Past…
“WE COULD HIT UP ABE’S bar. Get into some trouble, if you’re feelin’ up to it,” Caleb suggests, rolling down his window to exhale a drag of smoke. “Can’t remember the week of your menstrual, so who knows what you’re up for.”
The cab of my 1984 Ford pickup is littered with pot paraphernalia. Empty dime bags are scattered at Caleb’s feet, remnants from what must be his third joint tonight.
He’s surpassed a casual high, now hanging on the precipice of straight stupid.
Staring at the dark road ahead, I reply, “Think I’ll pass. Takin’ you anywhere there’s trouble would lead to more.”
“What the hell?” he questions.
“You’re wasted, Caleb.”
“Oh, fuck you,” he utters with petulance before taking another hit. As he fights to hold onto the high, he brags, “I’m living the free life, brother.”
“You’re a bum, brother. Your life is free ‘cause you live in the shitter.”
“Asshole,” he returns, knowing I’m right.
I met Caleb a few summers back. Shortly after, his old man had kicked him out of his house for reasons I never really knew. Caleb needed a place to crash, and because my old man is usually passed out drunk, I let him stay.
Since, he’s been the kind of friend you know you don’t need, but you know they need you. I tolerate Caleb because, in all truth, he has no one else. And most times, neither do I.
“So tell me where the fuck we’re goin’,” I order, stopping at the light and watching the road ahead.
“Hold up.” Caleb lifts his finger in the air as he scans the crowd in front of the small, rundown, movie theater on Main Street.
The outside of the building isn’t much to look at. The brick exterior hasn’t seen a good cleaning in some time. The cracked, broken sidewalks could use some work, as well. I’ve only been inside there once and that was years ago.
“Stop here. Let me out,” Caleb orders.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“Stop the goddamn truck, Cole!”
Doing as he demands, I parallel park in front of the growing crowd.
Star Wars is playing tonight, the banner above lighting up its audience waiting in line.
A few of those standing around are dressed in character costumes. In front of the still locked door, Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker playfully duel with illuminated lightsabers. Parents stand beside them, some going as far as to coach a scene. A young girl dressed as Princess Leia stands beside a boy dressed as Yoda.
Why the fuck do I know so much about this shit, anyway?
“They’re replaying the original movie,” I talk to myself because I’ve lost Caleb’s attention.
Catching only his profile, I study his expression. His eyes are narrowed in concentration, zoning in on one girl, just outside another group of kids.
I don’t get a good feeling.
“Who the fuck are we lookin’ for?” I casually inquire.
Sitting up in his seat and unbuckling his belt, my friend licks his lips, coaxing the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
“The young, brown-haired bitch alone at the end of the line.”
He points to the girl in question. She has dark hair, long and lean legs, a cute face, and high cheekbones. She’s wearing a short black skirt, a simple, button-down white shirt, and a pair of yellow flip-flops.
In the middle of fucking winter.
She’s not wearing a coat and it’s thirty degrees outside. My first thought is to give her mine.
The girl doesn’t notice us watching her from my inside truck. She’s staring at her feet and kicking a rock back and forth on the top of the ice-covered cement sidewalk.
“Think she’s alone?” Caleb questions as he scans the crowd.
“What’s it matter if she’s alone? She’s a fuckin’ kid.”
“She’s not,” he denies.
Surely the idiot can see she’s every bit of a kid. Young adult would be putting too many years on her.
“We’re leavin’,” I advise, starting the truck and happy to hear its exhaust roar.
With most of the attention on us, the young girl looks up. Her shoulders are slouched, her arms hanging limply at her sides. Her dark brown eyes are swimming in unshed tears.
“Fuck, she’s cryin’ too. Here’s where Caleb comes in,” the dirty-minded bastard states, reaching for the handle, then jumping out without a chance to stop him.
Fuck me.
“Wait!” I yell, rounding the front of my truck to where he’s already standing in front of her.
The girl’s eyes widen and she takes a step back, nearly tripping when her ankle hits a concrete step behind her. People move from the crowd to give Caleb room. His tatted skin, dirty complexion, and the souring stench of his perversity clears his way.
With his sadistic tone, he asks, “You been out here waitin’ for me, Buttercup?”
The nickname doesn’t register until Caleb leans in, getting so close to her face she’s forced to back up farther, even being she’s out of room. When he raises his arm, his fingers nearly reaching her jaw, I grab his wrist and squeeze it tightly.
His perversity doesn’t get to touch her innocence.
His piercing glare clashes with mine and he barks, “What the hell, Cole?”
Shaking my head, and moving my angry gaze to her terrified one, I demand a gravelly, “No.”
The terror in the young girl’s eyes is palpable. She swallows hard. Her small, pink lips quiver as her focus darts back and forth between my sick friend and me.
