Message-ID: <25581asstr$965013008@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: mighty_lyssa@my-deja.com X-Original-Message-ID: <8lvlsh$vsi$1@nnrp1.deja.com> X-Article-Creation-Date: Sat Jul 29 22:29:39 2000 GMT MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=iso-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Subject: {ASSM} Boots 4/14 Date: Sun, 30 Jul 2000 23:10:09 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw No sex in this installment, just further introductions and development of the characters. If you haven't read parts 1-3... you'd probably be lost picking up here. :o) Thanks for all the feedback! Sorry this chapter has taken a while to post! Oh, and don't reproduce this elsewhere on the net. If you want to post stories around the net, write your own. :o) Lyss mightylyssa@yahoo.com ********** Boots 4/14 (c) Lyssandra 2000 "I'll get your door," he hops out. I like that. He comes around and opens the door for me. Clever of him. Puts us in close proximity for the parting. I step out and get my books from behind the seat. I turn back and he's right there. I smile up at him. "This was great, Ellen. I mean, I know, only Sonic. But being with you was great." "Thanks. Me too." "Can I call you?" "Oh," I brush my hair back. One should never agree to that immediately. I wanted to, but a bit of hesitation is better. "Ok, sure. Can you write down my number." "Oh yeah," he flipped open his notebook, finding a blank page. I saw pages of notes in a large guy script. He pulled a pen from the spiral and jotted down my number as I gave it to him. "Great, ok. I'll call you. Any times I shouldn't call?" "Well, not past 10. My youngest sister has to be asleep then, plus I think Dad kind of freaks out about guys calling anyway." "Understood." He closes the door and we stand for a brief moment more. He leans forward, to my face. Reflexively my eyes relax, the lids becoming heavy, staring at nothing, and my mouth parts just a bit. His lips are then against my cheek in a very quick, very gentle kiss. He pulls back, his face red. I smile at him. "Ok," he's really smiling now. "Well, before I make more of a fool of myself, I better let you get to class." "You didn't make a fool of yourself," I'm giddy. "I had fun, thanks. And thanks for the burger. I left some in your truck. You know... on the dash." He laughs and walks me back to the class buildings. I spend time in the library before my last classes. Then, it's all over at 5 and I head to the library again to print a few study articles from the archive system. It's all on computer now, and I mentally congratulate Western Regional for stepping into the 21st century. When I go to my car, the parking lot is mostly empty. It's still plenty bright at 5:30. I'm lost in thoughts of the lunch with Craig. There is a car parked near mine and a man sitting inside it. I stop and, unable to control myself, begin to tremble. A thousand fears flood me. Ours are the only two cars left in that section. The man inside the car is an older adult, clearly not a junior college student. He is watching me. I know I have to get back to the building, but I want to see his face. Is it Dr. Mark? He's getting out of the car. It's a good distance away, so I'd be able to make it back to the building. I'm a sprinter after all. So I force myself to watch as he gets out. I develop a fear that if it is Dr. Mark, I won't be able to run at all. What if terror roots me to the spot while he comes and ends me. The man looks fairly young, in his thirties. He is a bit overweight with a large stomach that starts just under his chest, but he also looks solid. He is wearing navy Dockers and a light blue button shirt, the fabric slightly darkened around his armpits. His light brown hair is close cropped, military style. He is wearing sunglasses and, I note to my relief, there is a gold badge on his belt. There is also a small handgun in a belt holster, and this disappears as he slips on a navy blazer. "Ms Grant, my name is Owen Jemundt. I work under Detective Raney in the same department. I didn't mean to startle you." He's stopped a small distance away from me to show that he means no harm. "Oh, ok. I'm sorry, just spazzed I guess. Do you have some news?" "I believe Detective Raney does and he will come by your house tonight. I'm not involved in the investigation end. I'm what we call a presence." I didn't say anything, so he continued. "There is still a suspect at large. This shouldn't overly alarm you, because we have reason to believe he's long gone, but until we get things in a better perspective we like to keep an eye on the victim." "You think he may try to get me?" "No ma'am I don't. This is only a precaution. I think he's running like a scared dog. But I do want you to know that I'm around. I won't be intrusive in your life in any way. I'm going to give you my card. It has all my phone numbers. Home, cellular, beeper. Even my email address. I'm always in the area. I won't be watching you, so to speak, but I'll simply be checking each day to be sure you're ok. Don't worry about that being an interference in your lifestyle. You won't even know I'm there." "O-okay," I nod. "That does make me feel better thanks." He steps forward, handing me his card. It has his picture on it. "Show this to Detective Raney tonight so he can verify my purpose to you." "Okay," I nod again. A car is slowly pulling up and I turn. It's Steve Jordan, from the Sonic. His window is rolled down and he has a set look on his face as he eyes Detective Jemundt. "Hey, Ellen, everything ok?" "Hi, Steve, yes thanks." I smile at him gratefully. "This is a detective." "Ok, I was just headed home. Take care." "You too." As Steve drives off, I smile. "Everyone here has been really supportive." "That's great Ms Grant. I think your