“O my Father, thou that dwellest in that high and glorious place…” How I love singing the hymns! I crave escaping life for a little while and coming here where I can almost be at peace; a deep breath after being submerged. School was particularly heinous this week, and no work this weekend means no money. Now that Sunday is nearly over it will be time to go back to reality.
“Before we have the prayer, I just wanted to remind you to meet with your FHE Groups afterward!” Brother Heinze called out before the last note could leave the air. I peeked to see who was saying the prayer.
Jeanette Boyter. Ugh. Self-righteous, holier-than-thou pretentious snob. She is one of those people who practically campaigns to be the Relief Society President. She can have it. They can leave me in the Sunday School until I die and that will be perfectly fine with me. Chill Jenna. She is going to say the prayer and you can’t be thinking mean-spirited thoughts while she’s doing it, I told myself. If I can just keep my eyes closed and not break out laughing when she is bound to say, “Please bless those who have lost there way, that we may bring them back to the fold…” like she always does, I’ll be fine. Biting my tongue. Biting my lips. Face turning hot. Must get air…
“Amen!” the word whooshed out of my mouth. Sweet, sweet oxygen!
“So, Mama, what’s up for this week?” Ethan clamped his muscled arm around my neck. I returned the favor.
“Well, I was thinking we could play Ultimate Frisbee on the field by the stadium around seven. What do you think boys?” I turned to the eight other faces of my A-Town boys who had huddled around Ethan and myself.
“Whatever, step mom,” Jaysen rolled his eyes playfully. He was always egging me on and I always played along.
“That sounds tight to me, Mama,” Rick tried his hardest to sound ghetto. Poor kid was raised in Utah Valley, like ghetto was ever going to happen. The rest nodded or mumbled their approval. Shane came up as the rest of the group dispersed.
“Hey Ethan, you ask her about Hilt yet?” he somehow shifted a perceptible weight onto Ethan’s shoulders.
“Man! I knew you were gonna do that. You promised--”
“I did not promise,” Shane held his hands up in front of his chest as though refusing an offering.
“You promised you would ask her,” Ethan jabbed his finger into Shane’s chest.
“Guys, I’m not deaf. Ask me what?” This was going nowhere if I didn’t step in soon. They were instantly quiet, both looking at one another then shaking their heads back and forth in negation. Eventually, Shane threw his hands up.
“Fine! I’ll ask her,” Shane practically yelled at Ethan. Ethan snickered.
“We have a friend--”
“It’s this guy who lives in the dorms with us,” Ethan barged in.
“Do you wanna ask’er?” Shane whipped around to Ethan. Ethan stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender.“Anyway, this guy Hilt—his name is Nick Hilton—he lives in the dorms with us and we were wondering if he could come tomorrow.” Both guys stared at me as if I was going to punish them for sneaking candy.
“Sure why not?”
“Are you sure?” Ethan echoed Shane.
“Yeah. More people make it more fun anyway.” I should’ve known they were going to bear hug me, but I was gasping for air before I could blink.
* * *
“C’mon team! Let’s go!” I hollered to the five guys on our side of the kick-off line. We were down by two, but we were receiving. Jaysen caught the Frisbee, and snatched three phat goose-steps before sailing the thing over to Ethan. Rick tried blocking, but missed altogether. Ethan danced around him before tossing the Frisbee to me. I had positioned myself just left of the goal-cones. I took one step closer before letting the lime-green disc fly. It glided easily through. I must’ve thrown it harder than I thought because I almost hit a rather large passer-by who was cutting across the field. I jogged over to him. “Sorry, I wasn’t aimin’ for ya,” I gasped my explanation. Before the stranger could reply I saw his eyes widen and heard the sound of footsteps behind me. Instinctively, I flinched, thinking the hit was meant for me. Instead, Ethan and Shane charged past me tackling the guy to the ground.
“HILT!”
“Glad you could make it!” All three of them stood up, laughing.
“Welcome Hilt. I’m Jenna,” I offered my hand. He took it in his, but the look in his eye was unsettling. His gaze was so penetrating I felt like he was reading my thoughts.
“Have I met you before?” he asked after a minute. I studied his face closely. He did look vaguely familiar.
“I can’t say that we have. I don’t think we have any classes together. Maybe I’ve just seen you on campus.”
“Maybe,” he drawled. My explanation didn’t seem to satisfy him.
“Hey!” Rick hollered from the playing field. “We gonna play or talk? C’mon!”
* * *
“Thanks for coming!” I called to the backs of several of the guys. A few raised their hands in acknowledgment. Ethan, Shane, Hilt, and I sat on the grass talking for a while before Hilt and Shane claimed they needed to study for a Business test. Ethan offered to help gather the equipment. As we walked toward Gretta, my white 1993 Taurus, Ethan cleared his throat uncomfortably. I looked at him. His expression seemed troubled.
“What’s up?” I asked casually. Ethan didn’t seem terribly bright, so it couldn’t be that upsetting.
“Oh nothin’. I was just thinkin’ bout somethin’ Hilt said is all,” he offered lamely. I stopped walking.
“Really Ethan, what is it?”
“Well,” he paused. “It’s about you.” The hairs on my neck rose.
“What did he say about me?” I faked being cool with them discussing me.
“He said he thought you were some dancer that works a lot of the keggers around here. I told him he was probably just drunk and thought you were someone else,” Ethan began walking again. My blood ran cold. I tried to swallow the boulder in my throat. My heart beat wildly; I looked down to see if it was visible through my shirt. It was all I could do to keep my knees from buckling. I knew I had to keep walking or Ethan would suspect something. An unnatural, high-pitched bogus laugh escaped my lips.
