Our Lady Chaos, page 3
part #5 of Bloodletter Series
Ari nodded but didn’t meet his gaze.
“Anyways… Ozzy Osbourne is the lead singer for Black Sabbath. They call him the Prince of Darkness, and when I turn sixteen, I’m going to be a rock star just like him.”
“What instrument can you play?”
Dennis turned a look of withering scorn on his friend. “Well, duh. I can’t play anything yet, but my mom said she’d save up and buy me a guitar or drums or something.”
The tardy bell rang, and Ari jumped, then spun and started up the stairs. “We’re late!”
“Who gives a fuck?”
Ari’s attention bounced between Dennis’s face and the school’s doors. “It’s the first day of classes, man.”
Dennis cocked his head to the side and fished the pack of cigarettes he’d stolen from his dad’s carton that morning. “You go ahead. I’m not sure I’m staying.”
“But…” Ari’s face scrunched up and, again, his gaze bounced back and forth between his friend and the brick building.
Dennis tapped out a cigarette and lodged it in the corner of his mouth as he’d seen his father do six thousand times. With his other hand, he dug for the matchbook in his other pocket. He squinted up at Ari. “You coming or going, Jewboy?”
“Don’t call me that,” said Ari, but his voice lacked conviction. “It’s rude.”
Dennis sneered as he folded back the cover and tore out a match. “Fuck that, Ari.” He struck the match and held it to the tip of the smoke.
“Are those… Are those good?”
Dennis flipped his greasy hair out of his face and drew on the cowboy killer, hating the taste but determined not to let on. He’d grown his hair out all summer, and now, more often than not, it hung in his eyes. “Do you see me gagging and throwing it out? Of course it’s good. You think all these people smoke ‘em because they taste like monkey assholes?”
Ari took one final glance at the school and descended the steps to stand facing Dennis. “Let me try?”
Dennis squinted sideways at him through the smoke. “I don’t know, man. You might consider it rude.”
Ari pursed his lips. “It is rude to call a Jew ‘Jewboy,’ and you know it, Dennis.”
“Denny,” Dennis said with a shrug.
Ari inclined his head. “Denny, then.”
“Yeah. I don’t mean nothing by it, Ari. You know that. You’re my man.”
Ari cut his gaze to the side. “Sure, Denny.”
“Here,” he said, holding the cigarette out to Ari. “Try a drag, but don’t take too much. It’ll make you cough like the dickens until you get used to it.”
Taking the cigarette as if it were a live snake, Ari put it to his lips and puffed. His expression soured. “It tastes like monkey assholes, Denny.”
Dennis chuckled. “At first, yeah. But you get to like it.” He threw a glance up at the school. “Come on, my man. Let’s beat feet before someone catches us.”
“You’re cutting the first day?”
“No, Ari. We’re cutting the first day.”
Ari took another drag on the cigarette and peeked at the doors before meeting Dennis’s gaze. “Okay. What do you want to do?”
“Both your parents work, right?”
Ari nodded.
Dennis grinned and put his hand on Ari’s shoulder. “Fine, then. Let’s hang out there.” He turned away from the school, dragging Ari with him. “Let’s hustle. We can watch Dialing for Dollars from the beginning if we hurry. It’s a monster movie today. I already checked the TV Guide.”
“Monster movie? I don’t know…”
“You’ll love it, Ari.” Dennis flashed a lopsided grin. “Trust me.”
9
September 1975
Sean Walker watched Dennis pass the cigarette to Ari Abelman with little interest. Karl had told him how “coffin nails,” as he had called them, caused mutations and junk like that inside a person’s cells. When the two boys turned and walked away from the school, Sean couldn’t contain his snort of derision.
“Something to add, Mr. Walker?” asked Mrs. Tyler.
Sean jumped and shook his head, feeling the blush creeping up his cheeks.
“Then perhaps we could pay attention to the happenings inside the classroom this morning.”
“Yes, Mrs. Tyler.”
“What’s so interesting, anyway?” She walked to the windows, and as she did, Sean’s stomach dropped out from under him. She looked out the window and frowned. “Do you recognize those boys, Sean?”