friends are going to be especially important to you during this time. But I want to stress that in the unlikely case something happens and you are threatened, you should contact me and the police, not them. They could just end up getting hurt or hurting an innocent." "Oh, ok, I understand that." The drive home was then frightening. Detective Lemundt had not frightened me once I knew who he was, but the method of his appearance had. Walking across a parking lot alone. Isn't that how I had been abducted in the first place. I found myself checking the rearview mirror to see if anyone was following me. I realized I probably wouldn't recognize that fact even if it were happening, and that scared me more. So what? What could I do? I could not imagine living out the rest of my life checking every parking lot and watching every car behind me. No way. That was paranoia. Anger and frustration flashed through me as I wanted to be free of this. It was done, I had escaped, and I just wanted to forget about it all. For those animals to continue to affect my life was unacceptable. I pulled up to the curb in front of our house. We have a two car garage, and those slots are reserved for Dad and Mom's cars. I always park my Camry on the street in front, so as not to block either of them. We live in a quiet suburban neighborhood and lots of the families park some of their cars this way. Matt's Toyota pickup is there, old but clean. It was now dark and I got out of the car after looking about out of the windows. I quickly retrieved my books, hit the lock and closed the door. The solid thunk sounded loud out here. Our neighborhood is a seven block section bounded by Highway 60, Hardy Street (the city's main thoroughfare), and the Picotamba River. It was all nice, and the houses increased in size and value as you progressed from Highway 60 to the Picotamba. Those houses situated on the actual river bank were very large and very nice. Our house was two blocks in, on Marion. All the streets names were taken from Robin Hood. When we first moved here I was 14 and thought that was cool. Now it was just a familiar swatch in the tapestry of my life. I like Marion and the families on it. Our area is uneven terrain and the street is like a valley, getting more shallow towards the east end. The yards are all hills that lead up to the houses. The lawns are all manicured and those who have flower beds and shrubbery take care of them. It's the really nice all-American neighborhood that modern entertainment likes to make fun of for some reason. Hey, I love it. I wouldn't trade my neighborhood for anything. There have been family disputes on our street, but never serious. Dad says fences make for good neighbors and almost everyone has a high plank fence around their back yard. As well as the driveway, we have a sidewalk that extends up our lawn from the street to the front door. The home itself is a two-story split level, with the den and Mom's office being a lower level than the rest of the first floor. In addition to the kitchen and living room, there are two bedrooms on the first floor, my parents and Cyndi's. Me, Matt and Felicia have bedrooms upstairs, along with a large bathroom and a small everything room. Our family operates on seniority and I have the largest room in the front of the house, my window facing the street. Matt has the room across the hall and Felicia is at the other end of the hall, next to the bathroom. Her window looks out over the back yard and the roof of mom's office extension. You can easily step out of Felicia's window onto the roof and from there climb down a small oak to the ground. We've, of course, tested this. The light in the garage is on and someone is moving around in there, so I take the driveway instead of the sidewalk. Nearing the garage I see the lawn mower outside in a state of disarray. It's a push model and the two back wheels are off. It's sitting up on its side. Passing that I see Matt inside at the work shelf putting something in the mounted clamp. His back is to me so I stop and watch for a moment. Matt is already 6 feet tall (he insists 6'1") at seventeen. He took to athletics like I did and we have a small bench set with extensions that we share in the everything room. He has very little body fat, all long lean muscle. He likes to go shirtless and is without one now. Muscles bunch and ripple in his tanned back and shoulders as he works. His vee- shape makes me think of Craig today. Craig, a couple of years older, has already started piling on bulk. Matt has the height, but he's still baby lean. He has dirty blonde hair like me and beyond it being obvious we're siblings, people sometimes ask if we're twins. Matt took what happened to me the worst I think. He has fretted over it daily, and I see him doing angry aggression things a lot. "Whatcha workin on?" I ask brightly. He casts a sharp glance over his shoulder at me, then goes back to it. "Tryin to straighten out this rod. Got caught on that stump in the back yard, and tried to jerk it off before it ruined the blades. Guess the rod caught it and bent." I go over and stand beside him, watching with no real interest. Just being near him. "What's goin on? How was the first day of college?" "Pretty much like high school," I frown. "Yeah, well that's because it's a junior college. I bet a real college would be cool." "Mm," I nod. "It'll do for a couple of years. I can get the same core classes out of my way, and the same classes are much easier to pass at a junior college like this." "Want to work out tonight?" "Can't. A girl from the soccer team is coming over, and then I'll probably study or get with Becky." "Ok. You need to get back to the weights before too long. Don't need to stay away from em too long." I pull up the sleeve of my knit shirt and flex