Chapter 6
Suddenly an eerie moving light splashed across the trees.
"Someone's coming," Steve said at once, and with a graceful, practiced motion had his legs in his trousers and was already halfway over the seat."
"What's the matter," Julia asked, her stomach filling with a thick swampy sludge of panic. "Who could it be?"
"Probably no one. Sometimes the cops drive down here to hassle whoever's parking.
Julia saw herself trying to answer questions from unpleasant police. They couldn't very well take her down to the station house and make her call her parents to tell them what she'd been doing. Still, she'd no spirit for a scene like that.
The light rose up the tree trunks and as the car pulled into the curve, two javelins of light cut through the darkness. She quickly buttoned up her dress arranged her hair and tried a thousand versions of "What are we doing here? Well officer, there's a perfectly good explanation for this, as I'm sure you'll agree, once I can think of it ... " No, she wanted no part of that.
"It's not the cops," said Steve when the car was in view. "At least I don't see any blue bubble-gum machine."
Well, thought Julia, comforted. They still call it that. Guess I'm not so old after all.
"Maybe they're here for the same reason we are." Julia hoped it was so.
"Maybe," was all Steve said in reply. His voice had the deadly seriousness of a high school senior. He had his hand on the ignition key, ready to spark the engine to life. As the car passed, he said nothing. Julia slumped low in the seat beside him.
They heard hoots and hollers. The car's horn beeped a few times but it neither slowed nor seemed like it was going to.
"Assholes," Steve muttered darkly.
"What do they want," Julia asked, her fear subsiding a bit.
"They want to raise hell. Assholes."
The car passed from sight around another curve. Julia began to relax when all of a sudden the trees and shrubs ahead were bathed in a red glow.
"Shit, they're stopping," said Steve, starting the car "Well is that so bad?" Julia wanted very much for this to be a false alarm. After all, there was nothing sinister about a car stopping at the local make-out spot, was there. Steve wordlessly pulled out of the secluded pocket they'd thought would hide them and drove back down the road.
"Here they come," he said a moment later. Julia turned around and sure enough, there were the two spears of light waving up and down in the night as the trailing car rolled over the ruts and rises of the dirt road.
"What do they want? Who are they? Steve, why are you so concerned? You act like you knew they would be here."
Oh no, she thought at once. She looked at Steve. His eyes were focused hard on the road ahead.
"Steve, do you know these people?"
"I might," he said finally.
"Did they know we were going to be here?"
"I don't know. How could they?"
"Steve, what are you keeping from me?"
He looked in the rear-view mirror. Then he looked at her.
"Hang-on," he said and floored the accelerator.
Julia would later recall the chase that ensued only as an endless succession of twists and turns, of shoulderless roads and trees streaming past, of bone rattling bumps and of a rising panic flavored with doubt. And always when she'd turn to look behind them, the murky glow of headlights beaming through the dust kicked up in their wake.
"Steve, please be careful."
"Trust me," he said. "I know these roads like the back of my hand."
"Well it looks like they do too."
"Yeah, but that's only half of it. You also have to know how to drive them."
His self-assurance seemed to be justified. Twice, she thought surly they'd spin off the road, maybe even flip over.
TEACHER AND STUDENT DEAD IN SEX CHASE. The headline raced across her eyes. But he knew what he was about. Fishtailing through one turn after another, he steadily opened the distance between the two cars until often, they were out of sight behind a curve for thirty seconds or more.
Up ahead, the road forked.
"O.K., this is it," said Steve. "Now's when you really gotta trust me."
He turned off the headlights and flew down the left fork for maybe two hundred feet, then skidded crazily to a stop. Gears ground with vicious staccato precision as he jammed the car into reverse and spun the wheels backwards. The car grudgingly obeyed.
When they'd reached the fork again, without hitting his breaks at all, he slammed into low gear and kicked up an opaque dust cloud, then drove very slowly down the right road, coasting to a stop as soon as they'd come to a curve. Julia saw the translucent glow growing brighter as they pulled out of view.
"They'll follow the cloud of dust," he said, turning around, still without the aid of lights.
Sure enough, as they sped back towards the fork along the dark road, they saw the bright glow suddenly go red as the taillights moved away down the left fork. Steve again floored the accelerator.
"That'll give us just enough headway to shake them," he said.
The road was still foggy with dust when he at last turned the lights back on, but though
Julia kept a constant vigil, the pursuing lights never reappeared.
After about five minutes more of unfathomable back roads, they at last turned onto a hardtop, heavily peppered with pot-holes and asphalt patches, but to Julia it spoke only of civilization and safety.