Sean squeezed his eyes shut. His day had just taken a left turn at bad and cruised on toward worse. “Uh…”
“That looks like…” muttered Mrs. Tyler, before she turned and fixed Sean with a freezing glance. “That was Dennis Cratchkin and Ariel Abelman, unless I’m mistaken.”
Please don’t force me to snitch, he begged in silence.
“Well, Mr. Walker?”
She won’t let this go. If I tattle, Dennis will grind me to minced meat for sure. If I don’t, I’ll get in trouble, and Mom will no doubt tell Karl, and then I’ll be in double trouble. He opened his eyes and sent a pleading look up at his teacher. She’s got to understand what happens if I squeal.
Mrs. Tyler lifted her chin for a moment, then let it drop, and her expression softened. “I saw who it was, and I will deal with them later,” she said. “But I’ll take three hundred sentences from you by homeroom tomorrow, Mr. Walker.”
Sean nodded, almost unable to contain a sigh of relief. He glanced around the room, and when his gaze came to rest, he’d locked eyes with Jasper Kent—another of Dennis’s bully friends.
Jasper winked, and Sean’s heart sank. He’d skipped ahead this year—bypassing third grade and continuing straight to fourth. It showed in his size and his strength. He didn’t stand a chance against Jasper, even one-on-one, let alone with Dennis who’d already failed twice. Sean was eight, and Dennis was eleven.
What am I going to do?
10
September 1975
Kristy climbed aboard the Oneka Falls High School bus for the first time and scanned the kids already seated, looking for Michelle Donnelly. The vacation had gone by at a breakneck pace, and she had seen little of her best friend that summer—she hadn’t slept over at all, and Michelle hadn’t stayed with her either. Leif—the boy next door—had taken most of Kristy’s attention, even when she couldn’t see him, she’d spent her time thinking and daydreaming about their next encounter.
Michelle sat halfway down the narrow aisle that ran between the benches. She stared out the window as if she didn’t care whether or not Kristy saw her. Michelle sat alone in one of the bench seats but had her purse and backpack piled on the bench beside her, leaving no room for Kristy to sit next to her.
Kristy walked up the aisle, her stomach knotting up. She hated confrontations more than anything. She stopped by Michelle’s bench and rested her hand on the seat back in front of it. “Hi,” she said, intending it to sound cool and wincing at the croak that passed her lips instead.
Michelle turned her head and skimmed her gaze past Kristy. “Oh, hi.” She made no move to grab her stuff.
“Can I sit with you?” asked Kristy.
“Do you have the time?”
Kristy cringed, her face screwing up into a grimace. “I…” She looked away, scanning the faces of the high schoolers seated behind them. Some stared at her, but most focused on their own conversations or sat with their heads back and their eyes closed. “I have so much to tell you.”
Michelle lifted one eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Your boyfriend couldn’t drive you to school?”
Nausea began to swirl in her belly, and she wished Leif could take her to school that day, but it was an empty wish. “Don’t be like that, Michelle,” she murmured.
“Like what? Huh?” Blood suffused Michelle’s cheeks, and her eyes blazed. “Like a friend you ditched for the last two months? Like a bitch? Or maybe like a snow cone? What?”
Kristy shifted her weight from side to side.
“Find a seat, miss,” called the bus driver.
Kristy glanced toward the front of the bus, then looked at Michelle. “Can I just sit with you? Please?”
Michelle scoffed and scooped her stuff into her lap, but she turned her face to the window as Kristy sank into the seat. The bus lurched away from the sidewalk the instant Kristy’s butt hit the seat.
“I’m… Shelly, I have so much to tell you. Aren’t we still friends?”
“Friends?” Anger edged Michelle’s voice. “I don’t even know you anymore.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes after that, Michelle fuming, Kristy wracking her mind for something to say that would make it all right again. The bus turned onto Mill Lane from Union, then pulled to the side of the road to pick up a handful of kids.