my arm defiantly. The bicep is female but prevalent on the arm, bunching like ball. "I'm still okay." He gives the arm a skeptical appraisal and returns to his work. "That can disappear pretty quick." "Ok," I give in. "Can we try tomorrow night? I really need to get a feel for my course schedule too, so we can see which nights are best." "Okay," he nods. He doesn't look at me like he used to. Were I given to overt emotionalism I would vex that he thought less of me, but I knew he was trying to hide his own hurt. He felt like he had let me down somehow. He has always wanted to be protective of me and his other two sisters. Like every other discomfort associated with the whole sorry episode, I feel confident time will heal this. "Going in, see you." I ruffle my hand through the hair on the back of his head and go to the door that leads to the den. The den is our family entertainment room, with a large TV being the centerpiece. The TV is on, but no one is in there. I trot up the stairs, my calves wincing a bit. I worked them hard this morning and the one week layoff is showing. The short stairs lead to the kitchen and Mom is in there with Cyndi. Mom is consulting a recipe book while cooking. Cyndi is dutifully chopping carrots, slowly and carefully with a knife. She loves to help Mom cook, and Mom gives her these assignments to make her happy. I've never been sure if Mom loves to cook or if, like everything else, she simply approaches it from a perfectionist's methodology. She's such a great cook that everyone who tastes her food assumes that she must love it. Mom is a perfectionist though, and likes complete control when cooking. This has never generated any problem from Felicia or I because it meant we never had to help. We take care of the clean up afterwards, but hey, we never had to cook. Of course, we probably couldn't boil water now. Cyndi on the other hand has always wanted to help cook, and has gradually insinuated herself more and more into the process. Mom has accepted it and, over time, has given Cyndi more and greater duties. Felicia and I have privately worried that Mom may decide she likes this whole assistant thing and make us start helping too. So far, that hasn't happened. "Hi Mom, hi Cyndi," I hug Cyndi before going to do the same to Mom. "CYNTHIA," she protests. "And careful, I'm cutting carrots." "Sorry," I grin as Mom embraces me with an open arm hug, her hands held out so as not to get butter on me. "First day of school?" she smiles up at me, still clutching me with her arms. "No, sorry, college." "Fine. The classes looked ok. I don't think 18 hours is going to be too much with soccer. Oh, one of the girls from the team is coming over tonight. That ok?" "Sure, hope she's hungy." She lights up a smile, "Curry. What time is she coming?" I frown inwardly. In the past, Mom would have given me the third degree about someone new. She would have asked what the girl's family name was and then said, "I don't think I know those people." She would ask how she dresses, and if she associates with a bad crowd. Maybe it's because now I'm 19 and offically a college student. Maybe she's giving me a wide latitude because of what happened. "Seven. That too late to start eating?" I glance at the clock. It's 6 and it smells like it's almost finished. "No, that's fine. The longer it stews the better." "Cool, I'm going to go change. Where's Dad?" "He's in the living room, reading." I go into the living room before heading up to my room and give my father a hug. "Hey Ellen, love you sweetheart." "Love you daddy." Upstairs I pause, looking to the left. Felicia's door is open and Faith Hill is crooning Breeze on her stereo. I go and stick my head in the door. She's on the bed, on her stomach reading Seventeen. She's wearing soft cotton shorts, and her feet are up in the air, ankles crossed over her thighs. At 15 Felicia is already beautiful. Guys call her a babe. She has a great figure all around. Not just good legs and an ass, but breasts that are already larger than mine. I hope there won't be competitive problems in the future. Four years age difference will become inconsequential very soon. A potential argument is looming on the near horizon, as I will have to ask her to dress a bit more conservatively when I bring a guy home to meet the family. For now though, she's still my baby sister and I will hold on to that for the brief time remaining. Later we will have wars, arguments and understandings and love each other through it all, but she'll then become my younger sister. No longer a baby. "Howdy I'm home." "Hi El!" She sits up from her magazine. "How was college?" "It was cool. Guy asked me out today." She let loose a little squeal and patted the bed. "Tell!" "I've got to go dump my books and then wash up. A girl on the soccer team is coming over in just a little bit. Then, when she's gone, I'll fill you in, promise." "Great!" she giggles. "He cute?" "Very." We smile at each other. "Ok, talk later." I go back down the hall to my room and throw my books on my desk. The bed looks inviting. I'd like to fall on it and close my eyes for a bit. But there's too much going on. I'm in the bathroom washing my hands and face when Mom startles me, standing in the doorway. I see her in the mirror and I don't like the look on her face. I turn, reaching for the hand towel. "What's wrong Mom?" "Detective Raney is downstairs honey." Felicia has appeared beside her, looking from her to me in a frightened manner. She wants this whole unpleasant matter done with and gone. "Ok. Did he say anything?" "No, he's talking with your father. He's waiting for you to come down." "Okay." My dad is on the couch while Detective Raney is seated in a chair opposite the coffee table. He stands up from his chair as I come in the living room, Mom and