I remember her now. I also remember that same panicked expression she had the last time I saw her.
The Morris girl.
No more than two years have passed since I last laid eyes on her. My life hasn’t changed much since that day. I’m still tempering Caleb’s dirty darkness and perverse longings. Making excuses for him because his father is a lot like mine, sans the alcoholism and frequent beatings.
“Get out of here,” I tell her. “Go home.”
When she doesn’t step away, I lift my chin in the opposite direction, while still keeping a firm hold on Caleb’s wrist.
“I can’t,” she quietly returns.
Caleb angrily jerks himself from my grip, stepping a few feet from us both.
Ignoring him, I hesitantly ask, “Why can’t you go home?” She worries her bottom lip. When she doesn’t respond, I push, “Answer me.”
Releasing her lip, she explains, “I don’t have a ride. I lied to my friend’s mom so she’d drop me off. I’m supposed to call after the movie. My dad—”
“Fuck,” I utter, trying to alleviate my frustration.
“Let’s take her to your place,” Caleb suggests. “Your dad’s gotta be out cold by now. She’ll be good and safe with us.”
“No thanks,” she quickly and snidely denies.
Smart kid.
“Then we’ll take you to my place,” he sneers, closing the small distance he’d just given her. “I got all sorts of toys you can play with there.”
Fuck that.
When her hands come out in front of her to stop him, onlookers clue in. To avoid a scene, I shove Caleb aside.
“You can walk to your place from here,” I tell him, realizing he can actually walk home. We both live one street over.
He points to the girl. “I’m not goin’ anywhere without her.”
“You are,” I tell him, my tone venomous.
“You’re sidin’ with the rich bitch?”
“No side to take. Be cool, Caleb. Walk away.”
Caleb’s not nearly as powerful as I am. With the beatings I take from my dad, I’ve come to be stronger than he is by far. His father has never beat him, although looking back, maybe he should’ve.
The sexual abuse Caleb suffered as a child is what likely led to these same disturbing tendencies as an adult. I’m no head doctor, but Caleb’s dark thoughts have never been right.
As far as I know, Caleb’s twisted threats are empty. This is his way of exuding power and control in a world where he has neither.
However, if there’s any depth to his demonic character, every lit bomb eventually explodes.
“You’re an asshole,” he claims, pacing two steps back.
“Yeah, been that for a while, man.”
“Dickhead.”
“You’ll call me tomorrow when you calm down.”
“Fuck you,” he spits, turning around, lighting a smoke, pulling up the collar of his jacket, but doing as I’ve told him.
Turning back to where the girl was standing, I find she’s gone. She’s off walking in the opposite direction.
She’s alone, in a crowd of Star Wars fans, downtown, on a goddamn Saturday night. The air is cold and it’s well past dark. Crime in this county isn’t heard of often, but there’s always the chance. Wherever she’s headed, she has no business being alone.
Son of a bitch.
Fuck me again.
“Wait,” I growl, taking off on a run in her direction.
I have no clue what I’ll do once I make it to her. I’m not good with kids her age. Really, I’m not good with people in general. The last person I’d ever be able to comfort is a teenager, who was nearly fondled by an idiot wasted out of his mind.
“What’s your name again?” I finally ask, out of breath and nervous for no reason.
“You don’t remember,” she accuses, not looking at me but keeping her focus ahead. “Typical.”
“I’m shit with names, sweetheart,” I return.
“Katherine,” she replies, stopping on the sidewalk, looking up with less tension and more ease.
Thankfully, she must not see Caleb and me in the same regard. She may be a young teenage girl, but she’s smart. Though, not smart enough to know she should be at home, watching reruns of Three’s Company or whatever kids her age watch on television.
“Katherine Morris,” she includes.
I smirk. “I know your last name, babe.”
“Katherine Margret Morris is my name. Not sweetheart or babe.”
Ignoring her correction, I allow her to start walking again before asking, “How old are you now?”
Sighing, she pouts. “I’m fourteen.”
“Wanna tell me what the hell you’re doin’ out here at this time of night?”
“Wanna tell me why your pet still isn’t on a leash?” she spits back. “The jerk is a menace to my kind.”
“Your kind?” I question, anxious to hear her comedic reply.
“Teenage girls,” she clarifies. Looking to where Caleb once was, she says, “I can see it in his eyes. He’s not right.”
“Maybe not,” I clip. “But you wanna tell me what you were you doin’ out here in the first place?”
Glossing over my question, she bids, “I don’t understand why you’re friends with him.”
“Not a fan of askin’ a question twice,” I give. “Why are you out here?”
“I was—”
“And maybe include why the fuck you’re alone?”
“You don’t have to curse, Mason,” she scolds, using the name no one ever calls me. “I’m able to understand English just fine.”
“Then how about you answer my question?”
