Red

The older woman sighed heavily. Becky Lynn could see her boss struggle to decide the best thing to do.

“Please, Miss Opal. Please don’t tell.” Becky Lynn caught the older woman’s hands, fear coiling around her, squeezing at her chest until she could hardly breathe. “I’m afraid of what will happen if you do. They might—”

“What could they do, child? It’s keeping something like this secret that will hurt you. We must go to their parents or the authorities.”

“No, please…” Becky Lynn clutched Miss Opal’s hands. “Just promise me you won’t tell. Please.”

The hairdresser made a soft sound, part affection, part reticence. “All right, Becky Lynn. I won’t tell. For now. But I don’t like it.”

“Thank you, Miss Opal. Thank you so much.”

“But you must promise me that if those boys do anything to you, anything at all, you’ll come to me at once.”

Becky Lynn smiled. “I will. I promise.”

The woman touched Becky Lynn’s cheek lightly. “I don’t want you to think you have no one to turn to. Never again.”

5

Becky Lynn promised, and as the days slipped into weeks, she was filled with a sense of well-being and security. Partly because Ricky, Tommy and their gang never bothered her and partly because Miss Opal had taken to watching over her like a mother hen.

The older woman insisted on driving Becky Lynn home from work, insisted that when she did walk, she take the most traveled routes, and had even taken to sending Fayrene or Dixie for the pastries on Saturday morning. Fayrene had herself in a snit over it, but Miss Opal didn’t seem concerned in the least over the other hairdresser’s pique. She always found a more pressing job for Becky Lynn, one from which she couldn’t be spared, even for a few minutes.

Becky Lynn smiled to herself as she scrubbed the first shampoo bowl. For the first time in her life, she had a sense of what it must be like to have a mother, a mother in the real sense of the word, even if only part-time. It was nice to have someone who worried about her, someone who cared about what happened to her. It made her feel special. It made her feel cocooned and safe.

“Becky Lynn, you sure you can make it home without a ride?”

She lifted her gaze to Dixie. The other woman stood at the shop’s front door, buttoning her coat. Becky Lynn nodded. “I’ll be fine. It’s not even dark yet.”

The hairdresser looked longingly over her shoulder. Her last two appointments had canceled, and she wanted to go home. Becky Lynn couldn’t blame her—it had been a busy day, and she had a family to take care of.

She returned her gaze to Becky Lynn. “You’re sure? Miss Opal was pretty insistent that I drive you. She made me promise.” Dixie pursed her lips in thought. “I could ask Fayrene.”

Becky Lynn had no doubt how that request would be met. The other hairdresser was in back now, sulking because Dixie was going home and she would have to stay and close the shop. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

“Okay.” Dixie fastened a scarf around her cap of curls. “Miss Opal sure was tickled about going to see her granddaughter cheer at that pep rally. You going?”

Becky Lynn shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, okay then. See you tomorrow afternoon.”

As Dixie stepped out into the gathering dusk, Becky Lynn had the sudden urge to call her back and beg her to wait. The words, the plea, sprang to her tongue. She took an involuntary step toward the door, starting to call out, then stopped, shaking her head at her foolishness. If ever there was a night she didn’t need to worry about walking home, it was tonight. As key players on the Bend High football team, Tommy and Ricky, and just about everybody else in this football-crazy town, would be busy at the pep rally.

She shook her head again, and went back to scrubbing the shampoo bowls. No, tonight she had nothing to fear.

Forty-five minutes later, she and Fayrene parted company at the square. Although just past five, shadows already swallowed the peripheral edges of the square and pressed inward, gobbling up the last of the light.

Becky Lynn looked straight ahead, toward the main road and the brightly lit homes and neighborhoods that lined it, then to her right and the road that led across the railroad tracks and through the worst part of Bend but straight to her house. She could save twenty minutes. Her stomach rumbled, and the shadows eased closer.

She tilted her face to the darkening sky and thought of her promise to Miss Opal, thought of the hour and of Tommy and Ricky and the pep rally.