Felicia in tow, and greets me. I take a spot by my father on the couch. Matt is there, standing by one of Mom's china cabinets, studying the contents. "Ellen I needed to come by and update you on what we've discovered, and ask you a few more questions. First, is there anything that you need to tell me?" "I... no. Oh, ah, a man gave me his card today... he said he's a detective with you. His card's in my room, I can go get it." "What did he say his name was?" "Lemant..." "Jemundt. Yes, he's with us. It would be good for you to show me his card. Just to get in the habit of verifying things like that." "I'll get it El," Felicia is already off the couch. "Ok, thanks. It's... ah... in my English Comp textbook. Right inside the cover. On my desk." I look back at Detective Raney. "I don't know of anything else to tell you." "Ok Ellen, that's fine," he's pulled his briefcase onto his lap is popping the latches. "First I want to show you some pictures to see if you can recognize any of the men." A chill shoots through me, but I try to not show any emotion on the outside. Mom squeezes my hand. I had identified Jimmy's picture in the hospital, and I had hated seeing his face again. "Ok, sure." He lays a picture on the coffee table. It's Eric the baseball bat. My hand goes to my mouth and I take a sharp breath. It's impossible to keep the memories out. The sight of this man is like a physical blow. It's astonishing the power that memories possess. It's an amazingly incongruous head and shoulders photo. Eric smiling in a button down, in front of a mottled grey backdrop, like the cheap portraits you can get at Sears. This was such a normal picture, and he was smiling so friendly. It made me angry. I remembered his smile of death as he fried on the steps. "That's Eric." "Okay good. We know his full name now, and you've verified it. This is the man you electrocuted. Can you confirm he was dead at that time?" "I... don't know. Dr. Mark said he was dead. He checked him after he rolled down the steps." "Good enough." He removed the hateful picture, only to replace it with another. Bradley. This was him standing in a bass boat, holding up a fish. The fish was on the end of a line, still hooked and in mid twitch, the tail curled up to the side. Appropriate. More helpless prey for the animal. This one frightened me more than Eric's. I knew any remaining fear of Eric was irrational. I had seen to that. But Bradley was still out there. "That's Bradley. The man who abducted me." The tremble in my voice was evident, causing Mom to squeeze my hand again and Dad to rub my shoulder. "Okay, some good news on this one." "You caught him?" Dad asked anxiously. "Well, better in my mind. Don't quote me on that. He's dead. It-" "YES!!" Matt punctuated this with a clenched fist, his eyes full of anger. We all looked over at him, and I smiled, tears forming in my eyes. Detective Raney turned back to me, not showing any emotion. "It took us a while to figure out who Bradley was and then find his hunting cabin. We just found it the day before yesterday in fact. Everything was pretty much as you described it when you left, so the two bodies were in bad shape." "Did the saw that Ellen threw kill him?" Dad asked. "No, that's one reason I waited until tonight to come over. I wanted more information to share, and it would let me know what questions to ask. The autopsy revealed that Bradley died of oxygen in his blood. The wound to his head was fairly bad. The cut was deep and the bone beneath was nicked, but it wasn't life threatening." "Dr. Mark said it was only a shallow cut," I said quietly, dabbing the few tears with a Kleenex. "He lied about that then. We found Bradley sitting on a couch in the main room of the cabin. His wound was about halfway stitched, as you described. What we figure is Mark came back, told Bradley he was going to finish dressing the wound, and told him he was going to give him an injection. He probably told him it was for pain or infection. What he really did was inject air into Bradley's bloodstream." "My God," Mom shook her head. "Why would they kill each other?" "We can't be sure of that until we get Mark, but..." he placed a picture of Dr. Mark on the table. Dr. Mark at a booth table in a restaurant, smiling and holding up a drink in cheers to the camera. His arm is around an attractive woman his age. "That's Dr. Mark." "Okay good. We now know who he is. He booked a flight to Mexico and left the country about five hours after you were found on the highway." "He's in Mexico?" Dad looked angry. "Yes, we think so. He used his credit card once since then, in Mexico City, for cash. Next he transferred funds from his bank account here. That was four days ago. That's the last record we have of him. We've forwarded a lot of pictures and other information about him to the Mexican authorities. We're hoping to hear something soon and have him extradited." "Is that his wife?" I'm looking at the photo. "Yes," Detective Raney sounds sad now. "She's been very cooperative and helpful over the last 24 hours. She's in a bit of shock. She had actually filed a missing persons with us before we figured out who he was and went to talk to her." "She..." Mom was in disbelief. "She didn't know?" "We don't discount anything Mrs. Grant, but from we can tell so far no she didn't. She and her husband have been distant over the past few years, but that's not unusual in a marriage between two professionals. It would be a perfect situation for him, as she wasn't in the habit of asking where he had been or what he had been doing." "So she just... I mean, I can't help but feel angry at her." Mom went on. "That... situation allowed him to do these things. To hurt who knows how many girls, and almost kill my daughter." "I understand," Detective Raney nodded. "There