“Michelle, I’m sorry,” Kristy said, reaching to put her fingers on her friend’s arm, but stopping just shy of touching the girl. “You’ll understand if you’ll let me tell you what happened.”
Michelle snorted. “You let him do it to you, didn’t you? You let him stick his thing in you.”
“What? No!”
“Sure.”
Kristy withdrew her hand, anger beginning its slow burn through her veins. “Don’t be jealous.”
“Jealous?” Michelle whirled to face her. “Jealous? Of what? Of being a little slut?”
“I’m not a slut, Michelle Donnelly, and don’t you call me one!” she hissed.
“So you didn’t let him fuck you?”
Kristy jerked her head as if slapped. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Back to that? How am I acting, Kristy? Like a best friend who got shoved aside because of some boy? Like that?”
“He’s not just ‘some boy,’ Shelly.” Kristy sighed and let her shoulders slump. “Look, I know how I acted all summer. You have every right to be mad at me, Shell. I was a jerk, and I’m sorry.”
Some, but not all, of the fire went out of Michelle’s eyes. “It was supposed to be our grand summer, remember? We were going to spend every day together, looking through fashion magazines and getting ready for high school life.” Her gaze skipped around Kristy’s face, lingering on her eye shadow, her red lipstick, then bouncing to her new hairstyle and skimpy outfit. “I guess you did that without me.”
Kristy blushed for what felt like the thirtieth time since she sat down. Everything Michelle said was true to the last detail. She looked down at her miniskirt and tight top, suddenly feeling every bit the hussy. “I’m sorry, Shelly. I don’t know what came over me.”
Michelle sighed and slumped in the seat. “You could at least act like a jerk so I could stay mad a while longer.”
Kristy said nothing, not wanting to screw things up.
“What’s his name?” Michelle asked.
“Leif Lawson. Him and his dad just moved into town, and they bought the house next door to us.”
“Leif, huh? Why aren’t you sitting with him? He’s your boyfriend, right?” Michelle turned to scan the bus.
Kristy cleared her throat. “He doesn’t go to school anymore. He works.”
Michelle arched an eyebrow. “He quit?”
“No, no. Well, I mean, yes, but not the way you think. His dad worked for the government, and they spent most of Leif’s life overseas. Grim places like Moscow and Beijing. There wasn’t anything for Leif to do, so he did schoolwork year-round. He’s already done with high school, so he doesn’t have to go.”
“That doesn’t sound right.”
“He’s got a diploma and everything, Shelly.”
Michelle tilted her head to the side and then back up. “Where does lover-boy work?”
Kristy winced and turned her gaze on her lap. “He goes to work with his dad. He does whatever needs doing—cleaning, cutting the grass.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” said Michelle in droll tones. “I’m sure he’ll be an excellent provider for the baby you will have in nine months.”
Kristy blushed yet again and shook her head. “No babies. I… We didn’t… I only let him watch.”
“Kristy!” cried Michelle, eyes dancing for a moment before a sly expression stole over her face. “And you? Did he let you…watch?”
Kristy sucked in a breath and stared at her lap.
“He did! And you looked, didn’t you?”
Head still down, Kristy nodded.
Michelle giggled, and everything felt as it had before the summer. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”
11
October 1975
Dennis kicked the garbage can over, sending decaying leftovers and the other detritus of their lives scattering across the alley. One side of his face still burned from the slap his father had given him. His daddy had always been an asshole, but ever since Dennis and Ari had gotten suspended on the first day of school, his old man had turned everything up a few notches.
He thought of the short-handled sledgehammer he’d stolen from his dad and hidden in his hideout with religious awe. Sometimes he went there to hold the thing—the haft felt good in his palm and calmed him—but at that moment, he wanted to go to the hideout, grab that hammer up, and use it to put a dent right between his dear old dad’s eyeballs.
Even thinking about the hammer made him feel better.
“Fuck this,” he murmured and kicked the empty milk jug farther down the alley. He spun and sauntered away from the up-turned trash can. “I’m gonna do it, this time,” he told himself as he stepped out into the street.
He never saw the big bald man watching him from the pickup across the street.