Even as a chill crawled up her arms, she shook her head and angled to her right, cutting across the square, moving as fast as she could without running. Tonight she had nothing to fear.

In minutes, she had left the lights of the square behind and was crossing the railroad tracks. As she cleared them, she noticed the quiet. No slamming doors reverberated through the night, no mothers called their children to dinner, no cars roared past. Not even a breeze stirred the trees.

She had passed into the part of Bend called Sunset. Due west of the square, the sun always seemed to set, bloody red, right on top of Sunset. Considered the worst part of town, worse even than her own shabby neighborhood, it housed the dirt poor.

The people who lived here were the ones her father felt superior to. These were the ones he put down and called names and hurt whenever he had the chance. She’d always thought that a sick, human failing, that need to find and denigrate someone less fortunate than yourself.

She shuddered and lifted her face to the dark sky.

She should have taken the long way.

Becky Lynn stepped up her pace, hiking up her collar higher on her neck. She glanced nervously to her sides. The sparsely populated area had homes that were nothing better than shanties, some of which were former slave cabins, left over from when this land had been part of a prosperous plantation; cotton fields and dilapidated out-buildings. She’d walked this way hundreds of times before; she had never felt threatened, had never been afraid.

Had Miss Opal taken such care of her that now, without the woman’s guardian gaze, she felt afraid? Silly, she thought, hugging herself. She was being silly.

From her left, she heard a sound, something soft and thick, like a muffled laugh. From her right, the scurry of something through the grass, some small frightened animal, then the sound of a twig snapping.

Becky Lynn stopped in the middle of the road, her heart hammering against the wall of her chest. She looked around her, peering into the shadows. “Is anyone there?”

Silence answered her, louder than any voiced reply. She sucked in a sharp breath and started walking again, stopping at the sound of her own name. It floated on the night air, called in a ghostly voice, the kind of voice used on Halloween by kids trying to scare one another, laced with both cunning and amusement.

Ricky and Tommy weren’t at the pep rally.

They were here.

Her heart in her throat, she started to run.

From her right came the sound of someone running through the overgrown fields. A moment later, Ricky darted out of the shadows ahead of her, his smile eerily white in the darkness. “Hello, Becky Lynn.”

She stopped in her tracks, fear rising like bile inside her. It turned on her tongue, threatening to choke her. She swallowed, fighting to find a shred of calm. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, Becky baby. We’ve been waiting weeks for you.” He grinned and her blood went cold. “Just like we promised. Right, Tommy?”

“Right,” the other boy answered, stepping out from the shadows to her left. “How’ya doing tonight, baby?” With a jerk, Tommy yanked another person forward. Buddy stumbled into view.

Buddy looked sick. He had something she couldn’t make out clutched in his hand. She searched the shadows for her brother, but they’d obviously left him behind.

She took a step backward, glancing frantically around her, looking for a way to escape. Why had she done this? Why hadn’t she listened to Miss Opal? She breathed deeply through her nose, working to keep her wits—what was left of them—about her.

“Lost your guard dog tonight.” Ricky made a clucking sound with his tongue. “What a pity. For you.”

Tommy laughed and Buddy hung his head.

“Bet she’s going to enjoy seeing her granddaughter cheer. Right, Tommy?”

“I’d enjoy it, too, Ricky. She’s one fine little piece.”

They closed ranks and took a step toward her. Her fingers and toes went numb, the inside of her mouth turned to ash. A light burned from the house just behind her to her left. If she could just make it to that door, maybe someone there would help her.

She took another step backward, frantically searching for a way to distract them, for something that would give her the moments she needed to make it to that doorway. “Leave me alone,” she whispered. “Please.”

Ricky laughed and took another step toward her. “Now, why should we go and do that?”

“I haven’t done anything to you. I just want to be left alone.”

“Seems I remember you slapping me.” Ricky turned to Tommy. “Do you remember that?”

“Sure do.” Tommy grinned. “Slapped the shit out of you, right in front of us.”