was evidence of videotapes missing at the cabin, but they had apparently made copies. We found those. These videotapes document three earlier kills, as Ellen had relayed. The videotapes in the cameras were also still present, fully recorded." We were all quiet for a moment as the point of this didn't sink in, until Dad raised his head. "There's videotape of Ellen!?" "Yes sir." My face must have gone white because I could feel the blood drain. My body grew cold. I looked from Detective Raney to my parents and then back to him. "There were four cameras and the tapes all show everything exactly as Ellen described. Of course, we're not surprised at that, just complimenting her on her excellent memory. Most of the tape is of course just darkness because she had taken out the lights. Also, unfortunately, the tapes ran out before Mark returned to kill Bradley. There would have been nothing to see, but perhaps the audio would have helped us some." "But," Dad was voicing my own concern, "these tapes of Ellen. I want them destroyed." "I understand that Mr. Grant. Right now they are evidence in a multiple homicide investigation. We need them to give what information they can, plus they need to be on file to defend your daughter if the need arises." "Defend Ellen!?" Mom's voice raised, and I was now squeezing her hand, looking at her. "Against what!? You think someone would blame Ellen for this!?" "No ma'am I don't. I don't foresee anyone bringing charges against Ellen for any reason. The state certainly won't. The only people who could would be the family of Eric in a civil matter. And I believe they were as in the dark as Mark's family about all of this. They are in shock as well. All I'm explaining is the reason we keep them." "Well, how long do you have to keep them?" Dad was angry, fueled by Mom's distress. "I mean, that's unacceptable to have tapes of something like this about my daughter lying around." "They're not lying around I assure you. They are evidence and sealed. Only members of the investigative team have access to them. As far as how long, it would be necessary to keep them at least until the statute of limitations runs out, which is 10 years for a civil case. Since this involves homicide though, and I don't mean homicide on the part of Ellen, I imagine that the information on these tapes will be forever preserved." "That's not right!" Mom cried. "Mrs. Grant, Ellen went through a terrible ordeal. But she survived. Three other girls that we know of were not so fortunate. Thanks to Ellen, three of the men responsible have already paid the price for their crimes, but there is still one at large. Those three girls died in terrible, inhumane ways, and their families deserve closure. All of these tapes can provide evidence and help in doing that. Please understand." "But-" Detective Raney interrupted Mom with a raised hand, polite but firm. "Furthermore... I don't know how to say this without sounding obscene. I've viewed the tapes. They had very little time with Ellen from the time the tapes were started to the time she escaped. There is some physical abuse but almost no sexual abuse. I know you're worried about anyone else, no matter who it is, seeing Ellen in that situation." He looks at me. "I know you're worried about that too Ellen. But, for what it's worth, the ones of us who have seen those tapes found nothing lurid about them. What we saw was something that touched us all. We even spoke of it to each other. We saw the the most courageous young woman we've ever witnessed. Ellen, we all have the greatest respect for you." "Thank you," I whispered. "I will call as soon as we know anything about Mark." I notice he has only referred to them by their first names. He hasn't told us their family names. He continues. "Again, we expect to hear something soon from Mexican authorities. He can't hide forever, and the FBI is now involved as well." "The parents of the other girls," Mom is crying. "Do they know everything yet?" "We've identified two through outstanding missing persons investigations. We think the third is from out of state. I met with those families today, which is why I'm here so late in the evening. They know everything we do now." "I'm so sorry for them," Mom sobbed. I sit quietly. A heavy engine can be heard on the street outside. It reminds me of the sound of Jimmy's engine. "We are too, Mrs. Grant. I never know how people will take this... I guess you have to have worked in homicide for a while, but this ends up being better than not knowing. It's closure. They've worried about their daughters for so long. One of the couples was in the process of a divorce. The stress was too much. He had lost his job. They couldn't sleep. The fate of their child just obsessed them, which I'm sure you can understand." He closes his briefcase, getting ready to leave. Felicia returned at some point, I didn't notice when, and now shows him Detective Jemundt's card. He confirms it and is obviously ready to leave if we don't have any more questions. Dad is just headed towards the door with him when the doorbell rings. Detective Raney says his goodbye quickly before the door is answered, so whoever it is cannot hear, "I'll call as soon as I have news. My bottom line feeling is this. There were four pieces of garbage who were such cowards they went after young girls. And they would have kept on killing but for one thing. They picked the wrong damn girl to mess with and she made them pay the price. Good evening." Dad opens the door and Joan is there. Her red hair is pulled back and she is swallowed in a beige canvas windbreaker several sizes too big for her. A red tee with some black logo I can't make out, and green twill shorts. And, I notice, she is wearing hard black boots like my combat boots. The same type of boot, that