto him, hugging his head, throwing him sideways to the pavement. So fast that she didn’t know what was happening, he slipped out of her hold, rolled her and came down on top of her. He pinned her arms beneath her back. He began to strike her face.

    Open handed. Slapping, not punching. Apparently in deference to her sex.

    ‘A fuckin’ gentleman,’ Cora said as she listened to Helen’s story.

    ‘Well then I called him a dickless pip-squeak.’

    ‘Smart move,’ Finley said.

    ‘So after that he really slugged me.’

    ‘Nobody came along?’ Abilene asked.

    Helen shook her head.

    ‘Anyway, he finally just quit and went back to his car.’

    ‘How’s Maxwell?’ Vivian asked.

    ‘Oh, he was…’ Her chin shook. She began weeping again. ‘His face was awful. All bloody, and… He was so much worse than me, but when he crawled over and looked down… He started to cry. It was like he didn’t even care about himself. He cried and touched my face and kept saying, “Oh, Tulip. Oh, Tulip.” Helen shuddered with a sob.

    They plotted. They followed Wilde. They kept watch on his apartment.

    Each morning, he left his apartment at seven o’clock and jogged to Benedict Park, where he ran on the trails for an hour.

    Friday, they were waiting for him.

    He stopped running when he came upon Cora crouched in the middle of a narrow stretch of trail above Benedict Creek. She was tying a shoelace. She wore red gym shorts, a pink tank top, sunglasses and a red wig that Vivian had borrowed from the costume room of the theater department. She smiled up at him. ‘Oh, hi.’

    ‘Morning,’ he said. He started to step around her.

    ‘Say, aren’t you Wildman? The wrestler?’

    ‘Sure am,’ he said, halting and smiling down at her.

    She rose to her feet. ‘I’ve seen some of your matches. You’re really great.’

    ‘Thanks. Do you go to Belmore? You don’t look familiar.’

    ‘I’m a frosh,’ she lied.

    He nodded. ‘And you’ve seen me at work, huh?’

    ‘I sure have. I love to watch wrestling. Especially you. You’re so quick and strong. You’ve got a wonderful body.’

    His eyes roamed down Cora. ‘You’ve got a great body, yourself.’

    ‘I used to wrestle with my brothers. I always won.’ She grinned. ‘Think you could take me?’ it’s sure tempting.’

    She got down on her hands and knees, looked over her shoulder at him.

    ‘Are you kidding?’

    ‘Do I look like I’m kidding?’

    ‘You asked for it.’ He peeled off his T-shirt and draped it over a bush beside the trail. It blocked Abilene’s view. She slipped sideways. Peering around the bush, she watched Wilde sink to his knees beside Cora. He hunched down against her back and hooked his right arm across her belly.

    ‘On the count of three,’ Cora said.

    ‘Nobody’s ever gonna believe this,’ he muttered.

    ‘Let it be our little secret.’

    ‘Man, this has to be the weirdest come-on I’ve ever seen.’

    ‘Maybe I just like to wrestle.’

    ‘Yeah. Right.’

    ‘Three,’ she said, grabbed his wrist and dropped flat, pulling him down on her back.

    Abilene darted out, threw herself onto Wilde’s back and jammed a pillowcase over his head. As he writhed beneath her, she looped a short length of rope around his neck to keep the pillowcase on. Finley stepped into the trail in front of her, taping. Vivian rushed in from the side, grabbed Wilde’s left hand and snapped a metal cuff around his wrist.

    ‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘What’s… Get off! Goddamn it, what the fuck is…?’

    ‘Okay.’ Helen’s voice.

    Abilene rolled clear. She saw Helen on the trail behind Wilde, tugging at the rope she’d looped around his ankles. Vivian, the other cuff in both hands, was stretching Wilde’s left arm. His right was still trapped under Cora.

    Cora twisted out from under him, bringing the arm with her. Twisting it so hard that he cried out in pain.

    Dropping a knee onto his back, she shoved the arm up behind him. She held it there while Vivian lunged forward, sank to her knees, and bent his left arm back. She snapped the other cuff around his right wrist.

    ‘Weirdest come-on you’ve ever seen,’ Cora said.

    ‘Cunt!’

    She punched the side of his head through the pillow case.

    While Finley taped the scene and Helen clutched the rope, the others lifted Wilde to his feet.

    ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘This is a gag. Right? Who put you up to this? Janke?’

