“That is too bad, because this is the most interesting conversation I have had in a long time. I was surprised to find you here, and as you can imagine, I am rarely surprised by anything. I was not expecting to see someone like you at Crestwood; you are quite unique. What are you doing here?” he asks with an air of stern authority that is really quite scary.
“I’m going to school, what does it look like I’m doing?” I ask, trying to hold it together. “And what do you mean by ‘someone like me?’” I ask him with suspicion.
“You know what I mean,” he accuses as his eyebrows draw together.
Momentarily distracted by the flawlessness of his face, I study the perfect symmetry of it, noting that even though he is scowling, it doesn’t detract from how lovely he is. But as the ugliness of his words dawn on me, I feel even more hideous because they are coming from such an attractive person.
“You think I shouldn’t be here just because I can’t pay the tuition? Are you calling me trash?” I ask, feeling myself blush in embarrassment. “I earned the right to be here with every grade I struggled to get, and if you think that I have to stand here and listen to this…this…Urr,” I growl, turning from him.
I begin marching in the direction of the tent because I have to get away from Reed, even though I know it is stupid to turn my back on him. I don’t get far before having to stop because Reed is directly in front of me, blocking the way to the tent. I look over my shoulder in confusion to where he had been standing only seconds ago. The distance doesn’t make sense. When our eyes meet again, icy tremors of fear creep through me. I start to back up, feeling disoriented.
Reed’s hand grips my elbow as he says tightly between his teeth, “That is not what I meant.”
“Then, what did you mean?” I ask, but it’s hard to get the words out above a whisper.
Wrenching my arm, I twist it to try to get him to let go of me. He seems not to notice at all—his arm won’t even move. “I meant,” he says, gritting his teeth, “I was surprised to see someone like you here, with parents like yours.”
In shock, my mouth falls open again before I ask, “What do you know about my parents? You are calling me trash! How can you know about my parents?” I struggle hard against his vise-like grip on my elbow. “Let go of me you total elitist! I can’t believe you’re even speaking to me with my lack of pedigree. I may not be wealthy, Reed, but I’m a decent person. So I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone!”
“You may leave when you have answered my questions. In fact, I will insist upon it. Who is your father, Genevieve?” Reed demands.
The blood drains from my face, and I stop struggling. It feels like he punched me in the stomach with that question. Looking away from him, I can’t answer, not only because I don’t know, but also because the sorrow of not knowing and being ridiculed for it just never seems to get easier. It is silly to feel shame over something I have no control over, like this, but reason doesn’t always stand up to pain and come out the victor. My throat tightens and begins to ache. Slowly, I slip the strap of my bag down my arm while reaching my hand inside it.
“You don’t know, do you?” Reed asks in a thoughtful tone, almost to himself. “You don’t know anything…no one knows about you yet…that is the only explanation as to why you’re still here,” he says, studying me. “No one is protecting you. You are all alone, aren’t you?” he asks while he lets my elbow drop from his hand.
I can no longer see his face clearly because my tears are making it impossible, but unfortunately for him, I’ve found what I’ve been searching for in my bag. “I don’t need anyone to protect me when I have this!” I say in a desperate tone.
Pushing the Taser into his side, I release the safety and pull the trigger. The hot, kinetic sizzle of electricity snarls through the gun and into his torso, but Reed doesn’t fall down and start twitching like in the demonstration video. Instead, his eyebrows shoot up in an expression somewhere between disbelief and amazement as he asks, “Are you serious?”
Raw, choking fear, like I’ve never felt before, makes my hands tremble. I drop the Taser. It hits the ground and immediately extinguishes. “I’m sorry, my bad… I’m just going to go now,” I say, backing away from him on shaky legs. “We can talk again later, okay?” I ask in a pleading tone.
Reed doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move either, so I continue retreating from him. When I’m a little further away, I turn and flee from him in the direction of the soft pools of light near the tent flaps. As I enter the tent, the caterers are still packing up the tables and chairs and placing them on long carts to take out to their trucks. Stumbling numbly by piles of stained linen tablecloths, I exit the flap where I had entered at the beginning of the evening. Searching around frantically for the buses, I almost begin flipping out when I realize that they are already gone.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Sweet, this is so perfect! I think sarcastically as I bounce up and down with anxiety. It’s either go back in the tent and beg a ride from the caterers, who probably won’t be leaving for hours, or start walking back to school. Damn!
Unable to contain my urge to flee the scene, I start jogging down the road that winds around the lake. It’s dark now, but there is illumination from a three-quarter moon, making it easier to see the road as it snakes ahead of me. The lake itself is calm; the sound of the water sways gently above the croaking of the frogs, and the rhythmic chirping of the crickets. My mind is a storm by comparison.
I have several questions that need answers: What kind of technology is available that will allow a person’s voice to influence another person? Is it technology? Or is it a technique, like hypnosis? And why did it work on Russell and not on me? Or was Russell fronting? Can Reed and Russell be in this together just to scare me? That last question makes me feel worse than ever, so I run faster toward campus. I don’t let up until I see the hazy glow of lights from the town of Crestwood up ahead.
Civilization, thank God! Relief swamps me at having made it to town, I’m breathing easier, seeing people out walking their dogs in the evening air. It seems safer to be near them— normal—even if they’re complete strangers. The black iron streetlamps lining the sidewalk lead the way through town as I hurry from one pool of light to the next.
Up ahead, someone is running toward me on the sidewalk, hyping up the adrenaline already coursing through my veins. The street lamp bleaches his hair, making it look more surferblond than tawny. Exhaling a huge breath, I recognize that it isn’t a slasher come to kill me, but Russell. I experience only a moment of relief. Then, bracing myself, I expect to be knocked down by the impact of Russell’s huge, muscular body plowing into mine. But instead, he catches me in his arms, embracing me in an enormous, bonecrushing hug.
“Red…are…ya…o…kay?” Russell asks, panting and holding me to his chest. He’s damp with sweat, probably from sprinting flat out the moment he had exited the bus.
“Russ…can’t…breathe,” I manage to respond, even as the air in my lungs is being forced out of me. Almost instantly, he eases up, allowing me to draw in a ragged breath. “I’m okay,” I say, “I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.” Russell’s frown churns in shades—from dark to black—as he continues to pant, looking me over for any obvious signs of trauma. “Really,” I say gently, my eyes meeting his lovely brown ones. “You can put me down now. I’m okay.”