“Me? A dancer? It's so ridiculous it's almost laughable. Maybe he was doing something more than drinking.” He had been more than drinking. His clothes were rank with the sickly sweet scent of weed in addition to Jim Beam. He had been at the house party—the one where John got a hold of my Princess pants. My train of thought spiraled downward. How had he recognized me? What was I going to do? This could not be happening. I can’t afford for this to happen. I choked on the sob trying to tear out of my throat. The burning behind my eyes was becoming more than I could handle. A single shiny tear escaped down my cheek.
“You alright?” Ethan asked.“Oh yeah, my contacts. I must’ve got some dirt in there or something. Thanks for your help. See you later,” I gushed.
“Later.”
Son of a bitch! Ethan looked perplexed as I drove away. I waited until he was out of sight before I began slamming my palm against my steering wheel.
“Damn! Damn! Damn!” The tears were coming more quickly now. I could hardly see the road through the misty haze. I couldn’t blink them away fast enough. They streamed hotly down my face. Black splotches spattered my white t-shirt as I drove to my house. Only halfway through the first semester and already my cover was being seriously threatened.“What am I going to do?” I moaned into my hands after parking the car.
Saturday, February 26
Wednesday, February 23
Convincing Chris
Of the short stories I found, I particularly liked The Life You Save May Be Your Own by Flannery O'Connor. After reading her essay in our textbook, Crafting Fiction, I wanted to read some of her work. This story is about a drifter named Mr. Shiftlet who happens upon a widow woman and her daughter, both named Lucynell Crater. The story tells of what happens during their meeting.
My other pick is a classic favorite of mine that I happened to stumble across. Edgar Allan Poe's A Tell-Tale Heart is a chilling story of a man who kills his benefactor because of the benefactor's "Evil Eye." The calm flow of the story from the killer almost belies his insanity.
My other pick is a classic favorite of mine that I happened to stumble across. Edgar Allan Poe's A Tell-Tale Heart is a chilling story of a man who kills his benefactor because of the benefactor's "Evil Eye." The calm flow of the story from the killer almost belies his insanity.
Tuesday, February 15
Short Story-- The Call
Here is my short story, PLEASE leave comments (preferrably constructive ones).
The last thing Jennie smelled was the rich odor earth carries after being dug from deep below the surface. The last thing she heard was his piercing whistle.
His whistle was actually the first thing Jennie ever knew of him. She was walking down the sidewalk to deliver her timecard to Jane Beck in the administrative building when the red grounds crew vehicle spun past her. Two men in grubby blue shirts and mucky jeans rode in front, their faces serious. The creases in their eyes were a lighter shade of skin, almost telling of the fair complexion that used to reside in the now weathered, tired expressions they bore. But he was riding in the bed of the cart; sitting next to a mound of freshly turned dirt. He was younger. He sat there and he whistled. The whistling startled Jennie. Not because it reflected happiness in an obviously dismal place, but because it sounded in her ear so clearly and perfectly. She was almost drawn to it. One would think the growling engine would drown out such a delicate sound. But the faultless pitch superceded the throaty cough of the cart’s motor. Jennie continued, following the men along the main walk for some distance before they turned left at the fountain. Though she could no longer see them and the guttural rumble of the motor faded, Jennie still heard the whistling. She tried to shake it, but instead his image kept recurring in her mind. He sat with his left arm propped on the same knee. His other leg was tucked under, and his arm lazily draped over the shovel handle. He wore the same uniform as the other two, a faded blue cotton work shirt, and denim jeans that were quickly wearing at the knees. He also sported a khaki baseball cap, pulled low over his brow. His brown hair was unkempt, spilling from under the hat over his ears and down his collar. Jennie was too far to see the color of his eyes, but they were small and dark. Usually when one whistles the lips are pursed, almost to the point of puckered, but she did not remember his mouth this way. His reptilian lips barely parted, the corners dipping ever so slightly into the tiniest sliver of a downward curve.
“Hi Jennie.” The salutation reeled Jennie back to reality as she descended the stairs into the building.
“Oh, hey Samantha,” Jennie offered her warmest smile as a cover, hoping the other girl would pretend not to notice her obvious surprise. Once inside the building, Jennie’s mind turned over to her impending radio show that night. She wasn’t really looking forward to it. Arthur, the man for whom she produced the show, had a certain creep factor; one she and her friends called the “child molester” feeling. Whenever she was alone in the building with him, she locked the office door and always looked for weapons of opportunity when in the booth. The fact that on more than one occasion his hands grazed her butt in a not-so-accidental way also made her leery. Oh well, the two hour block would give her time to study for the bane of her graduation--Physics.
The translucent purple Mac sounded the familiar alert, informing Jennie of a new instant message. Caleb! Her friend from Colorado solicited a conversation.
“How are you Jennie?” The bright blue words appeared in the white box.
“Bored to tears!” Jennie spoke while typing. She tacked on a crying emoticon for extra emphasis.
“Would you like to play a game of checkers or chess?” he offered.
“I need some sort of mental stimulation,” she replied.
“Chess then since it is more ‘brainy’,” he retorted.
“Which room?”