"So is that how Clinton High Schoolers get their kicks?"
"Some of them, I guess."
"Isn't that a little stupid, to go out harassing people in parked cars?"
"It's a small town. There's not much else to do ... if you don't have a date, anyway."
They drove back to town in silence. Steve pulled into Julia's driveway and they sat in the car, still saying nothing. Julia lit a cigarette.
"Steve, why did you think you might know those people.? "
"Everyone knows me here, they know my car. People recognize you."
"Did you recognize that car?"
He paused a moment. Too long a moment, thought Julia.
"I thought I did, but then I wasn't sure." Finally the doubts coalesced into a simple question.
"Steve, who have you told about us."
"No one, Miss Perkins, I haven't said a word to anyone. How could I?" He sounded sincere enough, but she was not satisfied.
"All right then, has anyone said anything to you?"
He didn't answer.
"Steve, I want to know if anyone has said anything to you about us. Tell me."
She was the teacher again, he her helpless student.
"All right! People ... well you know. I mean, Suzy and Wally Joe seemed to feel pretty certain the other day. You know how rumors spread."
"Of course. And have you done anything to squelch those rumors?"
"Well sure. I told them they were full of shit."
"Told who?"
"I don't think you know them."
"Who are they?"
"I know them from when I played football."
"Who are they?"
He looked at her for a long silent moment.
"I'd rather not tell you, Miss Perkins. I need to handle this in my own way. My neck's on the block too, you know."
She felt dizzy and helpless. She heard her name bouncing off the locker room walls like a basketball to the echoing hoots and yelps of an envious audience. Oh God, let it not be so, she thought. What have I done?
"Look, Miss Perkins. This is just a lot of rumors. You said that we can deal with rumors. As long as no one can prove anything, no one gets hurt, right?"
Wrong, she thought. Lack of proof worked both ways. A thick cloud of suspicion settled onto her life at that moment, as thick as the dust that most likely still hovered over the dirt roads they'd just traveled. Whatever else happened, that cloud would not easily be removed.
She took a deep breath.
"Steve, I'm sorry I got you into this mess. I'm sorry I got myself into this mess. I hope it's not too late to set things straight. In any event, what happened tonight between us was the last time it will happen. Do you understand?"
"Yes ma'am." He spoke in a small voice, a frightened voice.
"I take full responsibility for what's happened." She reached out and touched his cheek. "I have to say I don't regret any of it. Not really. Not deep inside me."
His head was lowered. He mumbled something into his chest.
"I didn't hear that. What did you say?"
"I said I wish it hadn't turned out this way."
"So do I, she responded after a painful, contemplative pause. She thought of kissing him good bye, but realized that, actually, she didn't really want to.
The car door slammed shut. She heard the engine gunned to life, heard the grinding of gears (didn't he know about clutches?). It wasn't till she was at her door that she allowed herself to turn around and watch the taillights turn onto the road and wondered to herself, Steve, Steve, how badly have I misjudged you? What, oh God what has this turned into?
She'd have given anything at that moment to eavesdrop on his thoughts. Had she been able to, she'd have been stunned by the fierce, single-minded phrase that overwhelmed him as he set back out on the highway. I'll kill those bastards, he thought. I will fucking KILL those BASTARDS!
Julia slept poorly that night. She dreamed. Bad dreams. Harsh dreams. She was tied to a chair. The faculty of Clinton High School sat in a semi-circle on a high bench surrounding her. And what was that she heard ... of course! There were the first drunken clarinet notes teetering through the psychotic strings of the Witch's Sabbath from Berlioz' Symphonie Fantastique. Fitting. If there was to be any bloodletting, it surely would be her s. Long candles dripped slowly from the bare stone walls. All wore long black hooded robes, all except her. Was she naked? No, she wore ... yes, that was it. It was the blouse she wore when she was in a mood to tease the males in her class, though the buttons usually opened at least to her cleavage were now fastened tightly up to her neck.
And there was ... oh no, this was too much. It was Suzy Reed, in a long black dress, a candle in one hand, an awesomely long, gleaming knife in the other.
Julia watched as the girl approached, watched helpless in her bonds, the sacrificial lamb. Or was it goat? She saw Dave Ketchum's leering face, saw others that she knew but had never really known, all waiting, her guilt a certainty, waiting only for the punishment now.
