River's Edge (15 page)
Authors: Marie Bostwick
“Need a light?”
His voice made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Without waiting for my answer, he scraped the match head against the rough brick. I caught a faint, acrid scent of sulphur as the match flared and glowed to reveal the leering grin of John Harkness, who took a step toward me with the lit match in his right hand, cupping the flame with his left.
We had not spoken directly since that day after the spelling bee, nearly two years before. Of course, it was a small school, so we shared some classes and we frequently passed in the halls, but I was careful to ignore him, pretending not to hear him snickering with his friends when I walked past.
My eyes darted about to see if there was anyone else nearby, but we were alone. The door leading to the safety of the gym was on the far side of the building. John was taller and much more muscular than he had been when we were in grammar school. His legs were longer than mine, and I knew I had no hope of outrunning him, especially in my wretched French heels.
Telling myself I mustn't let him see my fear, I leaned toward his outstretched hands, positioned the tip of the cigarette in the midst of the flame and drew in my breath and a mouthful of smoke with it. The taste was awful, and I couldn't imagine actually pulling the noxious vapors down into my lungs. Instead, I held the smoke in my mouth for a long moment, pretending to inhale, before blowing a thin column out steadily through my lips, trying to adopt the careless, world-weary expression of a practiced smoker.
“Thanks.”
Still grinning, Hark pulled a pack of Luckies from out of his coat pocket and lit one up. “Funny. I never figured you as a girl who smokes.”
I didn't say anything but nodded my head and took another shallow puff. From around the corner, I thought I heard the squeak of a door opening. I cast a glance in that direction, hoping that someone would appear on the scene. John heard it too, and I could feel him tense up as he stood next to me. A minute passed and then another, but everything around us was silent. John gave a short sigh of relief.
“Thought for a minute that it might be old busybody Simmons. He caught me having a smoke last month and gave me detention. Said if it happened again he'd suspend me. Jackass.” Hark took another deep drag on his Lucky and leaned back into the wall, seeming to relax for the moment.
I tried to appear relaxed, too, hoping that if I just stood there, listening to him, sharing the feigned camaraderie of fellow smokers and rule breakers, in a few minutes I could finish the cigarette, casually grind the butt out against the wall, and even more casually say “Thanks for the light,” then walk steadily toward the door and the security of the well-chaperoned gymnasium.
“Yeah,” he said, continuing his soliloquy, “never figured you for a girl who'd smoke. Always thought you were too goody-goodyâtoo pure for such nasty habits.”
He turned and looked at me. The leering grin returned to his face as his eyes moved from my face and traveled slowly down my body to my shoes and then back up, stopping at the place where the blue silk stretched tight over the swell of my breasts. His eyes were fixed there and refused to stray from that spot. His stare beamed through the fabric with the intensity of red coals burning through tissue paper. I was unable to move, frozen to that spot in fear, like a trapped, small animal whose only defense lies in staying very, very still and praying that danger will pass it by.
I could see Hark's chest move up and down as he breathed heavily. Slowly, he took the cigarette from between his lips and tossed it to the ground with a flicking movement of his fingers. He leaned his body toward me.
“Are you?” he whispered. “Are you as pure as you look? Or have you been faking that, too?”
He took a final step to close the last distance between us. A small, panicked cry escaped my lips. Unable to stop myself, I instinctively pulled away, making a bolt for the door, but he grabbed my wrist and stepped in front of me, blocking my escape with his body. Finally his eyes sought out mine, and he laughed at the fear he saw there. He was enjoying it, I knew. The more afraid I was, the more powerful he felt, and he liked power. I told myself to calm down, to make my face a mask, but I couldn't do it.
“You have been faking it, haven't you? Trying to make me think you're tough,” he snorted. “You've never smoked before, have you? Have you?” He tightened his grip on my wrist. “Answer me!”
“Let me go!” I cried in a voice I hoped sounded angry rather than frightened. “I've got to go inside now. My date will be looking for me.”
“I don't think so,” he said. “You don't have a date. Nobody in Brightfield would ask you to the dance. Not you, Fraulein. That's why you're out here, isn't it? You know they're all in there laughing at you, so you came out here to get away from them. Yeah, I know what that is all about. You had a good time making everybody laugh at me that day when you threw a punch at me. Bet it seemed funny at the time. Not so funny now, is it?”
He moved closer, pressing his body into mine, his shoulders looming at the level of my eyes, blocking out the light and the stars.
“Nobody in there is missing you. Even if they were, nobody'd come out here looking for you, because this isn't a place where a nice girl would be. And you are a nice girl, aren't you?” he asked hoarsely. “That's all right. I can change that.”
He reached up and grabbed the back of my head with his free hand, pulling my hair and tilting my head back as he leaned down to try and kiss me.
“Stop it!” I cried. I tried to break away from him, but he had me pinned to the wall. I could feel the sharp grit of the brick wall scraping at my back. I wrenched my head away at the moment before his lips touched mine.
His eyes flashed in bright anger, and I saw something terrible there. “Don't want me to kiss you? Fine. Don't matter to me if I kiss you or not. I was just trying to be nice, but I don't have to be nice. Not to get what I want from you, I don't.”
He pulled me close to him and squeezed my wrist again, twisting my arm up behind my back just as he had done that day two years before when Papa came to rescue me, but this time Papa didn't come. He jerked my arm tight, and a sharp pain seared the socket of my shoulder. He started pulling and pushing me over toward the dark corner, where he had been hiding before, out of the circle of light and into the deep shadows where no one could see us. When I cried out in pain and fear, he clapped his other hand over my mouth to block out the noise.