“Wombat Wagon in the Social Rooms,” he directed. Caleb actually taught Jennie how to play chess online. In fact, all their communication was through the Internet. Jennie met Caleb in a teen chat room at the age of 12. At times their contact drifted, but for the most part they kept in touch. He didn’t really teach her much about chess other than which pieces could move where. The rest he left for her to learn. Unfortunately, she didn’t pick up very quickly. In less than 20 moves he captured her king. Despite the lack of moves, the game lasted through the end of the radio show. Caleb claimed a need for sleep so Jennie bid him goodnight. She set up the automated play list that would run until the next DJ came in at six. The clock on the mixing board glowed a ruby 12:53 am. Jennie grabbed her keys and planner before locking up the building. She regretted her decision to not wear a jacket when the January air blew right through her knit shirt. It was warmer when she arrived at the station. Why did the car her grandparents loaned her have to die? It just wasn’t fair. Mired in self-pity, she trudged toward her apartment. She passed the girls’ dorm and the Physical Plant. She was nearly past the lot of school-owned cars when she heard what could have been a moan. Probably some cats getting freaky, she rolled her eyes at the intense over-reaction of her imagination. She began walking faster when a cry for help was discreetly uttered. Momentarily Jennie paused. That sounded almost human. Should she go for help or prove herself wrong? She discerned a faint wheezing sound. “It better not be cats,” she grumbled turning toward the lot. Typically the gate was locked, but tonight the padlock hung open from the chain. She pushed the wide gate on its giant wheels. Screeching noisily it moved, giving without much force.
“Hello?” She called tentatively. A distinctive moan came from under the covered parking to the east. She quickly walked over. “Where are you?” She made her way to what she thought was movement.
“Oh, thank God,” a man’s voice gasped. “I’m stuck.” The voice half shocked Jennie. Part of her wished it had been cats.
“Where?” she crouched near him. She could barely make out a human silhouette in the inky darkness.
“I was working on this cart when the block came out and pinned my leg underneath,” he let out a shaky breath.
“What do you need me to do?” Jennie chided herself inwardly. Why did she have this nagging sense of duty to help others? I should have just kept walking, she thought to herself. Oh well, too late to turn back now.
“There’s a jack…” he paused during a brief spell of intense pain, “there is a jack on the other side of the cart. If you lift this, I could wiggle out.” Jennie, feeling her way around the cart, nearly stumbled over the jack. She placed it under the frame of the cart, working it up and down until it began to rise. She heard the rub of denim on concrete.
“That’s good!” he called. She trailed her fingers along the contours of the cart until she was back around the other side.
“Do you need a doctor?” she asked the dark, slumping form her dilated pupils now picked out against the cinderblock walls. The shape began a slow, limping pace back and forth.
“No, my leg is fine. I was starting to give up hope, I’d been there so long and it’s awful chilly,” he replied after some time. He hobbled toward a truck. The engine protested turning over, but eventually did. “How did you hear me?” he asked, coming back to where she was standing.
“Well, I was walking home when I thought I heard something,” Jennie indicated the street beyond the open gate, shivering from the winter cold.
“Walking, huh?”
“Yeah, my car died the other day. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”
“Can I give you a ride for your troubles?”
“That would actually be great, thanks,” Jennie smiled. Maybe good things did come to those who helped others after all.
“You want a coke or somethin’?”
“Anything hot if you have it,” Jennie hugged herself to keep warm. He went inside the building. Momentarily he returned with a bottled root beer, the cap already removed.
“This is all I’ve got,” he offered the drink. She took it from his outstretched hand. “Go ahead and warm up in the truck, I have some papers I need to take care of inside. It’ll be just a minute,” he motioned to his older model Chevy. It was a light blue with upholstery that reminded Jennie of her dad’s truck at home. The smell was the same, too. Sweat, dust, dirt, and gasoline, combined to create the pungent fusty odor unique to a work truck. Sipping the soda, her teeth clinking against the glass lip, she began unwinding. Oh it was late. Jennie was feeling the effects of the day. Pure exhaustion. Her Physics homework was torture, and Arthur was particularly disturbing during the show. The comfortable smell of the truck, the warmth from the heater, and the soft foam seat called her eyes to droop and head to nod. The cry of the opening door and breath of frosty air that came with it revived her momentarily.
“I live at the Wakefield Apartments,” she half mumbled.
“I’m sure you do, darlin’,” he drawled. Putting the truck into gear, he rolled through the gate then got out to lock it behind them. He left his door open. The brisk air sent pinpricks down Jennie’s spine. The hairs raised on her arms. The eerie sensations roused her from her sleepy state. When the man came back she vaguely recognized him. It was then she realized she didn’t even know his name. She also noticed he was no longer limping. The dome light in the truck was burned out, so she couldn’t get a closer look at his face. Besides that, her vision was blurring anyway. Damn contacts. She needed to throw them away when she got home. When he turned the wrong way out of the lot she couldn’t remember if she actually told him where she lived or if she only thought it. She decided it was better to repeat herself than have him drive out of his way to get there.
“I live in the Wakefield Apartments,” she felt like she was talking through a mouthful of peanut butter. No response. “What’s your name?” He checked his mirrors and put on his right turn signal, all without speaking. Jennie tried again to ask him his name. Inside her head was screaming at him, but her lips hardly moved and no sound escaped them. She had the same sensation when she tried to yell at her roommate Staci to turn off her alarm in the mornings. Her brain was working well enough to yell, but getting the sound to come out took so much effort that most the time she slipped back into sleep with only a sigh. Her head lolled toward the man, her eyes opening and closing ever so slowly. A small grunt escaped her chest as she abandoned consciousness for the homey security of the backs of her eyelids.
