Jimmy (16 page)

     “You know, on Mythbusters they found out that swearing helps you manage pain.”

     “You’re shitting me!”

     “Honest.”

    
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
he shouted while rubbing the soap in.  “It still hurts!”

     “But maybe it doesn’t hurt as much.  Cut up the other arm and try it without the swears so we have a base line to compare it to.”

     “Fuck you!”

     “Did it hurt less during that microsecond?”

     Jimmy rinsed off the soap and then toweled off his arm with a disposable sheet. 

     “Better?”

     “I hope so.  The last thing I need is an infection from her.”  He tossed the paper towel away.

     “Who?”

     “What are you talking about?”

     “You said get an infection from her?”

     Jimmy froze, but then quickly said, “The bush. 
Her.
  Get it?

     Alan stared at him.

     “Bush as in pussy.  STD.  It was a joke.”

     “Okay, yeah, a real Jimmy original - all the greatness of a professional joke, minus the annoying need to laugh afterward.”

     “Fuck you,” Jimmy said though with a smile.

     “Okay, on a scale between one and ten how was your pain while swearing?”

     Jimmy shook his head. 

     “Did you at least get measured for your tux?” Alan asked.

     “No, I didn’t make it to the place before falling and then came right home.  You want to go with me later on once Mom is home with the car?”

     “Sure, or we could just walk there.”

     “Let’s drive.  I’m sure they will still be open after five.”

     “Probably.  Battle?”

     “Battle!” Jimmy confirmed one arm raised up in the air as if wielding a sword and commanding a charge.

*  *  *

     Megan’s understanding of the situation returned slowly and wasn’t pleasant, especially when she vomited all over herself.  With the vomit came a kind of clarity, one which allowed her to focus on the situation, though some parts of it still took a few moments to register.

     Her hands being tied was one of them.

     A part of her knew they were tied, and that the constant pull from above against her wrists was a result of it.  The understanding of the ropes, however, wasn’t fully realized until she tried to touch the back of her head, her fingers wanting to assess the pain.  The ropes would not allow this. 

     She looked up at the bindings, her head moving slowly due to the dizzy spells that threatened. 

     The knots seemed tight and very far away.

     A nasty tickle hit the back of her throat, one which she recognized as a precursor to throwing up.  Thankfully nothing did venture toward her mouth, and everything settled once she lowered her head back through her arms.

    
I want to show you something.

     The words echoed in her mind, but without reason, the memory fuzzy.

     She pushed it away and carefully tried to take in her surroundings.  Earlier, while only semi-conscious, she had thought she was inside a small boat, one that was rocking in the waves.  The idea now seemed ridiculous due to the concrete floor and walls.  Plus the events from that afternoon were starting to fade in again.

    
I want to show you something.

     She could see Jimmy Hawthorn talking to her, but it didn’t make sense.  Weariness about his presence, or supposed presence, did appear, however.

     She saw herself trying to grab the gun and then felt the pain of his foot coming down on her fingers. 

     Megan looked up again, slowly.

     Though slightly shadowed due to the light being behind her she could tell her right hand was busted up. 

     Pain followed, though because of the ropes, it wasn’t as bad as it should have been, the numbness working to her advantage. 

     She thought about her failure to fire the gun.  Just a simple pull of the trigger would have been enough, even when the gun had been on the floor and his foot on her hand, her mind thinking he would jump away from the blast, but her finger hadn’t been able to make the necessary movement.

     Frustration swelled.

     She looked down at the floor.

     Small bits of vomit decorated her shoes. 

     A moan echoed.

     Megan slowly twisted to her right.

     Someone was sitting on the floor next to her.  No, not sitting, hanging, only low enough that she could have been kneeling on the ground, her hands raised over her head.  Instead her body just lifelessly dangled there, her legs making no move to support her weight.

    
Samantha!

     Everything flooded back to her.

     “Samantha,” she said, voice barely audible.

     Nothing.

     Megan moistened her lips, the taste of vomit being activated again. 

     Once a good glob of spit was ready she hacked it onto the floor.  Some of the vomit taste went with it, most stayed behind.

     “Samantha,” she said again.  This time her voice was able to fill the room.  “Can you hear me?”

     Her friend didn’t respond.

     Silence settled.

     Megan screamed while pulling at the ropes, but this didn’t help the situation, and after a few seconds she gave up.

     Samantha shifted, moaned, and then peed herself.

     Megan watched with dismay as the urine pooled on the floor beneath her, its journey hindered only by the thin pair of panties her friend wore.

     Fear followed, not of the waste, but of the fact that her friend was so badly hurt that she couldn’t even control herself - so badly hurt that she didn’t even seem to realize what was going on, nor cared.

     How could this happen?

     She examined her friend, her eyes taking in the colorless hands that jutted out above the knotted ropes, and then looked at her own hands, ones which were starting to turn purple as the blood pooled in them.  What would they look like tomorrow or the next day?

    
Two days.

     Samantha has only been here for two days.

     This frightened her even worse than the fact that she had peed herself because she wondered what Jimmy could have done during those two days to make her like this.  Worse, would he do the same thing to her?

    
Yes!

     Megan pulled at the ropes again, her mind thinking that with enough force she might be able to snap the pipe or the rope, or both.  All she managed to do was hurt her hands.