“Look,” she said, panic clawing at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just—”

“What did you think you were going to accomplish by telling Miss Opal?” Ricky asked, his upper lip curling. “What did you think our parents were going to do? Spank us?”

Miss Opal had gone to their parents? Becky Lynn struggled for an even breath. She hadn’t kept her promise? “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Did you really think anyone was going to believe we would touch you?” Ricky sneered. “Our parents laughed. They were offended at the suggestion.”

“C’mon, guys,” Buddy piped up suddenly, his voice high with nerves. “Let her go. If we’re late for the rally, coach will have our heads.”

“What do you think he’s gonna do?” Tommy snapped, swinging toward the other boy. “Bench us for the big game? No way. Can’t win without us.”

“Buddy, you fuckin’ pussy.” Ricky practically spat the words. “We talked about this, we can all get a crack at her and still be suited up in time.”

They meant to rape her.

With a sound of fear, Becky Lynn turned and ran. Her fear made it hard to breathe, it clutched at her chest even as she pushed herself to run faster. Her feet pounded on the dirt road, rocks bit into the bottoms of her feet, she angled off the road and toward the lit doorway.

Safety within reach, she opened her mouth to scream for help; one of them tackled her from behind, knocking her to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. She tasted dirt and her own blood, pinpoints of light flashed behind her eyes.

In the next moment, a hand was forced over her mouth and she was being dragged, Ricky at her head and Tommy at her feet, from the side of road and behind a dilapidated shed. She struggled, dimly aware of Buddy following behind, dragging his feet.

If she had any hope, she realized, it was Buddy. If only Ricky would take his hand off her mouth, she could beg Buddy to help her; she could scream. But he didn’t, and his grip partially covered her nose, as well, and she felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen.

Dear God, she thought, struggling for air, this couldn’t be happening to her! The words played through her head like a continuous tape.

“You got the paper bag, Buddy?”

“This has gone far enough.” Buddy cleared his throat nervously. “I mean, joking about it was one thing, but—”

Ricky tightened his grip on her and glared at the other boy. “You going to be a pussy all your life, Wills? Or are you a faggot? Give me the goddamned bag!”

The boy hung back, his face white with fear. “What if we get caught? What if—”

“We’re not going to get caught.”

“What if she tells? Jesus, Ricky, we could go to jail!”

“You are such a fucking girl, Buddy.” Ricky laughed, the sound twisted and evil. “Who’s going to believe her? Nobody, that’s who. Our folks didn’t believe Miss Opal, they laughed at the thought that we would touch her. You think I would do this if I didn’t know I could get away with it?”

They were raping her because they knew they could get away with it.

And because they thought she was nothing.

“Now bring me the goddamned bag so I can put it over her head. Then help hold her down.” Ricky’s hand slackened as he faced the other boy.

They were going to put a paper bag over her head so they wouldn’t have to look at her. Sons of bitches! Bastards! Fury ate her fear, and with Ricky’s attention diverted, she propelled herself up, knocking him sideways. Enraged, she flew at Tommy, raking his face with her nails. He howled with pain. He pried her off him, then wheeling back with his fist, punched her.

His fist connected with her jaw, and her head snapped back, pain shooting with blinding intensity through her skull. She reeled backward and hit the ground, her head cracking against a rock. Pain shot through her head, then light. Brilliant white and blinding.

Everything went black.

When Becky Lynn came to, she saw only black, could only draw a shallow breath, closed as she was in the damp, tight box. Disoriented, she tried to move her hands but found them anchored, found her legs nailed down, stretched at a painful angle.

It took a moment to realize where she was and what was happening, a moment for reality to rudely reassert itself. The weight of a body pressed her into the damp, fecund earth, hands held her immobile. Her clothes had been pushed or torn aside, the night air chilled her skin, although she knew the iciness she felt had little to do with the temperature.

It was Ricky on top of her. She knew him by his stench.

Sounds and sensations flashed crazily through her head. The ooze of the earth against her skin, the smell of sweat and mud, the pain of an object being forced into her, sawing and tearing. The paper bag crackled as she flung her head from side to side in an agony of pain and shame.