The scent of soil filtered into Jennie’s lungs. She gasped. It felt as though she held her breath all night. A gas lantern dangled precariously from its wire fixture, threatening to break loose at any moment. The unusually dull light seared like the sun in Jennie’s groggy eyes. She lifted her hand to wipe the sleep away, but her hand wouldn’t move. A harsh cord bit her wrist. An attempt to move her other hand yielded the same result. Both legs were also bound. Her hands could touch, but her feet could not. She lifted her head to see what has holding her down. Shards of pain sliced through the base of her skull to the top of her scalp. Each hair follicle seemed electrified by the stinging surge. Little white dots danced through her vision. An aching yelp tore from her throat. She panted shallowly. When her heartbeat quit drowning out all other sound she attempted to lift her head again. She regulated her breathing, as one does when running. In minute intervals she gently lifted her throbbing head from its earthen cradle. She gasped, her head hit the ground with a thud sending new waves of tenderness down to her shoulders. She had been stripped of all clothing. Her ashen skin was smudged with clods of dried mud. Wine colored bites stippled her chest and hips. Her mouth tasted of stomach acid and her teeth were filmy. The tongue in her mouth was far too large to fit comfortably inside. She nearly gagged, but her reflexes caused her to cough. This forced fresh tremors of agony through her body. A weight settled in her stomach. She licked her lips, but the act lifted particles of remaining vomit back into her mouth. Her body was tired, as though she had just completed a difficult work out. Her legs felt particularly feeble. She struggled to keep consciousness. She had no idea how long she had been in this place or how she had come to be there.
A malicious chortling sound resonated from beyond the muted circle of light. Jennie turned her head toward the noise, but could see nothing beyond the ridge of her upper arm.
“Who’s there?” she croaked hoarsely.
“Doesn’t hurt much yet. It’ll be worse in a few hours,” the voice sounded from the shadows. The tone brushed a chord of recognition in the depths of Jennie’s mind, but she couldn’t place it. She wasn’t too worried with figuring out who the pervert was; the sadistic bastard was enjoying her torment. The scuffed brown leather toe of a boot peeked from beyond the ocean of darkness. The waves receded as a shape separated itself from the rest. He put a worn wooden stool on the perimeter of the light so when he sat she could see most of his body, but his face remained shaded. “Don’t feel stupid. You aren’t the first to play the ‘Good Samaritan’ to a trapped man. If it weren’t for the decent people in this world like you, I would never get what I work so hard for. Actually,” he snickered, “I don’t have to work that hard at all. It’s pretty easy.” The minutes marched slowly by as they sat in silence. Finally, Jennie couldn’t take it anymore.
“Please…” her weak plea trailed off as silvery tears welled in her frightened eyes.
“Enough talk,” he cut in gruffly. “‘A little less conversation, a lot more action…’” he tunelessly lilted the lyrics to a once-popular cover of an Elvis song as he moved toward her. He turned his khaki hat around so the bill was in back. She could see the permanent sweat ring nearly half way up the cap. “Don’t want that getting in the way, now do we?” He spoke in a singsong voice. His grin was lop-sided, almost to the point of being twisted into a sneer. His teeth were perfectly straight, though lightly stained. His blue work shirt was unbuttoned and the tails trailed his swaggering movement. The white tank top underneath was clearly worn. A brownish-yellow sweat stain came part way down the neck. A definite line appeared on his chest where the work shirt came to a “v.” He worked outside. Jennie recognized the line as one similar to the permanent tan her father carried from years of working out of doors in all sorts of weather. Blue shirt. Outside. Khaki hat. All the disconnected clues floated haphazardly in her head. Her captor hadn’t shaved for several days. The traces of a reddish-brown beard were visible. He stood, straddling her waist. He fluidly dropped to one knee, then the other. He placed his calloused hands over hers. He brought his face within inches of her nose. For the first time she saw his eyes. They were a brown so deep they were almost ebony, but at the very center a cornflower blue rimmed his coal black pupil. Eyes so unique she would never forget them. His breath smelled of tuna masked by strong wintergreen mint gum. The smell was nauseating. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, forcing the rising acrid taste back down her throat. He covered her mouth with his, the stubble on his face irritating her skin. She was in such a state of shock her eyes remained open. Tears slid down the sides of her face into her hair. When he lifted his head he cackled, “Like to see what’s goin’ on, huh?” His slimy smile slinking across his features. “That’s fine by me, my Jennie Jean.”
“How…” she tried once again to speak. He laughed at her surprise that he should know her name.
“You were asleep before, but this time you’ll get to see everything,” he continued. Jennie slammed her eyelids down and forced herself to control her breathing. She heard the zipper on his jeans. His coarse fingers slid down her torso, the rough tips tearing at her supple skin. She couldn’t stand the thought of letting this son of a bitch have his way with her. Again. She couldn’t fight him. She was unfeeling. Jennie held her breath until all faded into obscurity.
Her eyes fluttered open. He was sitting next to her. His hands clamped over his ears, knees tucked to chest as he rocked back and forth whimpering. Dizziness swallowed up Jennie’s consciousness as she retreated into the swirling haze of fitful rest.
When her eyes opened again he was kneeling over her, a dirty cloth tied over her mouth. “I know you didn’ holler much before, but this hurts somethin’ fierce and I don’ wan’ anybody knowin’ our little secret. I’ll take it to the grave. This way you will too.” An object glittered in Jennie’s peripheral vision. She stared into his phantom eyes before she felt the cool steel against her carotid followed by immediate warmth, plunging her into eternal frigidity. Her body seized. A gentle gurgling bubbled from her sinuous neck. His hypnotic eyes slowly faded to black.
