The Gathering (26 page)

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Authors: William X. Kienzle

Tags: #Crime, #Fiction, #Mystery, #Suspense, #Thriller

BOOK: The Gathering
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There was no response. The trio walked out of the restaurant without looking back. Mike and Manny were on either side of Rose, supporting her. She needed it.

After the stench of the bar, her first breath of fresh air hit Rose hard. “I need to get to the alley,” she pleaded. “I think I’m going to be sick.” And she was.

Mike supported his sister as she bent almost double and her system divested itself of the noisome elements.

Manny backed away. Suddenly he felt like an intruder. He knew Rose was terribly embarrassed. Having her twin by her side … well, that was what families were all about. But right now, he himself was an outsider, an eyewitness to Rose’s humiliation. His usefulness, he felt, was over now that they’d gotten past Eric and out of the Grill. “Maybe it’d be better if I just left you two. You’ll be okay now.”

Mike was about to accept Manny’s offer, when Rose lifted her head. “No. Don’t go. I don’t think I can be any more ashamed than I already am. Please: Won’t you stay with us … at least until I get my equilibrium again?”

Reluctantly, Manny agreed. “Okay. I’ll stay till we get you home.”

“Home!” Rose’s face contorted. She was reminded of the inevitable: She’d have to go home. “How can I face Mom and Dad? How can I go home?”

Mike stifled a laugh. “Where do you think you’re going to stay before you head for the convent?”

“The convent!” Home was one thing … but the convent—! Her eyes closed momentarily in emotional pain. “That’s never-never land now. After what I did today, how can I even
think
of becoming a nun?”

“Rose,” Mike said, “you didn’t do anything.”

“Mike’s right,” Manny affirmed. “You didn’t do anything. You were a victim. One more trophy the Viking wanted on his wall. You were an innocent victim.”

“Then why do I feel so …
unclean?

“I guess because Jorgenson came so close to having his way,” Mike said.

The memory of it flooded her consciousness. His tongue in her mouth. His hand on her breast. And worst of all, his fingers prying between her thighs. At least her breast was covered by clothing; under her skirt was bare flesh. She shuddered, and waves of nausea washed over her. She had begged him to stop. How could anyone be so cruel as to take advantage of a helpless being?

For his pleasure alone. That’s how Eric operated. She could envision him torturing a dog, a cat … any sentient being. If Manny and her brother hadn’t shown up—! Wait a minute: How did they know? Granted they were lifesavers … but how did they know? The only person she’d told about her prospective date was Alice. It had to be Alice!

Now Rose felt anger. Her shame had caused her to be angry with herself. Now she could dissipate this self-directed anger by projecting it against Alice. How dare she!? How dare she violate a trust!

Rose put her suspicion into words launched like a weapon. “How did you know?”

Mike knew his sister; he anticipated her anger. “Now, don’t get angry …”

“It was Alice, wasn’t it?” she spat.

“Mike’s right,” Manny said. “You shouldn’t be angry, Rose. Alice tried to talk you out of this, didn’t she?”

Rose, head hung, nodded.

“When you wouldn’t take her advice, she was scared for you.” Mike said. “And she was right to be scared. You told her you’d be going to the game and then to the movies, and then for a snack. She didn’t know which show you were going to see. And she wasn’t sure which restaurant you’d be going to—although, based on Eric’s reputation, she had a pretty good idea.

“But the only thing we could be certain of was the game.”

“We had the devil’s own time finding you in the gym,” Mike said. “But we figured you’d be in the background … and there you were—right against the wall.”

Another county heard from, thought Rose; there was no way anyone could be sure that somebody
wasn’t
at a game.

“It gets a bit sticky here,” Mike admitted. “We followed the two of you from the gym to the Stratford. It wasn’t easy, but once we realized you were headed down Vernor we guessed you’d be going to the Stratford.”

“You didn’t notice us, did you?” Manny asked.

“No, I didn’t. And Eric didn’t know either of you well enough to recognize you even if he had seen you.”

“We sat several rows behind you,” Mike said. “There was hardly anyone sitting around where you were.”

“We thought,” Manny added, “that he’d make his move when the two of you were alone in the dark. We were ready to move in. But nothing happened.”

“Tell you the truth,” Mike said, “when nothing happened there, I began to think nothing
would
happen.”

“I didn’t share Mike’s opinion,” Manny said. “Jorgenson is such a louse, I figured he would never pass up a chance like that.”

“Anyway,” Mike said, “we followed you, hanging back as far as possible so you wouldn’t become aware of us right behind you. When we walked into the Grill we didn’t see you at first. But Alice had told us about the rear booth. So we took the next booth. We didn’t want to butt in unless it was absolutely necessary—but when we heard you pleading with him to no effect—well, we knew it was time to step in.”

Her escorts were aware that Rose now seemed to be walking quite normally. “I think you can operate on your own now,” Manny said. “How about it?”