He shoved me into the corner and planted his tree-trunk legs wide on either side of me, imprisoning me between them. With his hand still across my mouth he lowered his head to the bodice of my dress. I could feel his other hand fumbling at the hem of my skirt, reaching under the fabric and moving along my leg to the top of my stocking.
Panic ran through me like an electric current. I pushed against him with all my might, but it only increased the ferocity of his attack. I shoved my shoulders upward and jerked my head hard to the left to loosen it from the clamp of his hand.
I screamed as loud as I could. His hand was in front of my face, trying to recapture his grip on me. Instinctively, my mouth sought out his groping hand, and I bit down on it as hard as I could. Hark's body jerked back from the surprise of the pain, and a string of expletives poured from him as he fought to pry his fingers from between my teeth.
For a moment we struggled like animals snarling over a fresh kill. Hark was so much bigger than I; ultimately it would be impossible for me to prevail over him, but terror and rage boiled up inside me and spilled over into every part of my body, making me far stronger than I actually was. I shoved my shoulder into his chest, succeeding in pushing him back from the corner and giving myself just enough room to pull my right arm free. My fist swung free and landed powerfully and squarely on the orbit of Hark's left eye.
“You little ... !” He howled in fury and called me a name that I'd never heard before but whose meaning was very clear to me. “You're gonna pay for that!” He lunged at me, his rage now matching my own and grabbed me by the shoulders, trying to force me to the ground. I fought as hard as I could, but I wasn't strong enough. If he succeeded in pushing me down, there would be no way I could fight him off.
Then, just as my knees began to buckle under the force of his weight, he suddenly froze, turned sharply to his left, and let go of me completely. Unfortunately, his body still blocked my route of escape. Without thinking, I started pummeling him with both my fists, raining down blows on his head and shoulders as hard and fast as I could. He flinched under the attack, but his attention was elsewhere.
Turning his back to me, he started throwing punches of his own, his hamlike fists connecting with the jaw of his assailant and making a flat, sickening crack as they found their target. I couldn't see the face of my rescuer, but, still trapped in the corner behind Hark's hulking frame, I silently cheered him on even as I continued my own assault on Hark's back and shoulders.
Hark made a ferocious charge toward his opponent, leaving a wide opening between himself and the imprisoning brick wall. Over the sound of bare knuckles smacking against bone and skin, I heard Junior's voice ring out. “Elise! Get out of here! Run!”
I bolted out of the corner and instinctively started running as fast as I could toward the safe haven of the school building. The noise of the fight, the sound of men grunting in effort, of feet scuffling in the dirt and landed blows, echoed in my ears. I wanted to keep running but only got a few yards before my feet slowed. Something inside me wouldn't let me just leave Junior alone. He was strong, but I knew he would be no match for Hark.
I turned around and saw the two of them with their arms wrapped viselike around each other, looking for all the world like a pair of pythons determined to squeeze the life out of a foe. I ran back toward them. Without thinking, I wrenched off one of my shoes and started pounding the heel against the back of Hark's head.
His head jerked back. When he turned to see what had struck him, he gave me a look of such hatred that it was clear to me that he'd kill me if he could. Hark let go of his death grip on Junior and swung his arm wide and free through the air, striking my face with full force and throwing me back against the wall. Junior charged him and threw three quick, punishing blows into Hark's midsection.
Hark doubled over for an instant, and Junior, his nose streaming blood, turned toward me and shouted, “Quick! Go get help!”
For an instant I was torn; I didn't want to leave Junior alone, but it was clear that even with my help, Junior wouldn't be able to defeat this giant. I pulled off my other shoe, and in my stocking feet, ran as fast as I could toward the gymnasium door. Just as I rounded the corner I met a group of boys led by Mark, who was shoving a pint bottle of whiskey into his jacket pocket. His eyes grew wide when he saw me, and I was suddenly aware of how disheveled I appearedâbarefoot, breathless, and with a jagged tear in the bodice of my dress. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around my chest.
“Junior and Hark ...” I didn't have time to gasp out the rest of my explanation before Mark and several of the others started running full speed toward the sound of the fight.
I followed on their heels. Mark tried to wedge himself between Junior and Hark to break up the fight, but when he did, Hark struck him on the jaw with a hard right cross. With that, Mark abandoned his role of peacekeeper and joined in the battle. The boys stood in a ring around the combatants and cheered them on, offering encouragement, advice, and warnings to Junior and Mark.
Word of the fight must have quickly made its way back into the school building. Soon a stream of boys and girls left the dance floor to watch the fracas. With two opponents to face, Hark was definitely getting the worst of it. He didn't back down, and his blows were still powerful, but he was definitely slowing, and his nose was bleeding profusely. Though Hark was outnumbered, it was clear that the crowd was on the side of his adversaries. The boys cheered loudly each time Junior or Mark landed a punch and groaned in disappointment when they received one. The girls gasped and squealed in excited horror at every blow, no matter who the recipient was. I looked on in horrified silence, wincing every time Junior took a hit.
The battle couldn't have gone on for more than a few minutes, but it seemed much longer. I heard a murmur of voices behind and one that rose above the rest, shouting, “What's going on here? Move!”
The crowd parted, and Mr. Simmons stepped into the ring, his eyes flashing, suddenly transformed from a fussy, elderly biology teacher to a man of authority with a booming voice. “Boys! Break it up! Right now, do you hear me? Break it up!” He waded fearlessly into the combat zone and stood solidly amongst the three boys, who were panting with effort. Seeming almost relieved by his interference, they quickly obeyed. Mark was certainly winded, but not as badly as the other boys. Junior bent down and put his hands on his knees as though to support himself and pulled deep, labored breaths into his lungs. Hark was no better off as he gasped for breath and wiped the blood from his nose with his sleeve, staring in exhausted surprise at the red gore that stained his white shirtsleeve.
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