Monica heard the haunting whistle long after the red cart sped past her. He watched her form grow smaller through the expanse. He looked to the pile of earth beside him. Taking off one of his leather gloves, he sifted a fistful through his fingers, inhaling as it trailed back down to the heap below. He could almost taste her again. An imperceptible satisfaction filled him.
The last thing she smelled was the rich odor that earth carries after being dug from deep below the surface. The last thing she heard was his piercing whistle, drawing the life from her body.
The last thing Jennie smelled was the rich odor earth carries after being dug from deep below the surface. The last thing she heard was his piercing whistle.
His whistle was actually the first thing Jennie ever knew of him. She was walking down the sidewalk to deliver her timecard to Jane Beck in the administrative building when the red grounds crew vehicle spun past her. Two men in grubby blue shirts and mucky jeans rode in front, their faces serious. The creases in their eyes were a lighter shade of skin, almost telling of the fair complexion that used to reside in the now weathered, tired expressions they bore. But he was riding in the bed of the cart; sitting next to a mound of freshly turned dirt. He was younger. He sat there and he whistled. The whistling startled Jennie. Not because it reflected happiness in an obviously dismal place, but because it sounded in her ear so clearly and perfectly. She was almost drawn to it. One would think the growling engine would drown out such a delicate sound. But the faultless pitch superceded the throaty cough of the cart’s motor. Jennie continued, following the men along the main walk for some distance before they turned left at the fountain. Though she could no longer see them and the guttural rumble of the motor faded, Jennie still heard the whistling. She tried to shake it, but instead his image kept recurring in her mind. He sat with his left arm propped on the same knee. His other leg was tucked under, and his arm lazily draped over the shovel handle. He wore the same uniform as the other two, a faded blue cotton work shirt, and denim jeans that were quickly wearing at the knees. He also sported a khaki baseball cap, pulled low over his brow. His brown hair was unkempt, spilling from under the hat over his ears and down his collar. Jennie was too far to see the color of his eyes, but they were small and dark. Usually when one whistles the lips are pursed, almost to the point of puckered, but she did not remember his mouth this way. His reptilian lips barely parted, the corners dipping ever so slightly into the tiniest sliver of a downward curve.
“Hi Jennie.” The salutation reeled Jennie back to reality as she descended the stairs into the building.
“Oh, hey Samantha,” Jennie offered her warmest smile as a cover, hoping the other girl would pretend not to notice her obvious surprise. Once inside the building, Jennie’s mind turned over to her impending radio show that night. She wasn’t really looking forward to it. Arthur, the man for whom she produced the show, had a certain creep factor; one she and her friends called the “child molester” feeling. Whenever she was alone in the building with him, she locked the office door and always looked for weapons of opportunity when in the booth. The fact that on more than one occasion his hands grazed her butt in a not-so-accidental way also made her leery. Oh well, the two hour block would give her time to study for the bane of her graduation--Physics.
The translucent purple Mac sounded the familiar alert, informing Jennie of a new instant message. Caleb! Her friend from Colorado solicited a conversation.
“How are you Jennie?” The bright blue words appeared in the white box.
“Bored to tears!” Jennie spoke while typing. She tacked on a crying emoticon for extra emphasis.
“Would you like to play a game of checkers or chess?” he offered.
“I need some sort of mental stimulation,” she replied.
“Chess then since it is more ‘brainy’,” he retorted.
“Which room?”
“Wombat Wagon in the Social Rooms,” he directed. Caleb actually taught Jennie how to play chess online. In fact, all their communication was through the Internet. Jennie met Caleb in a teen chat room at the age of 12. At times their contact drifted, but for the most part they kept in touch. He didn’t really teach her much about chess other than which pieces could move where. The rest he left for her to learn. Unfortunately, she didn’t pick up very quickly. In less than 20 moves he captured her king. Despite the lack of moves, the game lasted through the end of the radio show. Caleb claimed a need for sleep so Jennie bid him goodnight. She set up the automated play list that would run until the next DJ came in at six. The clock on the mixing board glowed a ruby 12:53 am. Jennie grabbed her keys and planner before locking up the building. She regretted her decision to not wear a jacket when the January air blew right through her knit shirt. It was warmer when she arrived at the station. Why did the car her grandparents loaned her have to die? It just wasn’t fair. Mired in self-pity, she trudged toward her apartment. She passed the girls’ dorm and the Physical Plant. She was nearly past the lot of school-owned cars when she heard what could have been a moan. Probably some cats getting freaky, she rolled her eyes at the intense over-reaction of her imagination. She began walking faster when a cry for help was discreetly uttered. Momentarily Jennie paused. That sounded almost human. Should she go for help or prove herself wrong? She discerned a faint wheezing sound. “It better not be cats,” she grumbled turning toward the lot. Typically the gate was locked, but tonight the padlock hung open from the chain. She pushed the wide gate on its giant wheels. Screeching noisily it moved, giving without much force.
“Hello?” She called tentatively. A distinctive moan came from under the covered parking to the east. She quickly walked over. “Where are you?” She made her way to what she thought was movement.
“Oh, thank God,” a man’s voice gasped. “I’m stuck.” The voice half shocked Jennie. Part of her wished it had been cats.
“Where?” she crouched near him. She could barely make out a human silhouette in the inky darkness.
“I was working on this cart when the block came out and pinned my leg underneath,” he let out a shaky breath.