“You’re my new boss?” she queries with added sarcasm.
“Katie Mae,” I coin a new nickname, leaning down to get closer. “Answer me.”
Rolling her eyes, she gives in to both the name and my question. “I was supposed to meet someone here.”
“Someone being who?”
“Toby Callison.”
“Who the fuck is Toby Callison?”
At my next curse, she stops us from walking forward. Her lips draw up tight and her eyes narrow. “The boy who was supposed to take me to that movie.”
“You were on a date?” I give back, doing a shit job of hiding my irritation. “You were going to see a movie with Tony? And he was taking you to see Star Wars?”
Giving in and letting some of the attitude go, she replies, “Yeah, well Toby loves those movies. He said I would too.”
“You wouldn’t,” I explain. “It’s all man drama.”
“You’ve seen them?” she asks, holding her hands together behind her back and walking forward.
“I haven’t,” I confess, taking off my coat. “But if you’ve seen one Chewbacca, you’ve seen them all.”
“This is you being funny,” she tightly observes. “You don’t look like someone who’d be funny.”
“I’m a riot,” I assure, lifting the coat over her head and adjusting it over her shoulders. “Take this. You should have a coat.”
“My new boss is bossy,” she chides.
“Your new boss says let’s go back to my truck and I’ll take you home.”
Katie sucks in her bottom lip while holding my coat together at her neck. The oversized denim dwarfs her small frame. She looks up and down the dark, abandoned street in contemplation.
My guess is that she’s debating on whether to get into a truck with a stranger. This, if anything, offers some relief. Next time, it’s likely I won’t be around to save her from a crazy lunatic like my friend. A man I’m now wondering why the hell I’m still friends with at all.
“You’ll take me home?” she queries with doubt.
“Yeah. I’ll take you home.”
“Can we go somewhere else?”
Surprised by the brazenness of her inquiry, I lift my eyebrows. Her half-smile says she’s a handful. I don’t like handfuls. Then again, I have zero interest in anything with teenage girls.
“Can’t take you somewhere else if I don’t wanna chance a night in jail. Otherwise, I’d consider takin’ you to get some fuckin’ shoes.”
A shy but carefree smile crosses her lips. She lifts her toes and admires her well-manicured feet. The nails are painted a light shade of pink and on the first of each foot is a white floral design.
Figures.
“I love these shoes.”
“Those aren’t shoes,” I state. “Those are thongs.”
“Oh God,” she penalizes on an eye-roll. “No one calls them thongs. These are flip-flops.”
Again, it’s winter. Not only is she not wearing a coat, she’s in those same goddamn yellow flip-flops with the pink flower between the toes, just a few sizes larger.
Teenage girls. No wonder I don’t spend time with them. I’m a man who values his sanity.
“Anyway, don’t judge the flops. They’re cute,” she adds.
“Adorable,” I rash out. “Now, you comin’ with me so I can take you home, or am I callin’ the cops and informin’ them I’ve caught a runaway?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she sneers.
“I fuckin’ would dare. You comin’ or not?”
“I’ll go with you,” she finally concedes.
“Well, thank fuck.”
“But wait.”
Grinding my jaw at another delay, I stop. Her small hand extends, inside holds a ten-dollar bill.
“What’s this?”
“Payback.” She nods to the money between us. “You gave me ten dollars before. Remember? At the store. I didn’t use it. Gabe told me to just take what I needed. So I’m giving it back.”
“You’re giving it back,” I repeat, narrowing my eyes and wondering how often she’s thought of making us even.
I hadn’t given the first fuck about the money. I wanted her out of McConnell’s Corner Store, safe and away from Caleb and the drug deal we were engaged in.
When I reach to grab the money, Katie doesn’t allow physical contact. Not that I want to touch her, but I don’t bite, for fuck’s sake.
“We’re even then,” I state, shoving the money in my front jean pocket.
Grinning, she turns in place and starts to walk, but this time toward my truck.
Keeping two steps behind her, I scan the area around us. We’ve ended up in the darker part of town, if this small urban city had what could be considered a darker part.
“I suppose I’m lucky,” she states nonchalantly, as she continues two steps in front of mine.
“You probably are,” I flip back. “But how so?”
“None of my friends have ever met Chewbacca in person,” she mumbles to herself, though the insult is directed at me. “And I have. They’re not gonna believe when I tell them he’s big and bossy.”
As I had already assumed, this kid is a pain in the ass.
She’s a big one at that.
“Fuck, let’s go,” I say. “The sooner you get home, the sooner I can get back to Princess Leia.”
Without missing a beat, Katie glances up and narrows her eyes while saying, “You’ll never be hot enough to get a princess.”
Smart-ass.
Pushing on her back to move her forward faster, I settle with, “Well, I can live with that if you can.”