    Helen tugged the rope.

    His legs leaped out from under him. Hands cuffed behind his back, he couldn’t catch himself. He slammed the trail chest-first. His breath huffed out.

    ‘Let’s see if you still think it’s a gag,’ Cora said, ‘when you’re sucking water at the bottom of the creek.’

    ‘Hey! No. Come on.’

    While Helen kept the rope taut, Cora and Vivian and Abilene rolled him off the trail. To the edge of the embankment above Benedict Creek.

    ‘Come on! This isn’t…!’

    They pushed. He yelped with alarm as he began tumbling down the slope. He cried out with pain as bushes and rocks scraped his bare skin.

    The girls hurried after him.

    He flopped into the creek

    A moment later, the girls jumped in.

    Abilene cringed. The water was awfully cold. But it only came up to her thighs.

    She helped Vivian and Cora hold their captive under the surface.

    ‘We’ll see how long he can hold his breath,’ Cora said.

    Helen laughed.-‘Half an hour, do you think?’

    ‘Maybe even longer.’

    ‘I wish Maxwell was here to see this.’

    ‘Shhh. No names.’

    ‘Do you think he heard?’

    ‘Doubt it.’

    ‘We’ll let you-know-who see the tape,’ Finley said.

    ‘Maybe we’d better let him up,’ Abilene said.

    ‘Rather not,’ Cora said. But she pulled Wilde up by the rope at the back of his neck. He gasped, making whiny sounds. The front of the pillow case, clinging to his face, puffed out and sank in as he fought for breath. His chest heaved. He had goose-bumps. His arms, chest and back were blotchy with red smudges that would soon turn into bruises. His skin was scratched, scuffed, gouged, ridged with pale welts, even tinted in places with grass stains. His blue shorts hung low and crooked below his hips. The waistband of his jockstrap showed.

    Cora hooked a forefinger under it, drew it back like a slingshot and let go. The elastic snapped him. He flinched.

    Helen laughed.

    ‘Okay, stud,’ Cora said. ‘Let’s go.’

    When they tried to lead him upstream, they found that he couldn’t walk with the rope hobbling him. Abilene crouched into the water, found the rope around his ankles, loosened it a little, and slid it up to his waist. There, she tightened its slipknot against his spine.

    His legs suddenly free, Wilde tried to make a break. He shouldered Vivian aside and rammed Cora with his other shoulder. Helen yanked the rope. He flopped backward and submerged. Abilene plunged a hand down after him and held his face under until Vivian and Cora returned and pulled him up by his arms.

    After that, he behaved as they guided him up the creek.

    Finley preceded them, wading backward, the camera to her eye.

    Soon, they came to the Shady Lane Bridge.

    Shady Lane traversed the park. Once, it had apparently been open to traffic. But that was long ago. Now, both ends were blocked by permanent barricades. The road, with its bridge over Benedict Creek, was reserved for pedestrians. It was not heavily traveled, especially on weekdays.

    In the shadows under the bridge, they climbed ashore.

    Vivian, Cora and Abilene held onto Wilde while Helen pulled the loop up his back. She cinched it tight between his shoulder blades, then drew the rest of the rope out from behind his cuffed hands. She flung its end over a support beam of the bridge, caught it, tugged until the rope pressed into his armpits, then tied it to the slipknot between his shoulders.

    ‘That oughta keep him for a while,’ Cora said.

    ‘Why are you doing this?’ he gasped.

    ‘Because you’re such a sweetheart.’

    ‘Don’t worry,’ Finley told him. ‘Somebody’ll find you sooner or later.’

    ‘Maybe one of the bums who sleeps under here at night,’ Abilene added.

    ‘Come on,’ he pleaded. ‘You can’t leave me here.’

    ‘You know,’ Helen said, ‘he’s gonna start yelling the minute we’re gone.’

    ‘We can’t gag him,’ Abilene said. ‘He might suffocate.’

    ‘Wouldn’t that be just too bad,’ Vivian said.

    ‘Besides, we’d have to take off the pillow case.’

    ‘I know how to keep him quiet,’ Cora said. She yanked down his shorts and jockstrap.

    ‘No! Please!’

    She jerked them out from under his feet. He started to fall backward, but the rope stopped him. He cried out as it dug into his armpits. Then he found his balance and stood there. He sniffed. ‘Please.’ His voice was high, quivering. He was crying.