Suzy approached and held the knife to Julia's neck. She delicately probed with the point, making a small indentation in the smooth skin. The pain fed her fear. But the blade was withdrawn, instead cutting the top button from her blouse. Then the next. And the next. Slashing through the thin threads until one by one all the buttons were cut off and her naked breasts peeked through the opening in the material. Suzy slipped the knife beneath the flaps, parting each one and pulling it, to the side so that her breasts were fully exposed.
She felt the sharp point poking into her nipple. Gleams of light from the candles were reflected off the shiny blade into her eyes. The blade lunged. Scarcely more than a fraction of an inch. Not enough to break the skin. Just enough to leave her limp with terror.
She screamed out, but no sound escaped. Only the music could be heard, rising in volume, though the Berlioz piece had been replaced now by the long somber tones of a Gregorian Chant, monotonously pounding her brain. There was laughter, hard evil laughter, and suddenly she was totally naked, strapped upright to a wooden frame, arms and legs spread wildly away from her in a naked, obscene 'X'. The sum of her life, she thought. Naked breasts, spread lips of her cunt, and a cold final 'X' stamped across all references to her, wherever they might appear, on whatever official form dealt with her.
Steve Tanner stood before her. In his hand, he held a bundle of thin leather strips, bound together in a large knot and fastened to a carved wooden handle. She again tried to scream but this time was prevented from doing so by a gag that had been placed in her mouth. Wild eyed, she struggled in vain. Her body could scarcely move. She was an open target.
He measured his distance carefully, took aim, reared back with his arm and swept the lash hard across her breasts. She shrieked a muffled scream into the gag at her mouth. Again he swung, pulling back a little this time so the tips of leather just grazed across her nipples. The sting was overwhelming. He moved behind her and she felt the bite of the whip cross her firm ass, felt it scourge her lean back, felt the welts rising on her thighs. And she was tilted, stretched out on a long flat board, still bound and gagged, her legs still flared wide to either side of her.
Down came the lash, ripping through her pubic hair. Again it struck, savaging her clitoris. And again, whipping across her opened cunt lips. And again, and again. The leather tore at her thighs, slashed over her tight belly, bit again at her quivering pussy, whipping her with pain.
"COME, YOU WHORE!! ! " he commanded, whipping her raw breasts.
"COME, SLUT!! ! " and again her pussy flamed beneath the lash.
"COME, I SAY!! ! " and he whipped her with relentless strokes that she felt would shave the skin from her very bones.
"Come, come, come, come." It became a continuous chant, taken up by all. Writhing in agony, her body twisting as far as it could within the limited movement possible, she felt the strips flaying her pussy to a wet mass of tormented anguish. Yet, she came. Massive waves of orgasm, fueled by the constant lashing, opening every pore, burning every nerve till the fire and the ecstasy were one.
They laughed as she came, shrieked with glee. Naked cocks were above her, spitting their white jism in an insolent stream over her ravaged body. They were in her cunt, in her ass, in her mouth. She was coming, she was lost in coming and pain, harder and harder, higher--!
She awoke. Slowly, the voices, the dim chants, the robes, the lash faded. She was breathing hard, her brain a thick fog of panic and terror. She searched madly through the space around her. Slowly, the judgment bench became a dresser, the candles turned to the streetlights outside her window, the voices faded to just the sound of her breath rushing in and out of her.
She realized that her hand was in her pussy, that her thighs were coated with the bath of juice that had poured from her. Still half numb, half mindless with fear, she slid her fingers in and out of her slimy wet flesh, dug with a sudden urgency that she couldn't have controlled if she wanted to. Ripping through herself now, as if trying to mimic the departed lash, slapping her clit, raping her tortured membranes, she came. Not a savage come of pain. This was a clean, pure coming, a coming almost in triumph, a come of victory over devils real and devils of dreams. They were gone, vanished in the scattering cloud of fear she felt herself emerging from. They had never been there at all. But she was. She was real. Her cunt was real and it was hers, and her orgasm was real, a stone-like reality that laid waste to the terror and paranoia.
Bring them on, she thought later. Let them all have a shot. She would take them, and she would beat them.
There were other dreams, lost in the labyrinth of unconscious chaos, dreams that spelled out her fear, turned it to surreal drama. Dreams that returned to her in the morning shower, bubbled up with the scent of perking coffee, sang between the lyrics of the radio, hummed along with the engine of her car as she drove to school. Dreams that returned, not as conscious recollections, but as a subtle undercurrent of urgency, an emotional figured bass line grounding her acts, her thoughts, her perception of her world with its steady mounting tension. Things were going to happen. She would see to that. She prayed that she could survive them.