Nightwitch (14 page)

“
You guys up to something?” Brad asked.

“
Why don’t you go get one of your daddy’s big guns and go kill something,” Carolina said.

“
Why don’t you mind your own business,” Brad said, running his fingers through his hair and sneering.

“
No, Brad. Why don’t you mind your business, and we’ll mind ours. What do ya say?” Arty felt his insides quiver and he had to go to the bathroom, but he was tired of being pushed around. He was embarrassed because he had been put down earlier in front of Carolina and he was determined not to be pushed around anymore.

“
I say I’m gonna kick your butt. By the time I get through with you your own mother won’t know you.” He continued to run his hand through his hair. He didn’t get up, “unless you say you’re sorry, right now.”

Arty clenched his fists, staring down at Brad. He thought of kicking him, but that wouldn’t be fair. Especially when he was sitting. There was no way he could win a fight with Brad, but there was no way he was gonna say he was sorry either. So he stood facing him, biting his lip for courage, waiting for Brad to make the next move.

“
Gonna say it?”

“
Arty?” Carolina said. He knew she wanted him to say it.

It would be easy. Two words. Just give in, give up and say it. But he couldn’t do it.

“
I’m waiting,” Brad said, cracking his knuckles.

But Arty stood silent. His time for running was through. Brad might beat him up, but he wasn’t gonna cower and whimper anymore.

“
Last chance,” Brad said.

“
Can’t do it,” Arty said.

And everybody knew it had gone too far.

“
This is gonna hurt you a lot more than it hurts me.” Brad pushed himself up off the grass. His shadows stood up too.

“
You gonna do it alone or are you gonna have your friends help?” Arty felt the blood rush to his head and the muscles on the back of his neck tighten.

“
You think I need help pounding you into the ground?” This was something new for Brad, he had the reputation of being the toughest kid in the school and he wasn’t used to being challenged.

“
If you’re gonna do it, then do it, else just shutup and get out of the way.”

“
I don’t believe you’re saying this. You’re in trouble, boy.” Brad moved toward Arty.

Arty stood his ground.

“
Put ’em up.” Brad raised his fists.

Arty kept his hands at his side.

“
He doesn’t even know how to fight,” Steve Kerr said.

“
Yeah. What a mama’s boy,” Ray Harpine said.

“
Be careful, Arty,” Carolina said.

“
Yeah, be careful,” Brad mimicked, dropping his fists and moving in close to Arty.

Arty stood his ground.

Brad put both hands on Arty’s chest, and pushed, causing Arty to stumble backwards, but Brad stayed with him, pushing him again.

“
Come on, Brad,” Carolina said, “everybody knows you’re tougher, so leave him alone.”

“
Hit him in the mouth,” Steve Kerr said.

And Arty hit Brad in the mouth with a roundhouse right that sent him flying and tumbling onto his back.

“
Shit,” Ray said.

“
Come on, Brad,” Steve Kerr said, but Brad didn’t need any egging on. He scrambled over on all fours and pushed himself up. He felt his lip and frowned when he saw a trickle of blood in his hand. His face started to go red. Brad was a bully, but unlike most bullies he was a fighter, too. He had earned and deserved the reputation of being the toughest kid in the sixth grade.

“
Hold this,” Brad said. He took off his leather jacket and tossed it to Steve.

“
You’re in for it now, fatso,” Steve said.

Arty put his hands up as Brad charged him, but it made no difference. Brad moved in quick and low. Arty tried to block Brad’s left, but only succeeded in deflecting it. Brad’s fist clipped him on the right ear, stinging and causing a ringing sensation that deafened him.

Brad followed with a right that Arty was too stunned to notice. The balled fist felt like his father’s as it split his lip, only his dad never hit him any place that would show. This would show big time.

“
Arty,” Carolina screamed as the heavy boy faltered and stumbled backwards, but he stayed up and stood his ground the best he could.

“
Give up,” Brad said.

Dazed, Arty put his hand to his mouth and felt the sticky blood. He ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip and tasted it. He clenched his fists, glared at Brad, and said, “No.”

Brad hit him again, harder than before, landing the punch square on his right eye. This time Arty fell, landing on his back. The fight was over.

“
You meanie,” Carolina said, but Brad ignored her.

“
You gotta show a little respect,” Brad said.

“
Great fight, Brad,” Steve Kerr said, patting his hero on the back, but Ray Harpine was silent, offering no congratulations, and he looked at Arty differently than he did before.

“
See ya tomorrow.” Brad turned and walked away with Steve and Ray following.

Carolina fell to her knees and put her left hand under Arty’s head, propping him up. She wiped some blood off his lip, then wiped it on the grass.

“
Are you okay, Arty?”

“
I’m bleeding.” He held the tip of his tongue against the cut on the inside of his lip to stop the flow of blood.

“
I wish I could do something.”

“
I think I got a big mouth.” His lip was already starting to swell.

Carolina used the bottom of her dress to wipe the blood off his chin and asked, “Can I see the cut?”

“
No. It hurts.”

“
I just wanna see for a second.” She gently pulled his lip back with her soft little girl fingers that felt oh-so-good on Arty’s bruised lip.

“
Wanna get up,” he said.

“
No, you can’t get up now. You have to rest a second, in case something’s broken. I saw it on a doctor program on TV,” she said, and Arty thought she watched a lot of television.

She moved around and put his head in her lap. She seemed fascinated with his damaged face, softly tracing his swollen lip with a gentle finger, then moving it to his right eye and tracing the puffiness there. “I’m gonna be a doctor when I grow up. I just decided. That way when we’re bigger and you get beat up, I’ll know just what to do.”