“What do you need me to do?” Jennie chided herself inwardly. Why did she have this nagging sense of duty to help others? I should have just kept walking, she thought to herself. Oh well, too late to turn back now.
“There’s a jack…” he paused during a brief spell of intense pain, “there is a jack on the other side of the cart. If you lift this, I could wiggle out.” Jennie, feeling her way around the cart, nearly stumbled over the jack. She placed it under the frame of the cart, working it up and down until it began to rise. She heard the rub of denim on concrete.
“That’s good!” he called. She trailed her fingers along the contours of the cart until she was back around the other side.
“Do you need a doctor?” she asked the dark, slumping form her dilated pupils now picked out against the cinderblock walls. The shape began a slow, limping pace back and forth.
“No, my leg is fine. I was starting to give up hope, I’d been there so long and it’s awful chilly,” he replied after some time. He hobbled toward a truck. The engine protested turning over, but eventually did. “How did you hear me?” he asked, coming back to where she was standing.
“Well, I was walking home when I thought I heard something,” Jennie indicated the street beyond the open gate, shivering from the winter cold.
“Walking, huh?”
“Yeah, my car died the other day. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”
“Can I give you a ride for your troubles?”
“That would actually be great, thanks,” Jennie smiled. Maybe good things did come to those who helped others after all.
“You want a coke or somethin’?”
“Anything hot if you have it,” Jennie hugged herself to keep warm. He went inside the building. Momentarily he returned with a bottled root beer, the cap already removed.
“This is all I’ve got,” he offered the drink. She took it from his outstretched hand. “Go ahead and warm up in the truck, I have some papers I need to take care of inside. It’ll be just a minute,” he motioned to his older model Chevy. It was a light blue with upholstery that reminded Jennie of her dad’s truck at home. The smell was the same, too. Sweat, dust, dirt, and gasoline, combined to create the pungent fusty odor unique to a work truck. Sipping the soda, her teeth clinking against the glass lip, she began unwinding. Oh it was late. Jennie was feeling the effects of the day. Pure exhaustion. Her Physics homework was torture, and Arthur was particularly disturbing during the show. The comfortable smell of the truck, the warmth from the heater, and the soft foam seat called her eyes to droop and head to nod. The cry of the opening door and breath of frosty air that came with it revived her momentarily.
“I live at the Wakefield Apartments,” she half mumbled.
“I’m sure you do, darlin’,” he drawled. Putting the truck into gear, he rolled through the gate then got out to lock it behind them. He left his door open. The brisk air sent pinpricks down Jennie’s spine. The hairs raised on her arms. The eerie sensations roused her from her sleepy state. When the man came back she vaguely recognized him. It was then she realized she didn’t even know his name. She also noticed he was no longer limping. The dome light in the truck was burned out, so she couldn’t get a closer look at his face. Besides that, her vision was blurring anyway. Damn contacts. She needed to throw them away when she got home. When he turned the wrong way out of the lot she couldn’t remember if she actually told him where she lived or if she only thought it. She decided it was better to repeat herself than have him drive out of his way to get there.
“I live in the Wakefield Apartments,” she felt like she was talking through a mouthful of peanut butter. No response. “What’s your name?” He checked his mirrors and put on his right turn signal, all without speaking. Jennie tried again to ask him his name. Inside her head was screaming at him, but her lips hardly moved and no sound escaped them. She had the same sensation when she tried to yell at her roommate Staci to turn off her alarm in the mornings. Her brain was working well enough to yell, but getting the sound to come out took so much effort that most the time she slipped back into sleep with only a sigh. Her head lolled toward the man, her eyes opening and closing ever so slowly. A small grunt escaped her chest as she abandoned consciousness for the homey security of the backs of her eyelids.
The scent of soil filtered into Jennie’s lungs. She gasped. It felt as though she held her breath all night. A gas lantern dangled precariously from its wire fixture, threatening to break loose at any moment. The unusually dull light seared like the sun in Jennie’s groggy eyes. She lifted her hand to wipe the sleep away, but her hand wouldn’t move. A harsh cord bit her wrist. An attempt to move her other hand yielded the same result. Both legs were also bound. Her hands could touch, but her feet could not. She lifted her head to see what has holding her down. Shards of pain sliced through the base of her skull to the top of her scalp. Each hair follicle seemed electrified by the stinging surge. Little white dots danced through her vision. An aching yelp tore from her throat. She panted shallowly. When her heartbeat quit drowning out all other sound she attempted to lift her head again. She regulated her breathing, as one does when running. In minute intervals she gently lifted her throbbing head from its earthen cradle. She gasped, her head hit the ground with a thud sending new waves of tenderness down to her shoulders. She had been stripped of all clothing. Her ashen skin was smudged with clods of dried mud. Wine colored bites stippled her chest and hips. Her mouth tasted of stomach acid and her teeth were filmy. The tongue in her mouth was far too large to fit comfortably inside. She nearly gagged, but her reflexes caused her to cough. This forced fresh tremors of agony through her body. A weight settled in her stomach. She licked her lips, but the act lifted particles of remaining vomit back into her mouth. Her body was tired, as though she had just completed a difficult work out. Her legs felt particularly feeble. She struggled to keep consciousness. She had no idea how long she had been in this place or how she had come to be there.
A malicious chortling sound resonated from beyond the muted circle of light. Jennie turned her head toward the noise, but could see nothing beyond the ridge of her upper arm.
“Who’s there?” she croaked hoarsely.