Dennis trudged with his head down, his mind on things other than his surroundings. He walked on autopilot, relying on his feet to get him to the hideout.
The fight that day had been about Halloween. Dennis wanted to go. Desperately so. But his old man had said no and wouldn’t budge from his decision.
All because of that little twit Jasper had told him about. That Sean Walker kid. The one who’d drawn Mrs. Twitler’s attention to the window.
Dennis still hadn’t paid the kid back, and as far as he was concerned, he owed him for every slap, every punishment his dad had dished out over the last seven weeks. He owed him that and interest.
Maybe the hammer will work on a kid. The thought sprang into his brain as if from elsewhere, but Dennis smiled at the idea. I could test the hammer on him. Learn how hard I can hit with it. Dennis’s smile widened. I could see what type of dent it really makes in someone’s forehead.
Still smiling, Dennis lifted his head and whistled as he walked. Sometimes his ideas were so good he surprised even himself.
12
Halloween 1975
Sean smiled as he pushed through the doors and the cold air snapped around him. He loved the fall—especially sunny fall afternoons when it was cold, but the sun warmed his skin. He shoved his arms through his backpack and headed toward the pickup ramp. Karl had promised to pick him up and take him for hot chocolate and a cheeseburger at Jenny’s Diner to celebrate the early snow and set the tone for the evening’s trick-or-treating.
He strode past the bus ramp and rounded the corner of the school building, then stopped dead in his tracks. Fifty yards down the wet, icy sidewalk, Dennis stood between Jasper Kent and Ari Abelman, but they weren’t looking Sean’s way.
Sean spun and walked back toward the corner, hoping against hope that none of the three turned and recognized his back. He hunched his shoulders and tried to look shorter—maybe they would think he was a second-grader.
“There he goes!” growled a voice behind him.
He stole a quick glance over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Dennis turning toward him, then hustled around the corner of the building. Three sets of winter boots pounded the sidewalk behind him, and an icy coldness that had nothing to do with the weather slid down his spine.
If he could get back inside, maybe he could duck into a classroom and sneak out after the trio passed him by. That, or he could go talk to a teacher about something. Anything.
He’d almost made it to the steps when a hand clamped around his right bicep and jerked him around.
“So, this is the little snitch,” sneered Dennis.
Sean shook his head. “No,” he whispered.
“Ain’t that cute, boys? He wants to whisper. Bring him.” Dennis let go of his arm and walked toward the corner that led around to the back of the school.
Jasper smiled at Sean and grabbed one of the straps of his backpack. “Come on, dude.” Ari stepped forward and grabbed the other strap. With Jasper on one side and Ari on the other, Sean had no way to escape. He pulled back, but the two older boys just pulled harder.
Feet skidding on the pavement, Sean rounded the corner—right into Dennis’s fist, and the air exploded out of his lungs with a whoosh as he doubled over.
“That’s for getting Ari and me in trouble,” said Dennis.
Sean couldn’t speak. He could only stand there, bent at the waist, fighting for breath.
“But don’t think that’s the end of it. Ari, you want to take a poke before I get down to business?”
“I got suspended, you little sissy punk,” growled Ari. “And I’m grounded for the whole term. I can’t even do Halloween!” He stepped closer to Sean and shoved him up against the brick wall of the school.
Sean thought he might die if he couldn’t catch his breath. Nevertheless, he tried to speak, tried to explain, but though his mouth moved, no air traveled past his vocal cords, and he made no sound beyond a whispery squeak.
“Lookit! He’s a little mouse!” said Jasper, then laughed.
Ari balled up a fist and punched Sean in the mouth.
Colors exploded in his vision, and pain blossomed in his lips. They felt hot—as hot as if he’d burned them by gulping hot chocolate—and something welled up from his upper lip. Bloody lip, he thought.
Ari pulled his hand back to take another shot, but Dennis tapped him on the shoulder. “One’s enough,” he said. “After all, Jasper says the kid didn’t tell on us. Twitler just caught him staring out the window.”
Sean looked at him, hope dawning in him.