is, not the same style. Her's have not been prettied at all, just black leather, all scuffed. Her laces are bright white. A green canvas bag, edgeworn, is over one shoulder. "Oh, hi," she's startled, looking up at Dad and Detective Raney. "I was here to see Ellen?" She looks past them as she speaks and sees me. A smile flickers across her face. "Yes, come on in," Dad motions her in then steps out. "I'll walk with you to your car Detective." "Hi Joan," I come across the room. I know good and well my eyes are red. Mom has walked a little ways off and turned her back so that she can dry her face. "Hi Ellen. Did I come at a bad time?" "No, no. That was a detective with news... you know, of the investigation. Just an update kind of thing." "Cool. I guess." She nods. "Duh," I shake my head to show I'm foolish. "Joan this is Matt, my brother, and my sisters Felicia and Cynd... Cynthia. This is my mom." They all greet her. Mom doesn't even give her customary arched eyebrow at the sight of a small gold stud in Joan's left eyebrow. In the very recent past body piercing would have been an instant negative with Mom. I'm sure it still is, but she's not showing any outward sign. Matt can't take his eyes off Joan's legs, the nicely sculpted thighs being about all he can see of her. Other than her face of course. And, being a guy, there are so many places he'd rather look at than a face. I notice Felicia sizing her up too. Already scouting the opposition. It's always been a hobby of sorts for me to watch others' eyes. They say a lot. We go up to my room and I close the door for privacy. Joan sets the canvas bag on the floor and removes her oversized jacket as I talk about being excited for soccer. I notice the jacket has "Danny" written in marker on the inside collar. So much for her being a lesbian, I grin inwardly. I'll break the news to Craig when I have a chance. Her tee is sleeveless and on her back right shoulder I can see a tattoo peeking out from behind the red fabric. It's one half of a spider. "Oh, I hope you're hungry," I smile at her. "Why, are you feeding me?" she gives me another of those Joan smiles. I can't tell if its sardonic or genuine yet, but I don't pass judgement. "Sure! Mom made curry. Mom is an incredible cook. You like curry?" "You bet. God, Ellen, your family is SO middle class." I give her a puzzled half-smile. She's getting close to me passing judgement. "I don't mean that bad," she laughs. "Good," I laugh with her. "I mean so... backbone of America? Two parents, big house in this ... this suburbia dreamscape. And your brother and sisters all like you, tall good looking." I'm rummaging through my CDs to put something on but I pause, staring at her in prolonged bemusement, so she continues. "Your mom has all her china cabinets down there. The walls are a shrine to you and the others." She stops there, and is sitting on the floor, taking some composition notebooks from her bag. I have two beanbags and she is using one. "So... I'm not sure yet," I laugh a little. "Is that good or bad for you?" "Oh," she frowns a moment. "I'm sure it's great. I just haven't been hit with such pure dosage of Americana before." "Your folks are split?" "Yeah. They're not divorced. My old man's in jail though. I think mom doesn't divorce him just to piss him off. She won't sign the papers." Ok, I relax a little. I had felt an annoyance beginning towards her, but she's obviously had a hard time. She seems pretty straightforward and relaxed about subjects I'd find awkward, so I dig a little further. "Why's your dad in jail?" "That's a long list," she gives me an expression of wry disgust. I said I like to read eyes, but I'm having a difficult time with Joan. She doesn't often make eye contact but when she does, she is a bit overpowering. Her eyes contain an open and aggressive type of honesty that backs you down. When she's not looking at you, her eyes don't flit about but seem to do a single encompassing sweep and then focus on something. Everything about her mannerisms constitute a challenge to whoever she's speaking to. I was right. She'll be the team captain. I'm not a leader anyway. I prefer to be assigned an important role and work at performing it well. "He's stolen, sold drugs, all kinds of shit. But I think the particular he's in for now is trafficking." "Drugs?" "Yeah." "Do you do drugs?" "I used to. Did some weed with my brother and his friends a lot. Then tried some Ectsacy. I decided I don't like not being in control of myself. No drugs in ... I guess about 2 years now. Or close to it." "Great," I smile at her. "Worried about me infecting your perfect world?" Her face and eyes say the statement is not as combative as it sounds. I laugh, "My world is far from perfect. I'm not worried about that, just good to know things up front. I'm really glad you stopped doing drugs though, that's pretty strong." "Ok, our team sucks. Just want you to know that." We both laugh. I ask, "It's a hopeless case?" "Hell no. First off is our coach. Thomas Ridger. Ok, first, he's gross." I laugh again. I met Coach Ridger at the initial team meeting and, while he seemed like a really nice man, he had some grooming problems. "He has a severe nostril hair infestation." "Oh God," she scowls. "If he sneezes his nose will look like a party favor." This gets me too, and my laughing continues. I like to laugh and, to allow for this as often as possible, I give a wide zone to what I think is funny. I'm not a joke critic, in other words. If someone is telling me something in a spirit of humor, and it's not in bad taste, I enjoy it and laugh. "Second, he doesn't know soccer. He's a PhysEd instructor and they gave him the soccer team by default. It's his second year as coach. Ellen, in his office, I swear to God, there's like all these Idiot's Guide To