     At the same time the smell of the room hit her.  Of course it had been there the entire time, but just hadn’t fully registered.  Now it did, and made her gag.  Nothing came up, her stomach already empty. 

    
Will there be anything to come up ever again?

     Her eyes settled on the shelves of food and wondered if she would be fed, a thought which caused her stomach to shrivel.  Later she knew this wouldn’t be the case.  Once the hunger really began to set in she wouldn’t care about the smell or even the condition of the food and would eat it all. 

    
I won’t be here that long.

     Not if I focus and find a way to get free.

     She looked around again, her mind envisioning her seeing something long and sharp and slowly but surely working it toward her feet, which then would carefully lift it into the air and cut the rope.

     On TV things like this happened all the time when someone was caught in a situation like this. 

     Unfortunately nothing but her purse was within reach, and even if something sharp had been she doubted she would have actually been able to use it the way a TV or movie character would.  Still, it would have given her some hope.

     Samantha stirred and cried out, the sound startling Megan.

     Nothing followed.

     “Samantha?”

     Her friend twisted a bit and looked at her with lifeless eyes.

     “Samantha, it’s me, Megan.”

     Samantha just starred at her, eyes completely vacant.

*  *  *

     Tina hesitated for a while once she was home, a debate on whether or not Rebecca would even leave the prom ticket at home or keep it on her while at work raging within her mind. 

    
And even if you find it she could still call the school.

     The question was would the school really listen to her, especially if Tina went to the office and explained the situation?  Furthermore, would the people at the door checking tickets actually inspect the name to see if she was on some sort of ‘Her mother doesn’t want her attending’ list? 

     Tina didn’t really have an answer for this, but did know one thing, having her prom ticket would be better than not having it, because without it she couldn’t get in - especially if Rebecca called them too. 

     Tina got a glass of juice while thinking about this and decided she had to look.  If the prom ticket wasn’t there, then it wasn’t there, but if it was and she found it, things would be much better. 

    
Unless Rebecca really flips out.

     Tina thought about this while heading up to Rebecca’s bedroom, one which apparently had been her mother’s bedroom before the old woman had died from colon cancer a few years earlier -
that’s gotta be a pain in the ass,
Tina had said when Rebecca had explained this the day she had moved in, which wasn’t received very well - and pictured Rebecca trying to punish her.  Last night Rebecca had said her mother used to take her over her knee while also putting a bar of soap in her mouth, her gasps from the spanking causing the soap to hit the back of her throat.  It sounded absolutely horrible, and she felt sorry for Rebecca’s younger self for suffering at the hands of such a bitch.  At the same time she knew if Rebecca tried something like that with her she would just find herself suffering even more, because Tina would kick her ass.  It was one thing to raise a kid to fear you, something which often seemed to follow the kid up through adulthood.  It was another to expect a grown woman of seventeen who was the same size who you’ve never spent any real time with to fear such things.  Nope.  The minute Rebecca touched her Tina would split her lip and break her nose, no questions asked, no apologies given.

     The image of this brought a smile to Tina’s face.  It quickly faded once she actually stepped into Rebecca’s room and began her search.  It was the faces that did it.  Rebecca had lined the walls of the room with pictures of her late mother, ones which seemed to constantly glare at her as she examined the contents of each dresser drawer.

     It was the actual location of the prom ticket that stopped her dead in her tracks.  It was sitting on the surface of a drawer full of unframed photographs, the small blue and white slip of paper clipped to one of the pictures.

     At first Tina didn’t think much of this and just slipped the ticket free of the connection.  A second later a chill slipped down her spine as she realized what the picture displayed, her father’s face easily recognizable despite the time that had passed.  Rebecca’s face was harder to make out, the years between then and now having taken a serious toll upon what was once an incredibly pretty and youthful appearance.  The two were formally dressed, her father wearing a tuxedo with a flower, Rebecca wearing a royal blue gown, one which seemed to enhance her beauty the way a nice frame will enhance a painting.  Her father’s tuxedo didn’t have the same effect and instead made it look like he was trying to pull a fast one on everybody. 

    
Enchantment Under the Stars - Prom of 1992.

     Tina stared at the picture for several seconds, and then peeked into the drawer to see what else was in there.  A wedding photo greeted her.  It sat atop a wedding album.

     She pulled it out. 
Together Forever
- Memories of Stanley Thompson and Rebecca Collins Wedding - August 26, 1992 was embedded in gold on the thick cover, an image of the two kissing in front of the altar pressed into it beneath the words.

     Tina opened the book and started looking at the pictures, her eyes growing wet as she saw the happy, yet nervous face of her father captured time and time again throughout the wedding ceremony and celebration.  Rebecca looked happy as well, though her thick white gown did not have the same effect that her prom dress had had in the other picture.  Truth be told, the wedding dress almost looked as if it was holding her hostage, the thick layers of fabric acting like restraints.

    
Your mother probably picked out the dress and made you wear it, whereas you were the one deciding on the prom dress.

     Tina shook her head and closed the book, her mind wondering what the hell her father had been thinking.  Why marry the bitch, especially right after school like that?  Why not go out and enjoy life for a while?  It just didn’t make any sense.  Her father should have been smarter than that.  Shit, her father was smarter than that.