“Doesn’t hurt much yet. It’ll be worse in a few hours,” the voice sounded from the shadows. The tone brushed a chord of recognition in the depths of Jennie’s mind, but she couldn’t place it. She wasn’t too worried with figuring out who the pervert was; the sadistic bastard was enjoying her torment. The scuffed brown leather toe of a boot peeked from beyond the ocean of darkness. The waves receded as a shape separated itself from the rest. He put a worn wooden stool on the perimeter of the light so when he sat she could see most of his body, but his face remained shaded. “Don’t feel stupid. You aren’t the first to play the ‘Good Samaritan’ to a trapped man. If it weren’t for the decent people in this world like you, I would never get what I work so hard for. Actually,” he snickered, “I don’t have to work that hard at all. It’s pretty easy.” The minutes marched slowly by as they sat in silence. Finally, Jennie couldn’t take it anymore.
“Please…” her weak plea trailed off as silvery tears welled in her frightened eyes.
“Enough talk,” he cut in gruffly. “‘A little less conversation, a lot more action…’” he tunelessly lilted the lyrics to a once-popular cover of an Elvis song as he moved toward her. He turned his khaki hat around so the bill was in back. She could see the permanent sweat ring nearly half way up the cap. “Don’t want that getting in the way, now do we?” He spoke in a singsong voice. His grin was lop-sided, almost to the point of being twisted into a sneer. His teeth were perfectly straight, though lightly stained. His blue work shirt was unbuttoned and the tails trailed his swaggering movement. The white tank top underneath was clearly worn. A brownish-yellow sweat stain came part way down the neck. A definite line appeared on his chest where the work shirt came to a “v.” He worked outside. Jennie recognized the line as one similar to the permanent tan her father carried from years of working out of doors in all sorts of weather. Blue shirt. Outside. Khaki hat. All the disconnected clues floated haphazardly in her head. Her captor hadn’t shaved for several days. The traces of a reddish-brown beard were visible. He stood, straddling her waist. He fluidly dropped to one knee, then the other. He placed his calloused hands over hers. He brought his face within inches of her nose. For the first time she saw his eyes. They were a brown so deep they were almost ebony, but at the very center a cornflower blue rimmed his coal black pupil. Eyes so unique she would never forget them. His breath smelled of tuna masked by strong wintergreen mint gum. The smell was nauseating. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, forcing the rising acrid taste back down her throat. He covered her mouth with his, the stubble on his face irritating her skin. She was in such a state of shock her eyes remained open. Tears slid down the sides of her face into her hair. When he lifted his head he cackled, “Like to see what’s goin’ on, huh?” His slimy smile slinking across his features. “That’s fine by me, my Jennie Jean.”
“How…” she tried once again to speak. He laughed at her surprise that he should know her name.
“You were asleep before, but this time you’ll get to see everything,” he continued. Jennie slammed her eyelids down and forced herself to control her breathing. She heard the zipper on his jeans. His coarse fingers slid down her torso, the rough tips tearing at her supple skin. She couldn’t stand the thought of letting this son of a bitch have his way with her. Again. She couldn’t fight him. She was unfeeling. Jennie held her breath until all faded into obscurity.
Her eyes fluttered open. He was sitting next to her. His hands clamped over his ears, knees tucked to chest as he rocked back and forth whimpering. Dizziness swallowed up Jennie’s consciousness as she retreated into the swirling haze of fitful rest.
When her eyes opened again he was kneeling over her, a dirty cloth tied over her mouth. “I know you didn’ holler much before, but this hurts somethin’ fierce and I don’ wan’ anybody knowin’ our little secret. I’ll take it to the grave. This way you will too.” An object glittered in Jennie’s peripheral vision. She stared into his phantom eyes before she felt the cool steel against her carotid followed by immediate warmth, plunging her into eternal frigidity. Her body seized. A gentle gurgling bubbled from her sinuous neck. His hypnotic eyes slowly faded to black.
Monica heard the haunting whistle long after the red cart sped past her. He watched her form grow smaller through the expanse. He looked to the pile of earth beside him. Taking off one of his leather gloves, he sifted a fistful through his fingers, inhaling as it trailed back down to the heap below. He could almost taste her again. An imperceptible satisfaction filled him.
The last thing she smelled was the rich odor that earth carries after being dug from deep below the surface. The last thing she heard was his piercing whistle, drawing the life from her body.
Tuesday, February 8
Jenna Meets Princess John
I saw a kid wearing my pants Saturday afternoon. He was walking shirtless and barefoot down the highway toward Manti. I had wondered what became of them the night before. I knew I shed them somewhere in the living room, but that usually happens at the beginning of the routine. That's why I always carry a spare outfit in the trunk of my car. Too bad, I really liked those jeans. They had always fit me just right. The poor fool was clearly hung over from the night before. It had been a pretty wild party. That's why I left early. Just enough liquor and it makes the night go fast, but too much and the viewers become more agressive than what I like to deal with; especially when they are already full of testosterone and most likely steriods. I figured he wouldn't recognize me from the party so I pulled over to ask if he needed a ride.
"Where you headed?" He squinted at my face. The light was clearly penetrating his skull causing massive explosions behind his pin-point pupils. His hair was disheveled, and a sprinkling of whiskers lightly shadowed his jawline.
"I'm trying to get back to Ephraim," he finally mumbled. The first three times he spoke it was so faint I could hardly hear. I wasn't sure if he was completely sober yet.
"Well you are taking the long way there," I jerked my thumb in the opposite direction. "Ephraim is that way." He stood there biting the skin on his upper lip, curling and uncurling his fists. He cocked his head to one side then the other.