Soccer books on his shelf." "Oh, that's good." I'm still giggling. "I'm so sure we'll dominate." "No, I plan for us to," she's serious. "But I'll need control of this team." "Why are you here?" I ask as the thought occurs to me. "At Western Regional I mean. You led the state in scoring last year. Couldn't you be playing at a senior university?" "I'm here because you are." I pull my head back in surprise, my eyes widening. "We were kind of in the same situation our senior year. Your team and mine went to the state championships because of us. My team really sucked. I was the only player on there, which is probably why I led the state in scoring. I wasn't enough by myself to advance us in the playoffs. You at least had something of a supporting cast. And, your team should have won state if you had been more aggressive." "I don't know... I-" She has no time for whatever I'm about to flounder out so she cuts me off, "In high school Ellen, we were really big fish. I believe we were the best two players in the state. Only one other girl got a soccer scholarship, and that was a partial to LSU. Only one girl was offered a full scholarship to a senior university, and that was me." "You were offered a full university scholarship?? Where??" "Alabama. Crimson Tide." She smiles a genuine smile. "God, why didn't you take that??" "Because I'm not ready. In high school I found I could really dominate defenders, whether 1-on-1, 1-on-2 or whatever. I loved that Ellen. But the team couldn't do anything. God, I wanted to dominate as a team so badly. To go undefeated. To win it all in a perfect season. I have an opportunity to taste that now. This level is only a step above high school. You and I on the same team. I think we can dominate." "You want to have a perfect season?" "No... I mean, yes of course, but if we lose a game here or there I understand that. But I do want to win the state championship in a clear manner. If I can do that here, then I'll go to a senior university feeling complete. We can both go together. I know we can be a great duo Ellen. I know you can play offense. You can mark, shadow, support, do it all. I mean, hell, you do dive headers. How many in this state do that correctly? With you and I as the strikers this team can rock." "Ellen, dinner's ready! You and Joan come on." Mom from the top of the stairs. "Okay," I yell back. I look at Joan. "Well, that's pretty big Joan, you turning down a full scholarship to Bama. But I'm sure you have your motivation. Yeah, I'm behind you 100 percent. You tell me what to do and I'll do it." "Great!" she beams. "So you're behind me being team captain?" "Yes, of course." "Should I put my jacket back on? I wore it because I figured your family was pretty conservative and I didn't know how they'd react to the tattoo and all." "If we're going to be in soccer together, they're going to see it sooner or later," I shrugged. "It's no big deal anyway. Why a spider?" She smiles at me. The Joan smile. "Because the female is the deadliest of the species." She holds her fist out towards me. I grin and rap her knuckles with mine. I'm starting to warm up to her. She has enough rage against society to be cool without being overboard. She's got the whole chick power thing going too. Beyond all that, she seems motivated and goal oriented. I can really relate to those types of people. The table is a quiet symphony of silverware clinking against plates, easy conversation and ice rattling in glasses. When Joan was walking ahead of Mom to the table I saw her notice the tattoo then raise her eyebrows at me in a "What have we here?" fashion. That was more like it. "Hey Joan," Matt had now apparently devised his opening lines with her, after speaking loudly to Dad for several minutes about his prominent position on the football team. "Is that your GTO outside?" "It's my brother's," she raised her eyes to his and then downed another spoonfull of curry. "Cool, wonder what year it is." "It's a 69." "Oh, yeah," Matt sounded happy. "That's a heck of a car. Probably got a 454 in there." "That's Chevy," she replied. "Pontiacs have 455s." Matt blinked. Felicia laughed and said, "Guess she knows more about cars than you Matt." "Your brother lets you use it a lot?" Matt was not going to concede defeat and bow out of the conversation. I love Matt. "I have full use of it for 16 months to 3 years." Matt just looked puzzled at this, but Dad looked up and settled a gaze on her. "Your brother is in prison Joan?" "Yes sir, Mr. Grant." "What did he do, dear?" Mom asks innocently. In fact, she makes sure that innocence is dripping off of each word. I just eat. Joan seems to be able to handle herself with my folks and I know they can handle her. They'll either get along or not, regardless of what I do. "He stole cars Mrs. Grant." Everyone is silent a beat and then she grins. "Not the GTO. That's really his." Some laughter from everyone but Mom and Dad. "Well I hope he learns something in there," Dad states. "I do too, Mr. Grant. He's a good guy. Never hurt anybody, but still hasn't learned that you've got to earn what you get. Well, maybe he has now." "That's good thinking dear," Mom smiles at her. "I like your spider," Cyndi pipes in. Mom frowns. "Thanks," Joan nods. "Joan has decided that she and I will dominate soccer this year," I say. "You pretty talented in soccer Joan?" Dad asks. "Yes sir, I am." I smile at her matter-of-fact reply. It ain't braggin if you can do it. "That's good," Dad nods, smiling as well. "Can I see the engine after we eat?" Bravo, Matt. After several minutes of quiet thought, that's the best idea he could come up with to get some more time with her. "Sure," she shrugs. "It's not locked, go out and pop the hood any time." Whoosh. Crash. Burn. After the meal, we quickly retreat to my room and