Читать книгу Escape To Anywhere Else - Robert Rippberger - Страница 12

chapter four

A band of light streaked across my bedroom wall and woke me. At first I thought it was Dad getting home late from delivering our leftover produce to the supermarket, but our tractor didn’t have headlights or a rhythmic engine; it was much more clunky, like bricks in a washing machine. Putt, puff, putt, puff the vehicle murmured as it sat idle below the window. The car’s high beams switched off, and my room fell dark again. I wrestled my body into a sitting position and pushed my legs to the floor. The forming scabs on my thighs split apart. My head grew light and the room started to spin. I dropped back onto the paper, unable to move as my eyelids drew closed. Outside in the twilight a car door slammed. Then—whether I was dreaming or not I do not know—came a shriek of curdling terror, a rustling, a clank of chains, and then everything went dark again.

I awoke some hours later, this time to something poking my ribs. I kicked and flailed about, ignoring the soreness throughout my body. My left heel caught Louie in the face. He dropped, hand clasped over his jaw.

“Why do you do that?” Louie gasped.

I groaned, asking myself the same question.

“Sorry. You should have stayed further back.”

He chuckled, “This is the largest branch I could find.”

He held it up and I too laughed. It hurt to do so, but it was nice to feel a tinge of warmth in such a cold body. Louie lit a candle and stopped nursing his chin the instant he saw the damage. He sat next to me and tended to what he could. Between the two of us there was an unspoken pledge to mother the other (although maybe that’s not the best word here). At any hour Louie would come to my side and I would come to his. On many occasions, he saved my life.

In a bucket of water he soaked a towel and pressed it to my back. The coolness was soothing. He repeated this until I was clean and then dressed the wounds, which covered all my body except my head. This, of course, was done intentionally. Mom knew better than to leave marks that couldn’t be concealed with a turtleneck, sweatpants, or an ankle-cut dress. With my face pressed against the torn pages, I remembered the strange car and desperate cry I heard hours before.

“Louie...” I whispered, sitting up.

“Keep still. Relax.” He ran his hands through my hair. I forgot for a moment what I wanted to ask, then remembered but started to second-guess myself, being more certain this time that what I’d heard was in fact a dream. No matter how many times it happened, my body still couldn’t take the shock. I was really starting to lose it, and things were getting worse.

“What is it?”

He dampened the rag once more and soaked my shoulders. My eyes grew heavy, my thoughts disconnected. His fingers sifted through my hair as I fell asleep.

“Goodnight, Ivey. Goodnight.”

Footsteps climbed the stairs as I groggily wiped my eyes. Louie was gone, but he left me well bandaged. I was feeling a bit better until the door bounced open and in walked Dad. His eyes were glazed, either from a lack of sleep from the night before or because he’d chased his breakfast down with the hard stuff. Whatever the reason, he looked like hell, worse than usual. He eyed me from bruise to cut and put a hand on my thigh as if to examine the gashes. I swallowed hard, unconvinced. The two of us met glances and he took his hand away, turning his eyes to the floor where Louie piled the soggy paper.

“Your mother...she told me what you did.”

He took a seat on the bed next to me.

“I thought we taught you better.”

I bit my lip, drawing blood. It was either that or applying staples to keep my mouth shut.

“He didn’t...you know...he didn’t...squirt in you, did he?”

“Dad! I took a ride in the guy’s car. I didn’t have sex with him!”

I wanted to vomit at his choice of words.

“Ivey, don’t lie.”

He stood back up as if to remind me who was in charge. I took a calming breath and spoke slow enough for a three-year-old to understand.

“I am not lying. I. Did. Not. Have. Sex. With that man. I did not do anything. Anything. Ask Louie.”

Dad glanced to the door to see a set of eyes peering in. They grew wide and darted from view.

“Then what’n the hell were you doing?”

“It wasn’t just any car, Dad. I went with him for a short ride. If you were in my position, you would have done the same thing.”

He shook his head, seeming to disagree.

“Not unless it was a Sting Ray.”

“It was. It was!” I shouted in his face.

It couldn’t have been planned any better if it were scripted. He was taken aback.

He stammered and scrambled for words, finally coming up with, “I’m not getting involved.”

And then he bumbled and stumbled out the door.

“Get dressed,” he said from the hall, “We’re gonna go to church bingo tonight. Make yourself presentable.”

He walked out as tears stocked with anger filled my eyes. It infuriated me that he knew I was wrongly punished but wasn’t going to stand by my side in defense. He might as well have come upstairs, torn off the bandages, and reopened the wounds.

“I’m stronger than them,” I breathed, “I’m stronger. I’m not going to let them hurt me anymore.”

I choked back my tears, not giving them the courtesy of a single drop.

“Never again. From this point forward. Never again.”