“
Help me up,” he begged. It was bad enough that she was seeing him like this, but he didn’t want any other kids to come along and find him flat on his back with his head in her lap. He would never be able to live it down.

“
Okay.” She scooted out from under him and stood up. Then she offered him her hand and helped pull him up from the sidewalk.

“
Jeez, Arty, you’re heavy. Did you ever think about going on a diet?” If anybody else had said it he would have been ashamed. But the way she said it, she wasn’t putting him down or making fun of him. She was just stating a fact. He was fat and he should do something about it. Still, for a second, he felt like he wanted to be somewhere else, like alone in his room.

Then she added, “But you’re awfully brave.” He might be the fattest kid in school, but he’d stood up to the toughest. He might have gotten his ass kicked, but he’d stood up and she thought he was brave. He felt like he’d just walked on the moon.

“
I’ll be coming by tonight,” he said.

“
I don’t know if my mom’s going to be home, so I’ll put a milk crate outside my bedroom window. That way it’ll be easier for you to get in.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later his dad was waiting for him on the front porch, a beer in his hand. He was wearing the kind of look a rat has when it’s torn into the food bin and it knows you can’t catch it, because it’s too fast and the other side of the kitchen is too far away.

“
Where ya been? Your mom’s got chores for you to do.” Translated that meant his mother had to work late and there was no one to clean up after him or to make his dinner.

“
Mom working late?” Arty said, without thinking.

“
Don’t back talk me.” Bill Gibson lashed out, catching Arty on the right cheek with the back of his hand. He’d never hit him in the face before. The busted lip and black eye must have given him the idea.

“
Got in a fight on the way home from school.” Arty backed away from his father.

“
I can see that. Someone whipped you good.”

“
I got my licks in.”

“
Sure ya did, kid, and the Pope’s stopping by for dinner.”

Arty wanted to say something smart, but for once he kept his flapping lips under control. His face was beat up bad enough. He didn’t need to give his father any encouragement. But he didn’t want to sound like he was just a punching bag, so he said, “I got him a good one, right in the mouth.”

“
Who won?”

“
He did, but I least I went down fighting.”

“
Good for you, kid. Now why don’t you straighten up the living room, do the lunch dishes and then see what you can make us for dinner.”

* * *

He looked in the mirror and winced. His lip looked like a fat worm sitting sideways on his chin. He reached up to touch it and shivered. It felt like he was being stabbed with a needle. He moved his hand to his forehead, pushing his bangs out of his eyes and looked at the shiner. He’d never had a black eye before. It was like a badge of courage.

He tapped the new bruise on his right cheek and vowed that someday he’d get even with his father. It wasn’t fair. He comes home with a battle scarred face, ’cuz a bigger boy had used it for a punching bag, then his father lights into him.

He reached into his back pocket, brought his comb out and ran it through his wet hair. He’d just come out of the shower, but he wasn’t in his pajamas and he wasn’t going to bed. He turned away from the mirror and went out the window like he’d done the night before. It was eight-fifteen and his parents were at their separate ends of the house, his mother in the kitchen, his father in the living room playing cards with a friend. Arty thought that was strange, because he didn’t think his father had any friends.

He felt a glow of excitement run through his body. Once again he was sneaking off into the dark. Only tonight he felt good, unafraid, steady and brave. He walked with a saunter and a slight spring in his step, but he knew sneaking out two nights in a row was tempting fate. It was dangerous, but he was looking forward to seeing Carolina. So much so, that he didn’t bother to look behind. He didn’t see the two men hanging back in the fog, following him.

* * *

He was halfway down her street when he was struck by the silence. He stopped walking and listened. He was used to the noises of the night. The silence was out of place, and so was he. Instinctively he knew the middle of the sidewalk was a bad place to be, so he moved to the curb and hunched down between two parked cars, straining his ears, searching for familiar sounds, a cricket, the cry of a cat, the bark of a dog. Something. Anything. Nothing.

He poked his head out from his sanctuary and looked down the block, toward Carolina’s and he saw it, a large dog. He’d never been afraid of dogs. In fact, he’d kind of had a way with them ever since he could remember, especially big ones, like Condor, the Bingham’s super big Doberman Pincer. But something told him to keep still and not alert this one.

The dog was walking slowly up the sidewalk, like it owned it, coming toward him, but it stopped at Carolina’s and moved into the bushes between her house and the house next door. He thought of the red eyes looking in the window and knew it wasn’t a peeping Tom. Somehow that big dog had gotten up on its hind legs and was peering in at them.

He shivered with the thought. Carolina said she would leave a milk crate outside her window to make it easier for him to climb in. He had to get over there. He had to warn her. He put his hands back on the bumpers and started to push himself up when he saw the dog come back out from between the houses. He eased himself back onto his knees.

Oh, Lord, he thought, it wasn’t a dog. He kept low. There was something in its mouth. His knees hurt. He took even, shallow breaths, because he knew that what was out there might not be able to smell him with the breeze at its back, but it had excellent hearing and he didn’t want to be guilty of making even the smallest sound.

He saw the creature’s head start to turn and for a flash of a second he thought he was finished, but before that great head with those piercing eyes came to rest on him, the wolf was engulfed in a flash of blinding red-white light that took away his night vision. Then as fast as the flash appeared, it was gone and in its place stood a stooped over old black woman. He closed and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, she was shuffling along the sidewalk, getting farther away from him with every small step.

He stayed silent and still, until she turned the corner, then he pushed himself up and ran to the bushes between the two houses and scooted through. Her window was open and the crate was in place.

“
Carolina,” he whispered.

“
Yeah, I’m here,” she whispered back. “I thought I heard you a minute ago, but when I looked there wasn’t anybody there.”