Rose tried a few steps. She had her sea legs again. She turned to Manny. “I’ll never forget what you did for me today. Never. Without the two of you I would feel that I didn’t have anything to live for.”

“Whatever
might
have happened would not have been your fault,” Manny said. “Can’t you understand that?
He
was the rat. You were his victim. Remember that, and don’t ever forget it.” He smiled at her. “I’ll split now.” He looked at Mike, then back to Rose. “We were supposed to call and let Alice know you’re okay. Would you rather do that? I think you might want to talk to her yourself.”

Rose nodded. “I’ll do it. And again”—she grasped both his hands—“thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Come on, sis,” Mike said. “And whatever you do when we get home, don’t let Mom and Dad get a whiff of your breath. You smell like a brewery.”

“Still?”

“Still!”

 

Manny felt like punching something … smashing something. His adrenaline was high. He half wished that Jorgenson had gotten physical. They both probably would’ve been bloody by this time. But it would have been a relieving flow.

His habitual instinct to throw himself into a fight hell bent for leather had been muted. He attributed that mostly to the seminary.

Early on, the rector had made it crystal clear to the new seminarians in the ninth grade that fighting would not be tolerated. And that fighting was not only forbidden but could lead to expulsion.

Manny did not want to be expelled. As a result, he tried as diligently as possible to suppress this combative propensity of his and to settle disagreements reasonably and without escalation.

He sincerely thought today’s altercation might have been an exception to the rule. Still, he was glad he wouldn’t have to excuse himself for having come to blows.

Manny decided to walk a bit before going home. He needed to cool off, dissipate the adrenaline so that by the time he got home he could act as if nothing had happened. Concealing his feelings would be easier now than it would be if he had to greet his parents with torn clothing and a bloodied face.

Peace! There was a lot to be said for it. Getting through today’s confrontation without throwing a single blow seemed to him very definite progress in self-control.

What would he do if Jorgenson followed through on that threat of getting even?

I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

   
NINETEEN
   

 

L
ITTLE BY LITTLE,
Stanley Benson was accepted into the fivesome of Bob Koesler, Mike and Rose Smith, Alice McMann, and Emanuel Tocco.

 

There was no perceptible reason for his admittance to this coterie. Granted, Stanley was the classmate of Mike and Manny. But an onlooker wouldn’t have known it. Stanley just didn’t seem to fit in anywhere.

With the exception of this small circle no one took him seriously. He occupied a seat in class. He participated in compulsory school activities.

Occasionally, he attended varsity basketball games. Bob, now in college, played on the college varsity, while Manny starred for the high school team. Also on the high school team was Mike Smith, mainly in a benchwarming role.

And then there was that walk around and around the huge playing fields. Now, albeit rarely, Bob and Stan might be joined by Manny or Mike, or both. But their addition to the core duo was generally the result of being in the company of Bob. And because, for short recreation periods, the walk was the exercise of choice.

Bob was aware that when he and Stan were by themselves, the younger boy chattered on about many things. Those who knew him no more than peripherally—that would include most of the others—just drew a blank when it came to his evaluation.

In class he was what might be termed mediocre—neither bright nor ignorant. He passed his tests with room to spare. Still, he remained little more than a body filling a space.

Before Stan entered the seminary he knew practically no one in his age group. Aside from his parents, he was close to no one, not even schoolmates. As for those who were assigned to serve Mass, when they condescended to show up, Stan would have a few words of greeting. He was never abrasive or mean-spirited, but never offered more than a casual hello. He was grateful for their company; it saved him from having to relate to the once distant, now overly familiar Father Simpson.

Because Bob Koesler willed it so, Stanley had his first peer friend. Stan had initiated the bonding. And, much as he would a poor waif, Bob had accepted Stan. In so doing, he had, in effect, invited the boy to come close and to open up.

Each year, the seminary rector delivered a lecture on what he liked to call “particular friendship.” Since this sermonette was preached once at the beginning of each school year, any student who survived both high school and college heard the talk eight times.

And such a student would eventually find the theologate rector lecturing on the same subject. So those who endured all the way through high school, college, and theology would have been exposed to the subject twelve times.

During these repetitions, it might dawn on the student that the rector was referring to homosexual dalliance. Little time was spent treating heterosexual relationships. Thus, over the years, the seminarians learned, almost by osmosis, that females were the Enemy. Of course, as long as there were no females in the seminarians’ lives, there couldn’t be any problem relating to heterosexuality.

As mentioned, the seminary’s objective was to form the asexual macho male. Not a simple task, but in a strange way it made sense. Quite simply, there was no expression of sex either in the seminary or the priesthood. Sexual activity was appropriate only within the state of matrimony. And then, only when the expression was open to procreation.

Everything else was forbidden. And most everything else was “intrinsically evil,” a mortal sin. That included everything from masturbation to orgies.

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