"You wouldn't happen to have any water and some Ibuprofen, would you?" I didn't mean to make fun of his plight. But the idiot had brought the pain upon himself. My laugh caused him to physically reel, as though I had hit him squarely in the chin with a right hook.
"I'll do you one better, if you promise not to puke in my car I'll give you a ride," I offered, unlocking the passenger door. He was clearly still inebriated enough that if he tried anything I could easily subdue him. Actually, I had learned to subdue just about anyone. When a girl does what I do to make ends meet, guys tend to think they can take things further than the girl says they can. He stood there, his eyes glittering little slits in the brutal sunlight. Despite his unkempt appearance a flash of recognition lit up my mind. I had seen this kid with an entire fifth of Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum last night, and he wasn't sharing. I hadn't been there fifteen minutes before that bottle was more than half empty. He didn't even bother with a glass, just gulped it straight from the squatty neck. I was surprised he still had a pulse. I offered again, "You promise not to puke?" He nodded sloppily.
Somehow John managed to get himself into my car. He reeked of vomit. I had to do his seatbelt up for him which nearly caused me to pass out. For all the silence of our conversation until that point, he made up for on the ride into town in spite of all four windows being rolled down. He was what the girls and I call "talkie drunk" where the drunk just goes on and on to no end. I'm pretty sure I knew most of John's depressing life story by the time I dropped him off at Anderson Hall. Before he got out he became really quiet, concentrating on something. Finally, when I thought he had dozed off, he began speaking.
"Thanks for the ride. I probably would've ended up in some ditch," he unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the door. He put his feet out and pulled himself into an unbalanced standing position.
"Anytime Princess," I lilted to his back. Too bad his butt looked better in my jeans than mine did. I thought I heard a chuckle as he closed the door.
Monday I was running an errand for Beckie across campus when I noticed John sitting on one of the benches around the fountain. "Hey Princess," I said loudly enough for him to hear. His head jerked up to see who was speaking. A fleeting expression of confusion danced through his eyes before it was replaced with humiliating recognition. "Feeling any better?" I stopped a few feet in front of him.
"Yeah. Hey, I never got your name the other day."
"I'm Jenna," I offered my hand.
"John."
"I know. I know lots of things about you Princess. See you around." I began walking away.
"Hey Jenna!" he called after me. I turned to see what he wanted. "Thanks again for the ride." I tossed a smile over my shoulder as I made my way down the weather worn sidewalk to the Noyes Building.
"Where you headed?" He squinted at my face. The light was clearly penetrating his skull causing massive explosions behind his pin-point pupils. His hair was disheveled, and a sprinkling of whiskers lightly shadowed his jawline.
"I'm trying to get back to Ephraim," he finally mumbled. The first three times he spoke it was so faint I could hardly hear. I wasn't sure if he was completely sober yet.
"Well you are taking the long way there," I jerked my thumb in the opposite direction. "Ephraim is that way." He stood there biting the skin on his upper lip, curling and uncurling his fists. He cocked his head to one side then the other.
"You wouldn't happen to have any water and some Ibuprofen, would you?" I didn't mean to make fun of his plight. But the idiot had brought the pain upon himself. My laugh caused him to physically reel, as though I had hit him squarely in the chin with a right hook.
"I'll do you one better, if you promise not to puke in my car I'll give you a ride," I offered, unlocking the passenger door. He was clearly still inebriated enough that if he tried anything I could easily subdue him. Actually, I had learned to subdue just about anyone. When a girl does what I do to make ends meet, guys tend to think they can take things further than the girl says they can. He stood there, his eyes glittering little slits in the brutal sunlight. Despite his unkempt appearance a flash of recognition lit up my mind. I had seen this kid with an entire fifth of Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum last night, and he wasn't sharing. I hadn't been there fifteen minutes before that bottle was more than half empty. He didn't even bother with a glass, just gulped it straight from the squatty neck. I was surprised he still had a pulse. I offered again, "You promise not to puke?" He nodded sloppily.
Somehow John managed to get himself into my car. He reeked of vomit. I had to do his seatbelt up for him which nearly caused me to pass out. For all the silence of our conversation until that point, he made up for on the ride into town in spite of all four windows being rolled down. He was what the girls and I call "talkie drunk" where the drunk just goes on and on to no end. I'm pretty sure I knew most of John's depressing life story by the time I dropped him off at Anderson Hall. Before he got out he became really quiet, concentrating on something. Finally, when I thought he had dozed off, he began speaking.
"Thanks for the ride. I probably would've ended up in some ditch," he unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the door. He put his feet out and pulled himself into an unbalanced standing position.
"Anytime Princess," I lilted to his back. Too bad his butt looked better in my jeans than mine did. I thought I heard a chuckle as he closed the door.
Monday I was running an errand for Beckie across campus when I noticed John sitting on one of the benches around the fountain. "Hey Princess," I said loudly enough for him to hear. His head jerked up to see who was speaking. A fleeting expression of confusion danced through his eyes before it was replaced with humiliating recognition. "Feeling any better?" I stopped a few feet in front of him.
"Yeah. Hey, I never got your name the other day."
"I'm Jenna," I offered my hand.
"John."
"I know. I know lots of things about you Princess. See you around." I began walking away.
"Hey Jenna!" he called after me. I turned to see what he wanted. "Thanks again for the ride." I tossed a smile over my shoulder as I made my way down the weather worn sidewalk to the Noyes Building.
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