she launches into her ideas on the team. She wants to use a 5-3-2 formation early on in the season, heavy on defense. After the team gets acclimated and better, she wants to move to a more offense oriented set. Maybe even a 3-3-4. This early set will place a lot of responsibility on her and I to get the scoring done. I'm making notes and really getting into it. She points out which plays she's designed and they look really nice. They appear that they can create good space and angles. The phone rings and a few moments later Felicia is screaming it's for me. Some guy. I'm sure the "some guy" can hear her screaming this, and my face flushes red. Joan keeps her eyes on the playbooks while I excuse myself. There's a phone in my room, the only one upstairs. I pick up the cordless receiver and walk over to the window. "Hello?" "Hey, Ellen," Craig's nice low easy voice. I like it. "Am I calling too late?" "No, hi. How are you?" "Just kicked back. I kind of wanted to call and say hey. That weird?" "No, I don't guess," I laugh. I think about it and add, "I'm glad you did." "Cool. I had a great time today. Man, that's lame, I know, I just took you to Sonic." I laugh. "You're gonna think I'm a loser now, if I get so pumped about Sonic." I laugh. "No. I had a great time too." "Cool. I'm looking forward to Friday. Kind of bummed that it's only Tuesday night." "Yeah me too. I think it'll be fun. Of course, Friday's always better." We laugh. "Cool." "Craig, listen, I'm here with Joan and we're doing soccer stuff so..." "Oh wow, I'm sorry Ellen! Man I'm such a doof. You told me about that and I forgot it." "It's cool, I'm glad you called. You were wrong by the way." "About what?" "Nothing," I giggle. "Okay, I'll see you around." "Yeah, I'll look for you tomorrow, that ok? I'll leave a note or something on your car." "Ok," I'm giggling again. "Ok, goodnight Ellen. Bye." "Bye." I replace the receiver in it's cradle and rejoin Joan on the floor. I sink into the beanbag, grabbing my notepad and pen. "That was Craig Lobrano. He said you went to the same high school?" "Yep," she nods, but doesn't look up. Bad vibe, I thought. I change the subject, asking a question about one of the plays. We get back into it, immersing ourselves in the game. At 10 we're still going strong, but I tell her I'll have to stop it. House rule. She understands and we walk out to her car, parked on the curb. It's one of those old muscle cars. I don't know much about them. It's antique gold, with large tires in the back and front. There are two air vents in the hood. When she gets in and sits behind the wheel, the appearance is a bit inconsistent, but in a good way. She looks cool. And though she may look out of place driving such a car, now that I know her personality it seems perfect. "Is it fast?" I ask leaning down, my head in the open window. I feel like a guy. Talkin cars, shootin the shit. "Really fast," she says. "I'd crank it and rev the engine, but it's really loud. I don't think it would go over well right here right now." We laugh. "My Camry gets good gas mileage," I say brightly, exhibiting sarcastic joy. She giggles. "This gets about 16 MPG." "I'll see you tomorrow at practice then." I back away from the door with the happy feeling that I've made a new friend. "Yep," she nods. "Okay, time to wake the neighbors." She turns the ignition and the engine throbs to life. I note that the whole car frame shifts a bit and settles back as the engine initially turns over. Now it's sitting there, rumbling this huge deep bass idle. I realize this was the engine sound I heard when we were talking to Detective Raney. "Wow, that's cool," I have to say it a bit loud so she can hear me. She grins and pulls up into our driveway, backs out, and throttles easily down the street. It's a standard and she tries to keep the engine revs between shifts to a minimum. I think, that's a really cool car. I hurry back upstairs and call Becky, hoping she's not already in bed. If her parents pick up they're gonna be peeved. With Caller ID now, you can't even hang up because they'll know who it is. Becky answers on the first ring, and her happy voice completes me. We laugh and talk until eleven. The known facts of Craig are quickly dispensed with and the rest of the time is spent in speculation. We enjoy that. We agree to eat lunch together tomorrow and hang up. I slide into my bed, thinking how many positive things happened today. But now is the quiet time. It's dark, just me and my thoughts. Today was grand because the noise of life for the most part drowned out the crying fear inside my heart. Now that fear is loud and pervasive. The psychologist at the hospital had said there might be times like this and had offered pills to help me sleep. I didn't want that. I don't want to take pills. I want to defeat this on my own. But the voice is getting louder. Dr. Mark is under my bed. He's in the closet. He's on the back roof, climbing in the window to Felicia's room. I roll on my side and pull the covers over my head. Only my eyes peer out. I curl into a fetal position. I don't want to be helpless ever again. The helplessness of being tied and shackled was the worst. Helplessness means hopelessness. The fear of that is palpable. God, that was terrible. Please God, don't let someone tie me up again. My Winnie the Pooh clock ticks on in the darkness. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Time crawls in the night. Across the hall, Matt is snoring. Down the hall, Felica is sleeping soundly. Downstairs Dad and Mom are spooned, asleep together. Cyndi is sleeping spread out all over, having kicked her bedcovers off, her Boyd's Bear sharing the bed as always. In my room, I lay in the darkness, my eyes wide and peering. End 4/14 -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+