A dog began to bark, a high excited sound that ripped through her head, drowning out the sound of Ricky’s labored breathing. Of Buddy’s fear and Tommy’s anticipation. Of her own mewls of despair.

Ricky grunted with release, like an animal, and fell against her. The sound turned her stomach, and she knew that guttural noise would feed her nightmares forever.

“Come on, Ricky.” Tommy’s voice shook, and she heard him frantically unbuckling his belt, yanking down his zipper. “You’ve had your shot, give somebody else a cha—”

The dog started its high-pitched barking again, and a light came on, spilling into the black, followed by the screech of a screen door being opened. “Who’s out there?” a woman called.

Becky Lynn opened her mouth to cry out, to scream for help, but nothing came out but a ragged whisper, so weak even the boys didn’t hear her.

“Oh, shit.” Buddy whimpered and released her legs. “Oh, shit, Ricky—”

“Shut the fuck—”

“I know somebody’s out there, and y’all better git. I’m callin’ the police. You hear me?”

The three boys froze. Becky Lynn could feel their sudden tension, could almost hear their thoughts— Buddy’s relief, Tommy’s disappointment, Ricky’s hatred.

“I’m callin’ the police,” the woman repeated, louder this time. “I’m callin’ ’em now.” The door slapped shut.

Buddy didn’t wait. He jumped up and ran, stumbling out of the brush and into the road, puking when he reached it.

“Come on, man.” Tommy sounded panicked, even though he didn’t release her hands. “We gotta go!”

“Thanks, baby,” Ricky whispered. “And don’t you fret none, I’ll make sure Tommy and Buddy get their turn.”

He bent his head and took her right nipple into his mouth, sucking it, swirling his tongue over it. She gagged, the tenderness of the gesture grotesque, obscene. He lifted himself from her, and she kicked out blindly and as hard as she could. She caught him in the groin. She knew by the feel and by the sound he made—a high whine of pain—and she wished she could see his face contort.

“Bitch! Cunt! I’ll—”

Tommy tugged on Ricky’s arm. “She called the cops, man! We’ve got to get out of here.”

Ricky must have agreed, for in the next moment, Tommy released her hands, and she heard the two boys run off.

Becky Lynn clawed at the paper bag, wrenching it off. She ripped at the stiff brown paper, tearing it into smaller and smaller pieces, whimpering and grunting like a wounded animal. The paper cut her fingers; they burned and bled, but she kept tearing at the bag until nothing was left but pieces too small and broken to hold on to.

Shuddering uncontrollably, she slumped to her side and curled into a tight ball.

6

Light leaked from the edges of the small, haphazardly covered windows, spilling weakly into the darkness. With a strangled cry of relief, Becky Lynn crawled up onto the sagging front porch.

Home. She’d made it home at last.

She rested her forehead against the porch floor, struggling to even her shallow, ragged breathing. She hurt. Her belly, her head and jaw, between her legs. But the physical pain didn’t compare to the ache inside her, the ache that couldn’t be measured in physical terms, the damage that couldn’t be repaired or healed with bandage or salve. Inside, she’d been ripped to pieces.

She would never be whole again.

Shaking, Becky Lynn grasped the porch railing and pulled herself to her feet, trembling so badly she feared she would fall. She had no idea of the time, no idea how long she’d lain behind the outbuilding, bleeding and raw, waiting for the wail of the police siren that had never come.

Images, horrific and unwanted, flashed lightning-like through her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach pitching. She held the vomit back through sheer force of will. She wouldn’t be sick, she wouldn’t allow Ricky and Tommy to take anything more from her—they’d already taken the only things that had been truly hers, the only things that had been worth having. Her body. The last vestige of her girlish idealism. Her hope.

She crossed the porch to the door, thinking for the first time of her family. She had never been late before, had never failed to show up by dinnertime. She pictured herself, how she must look—dirty, bruised and bloody, her clothes ripped. She curved her shaking fingers around the doorknob. Had anyone worried at her absence? When they saw her, what would they think?

She opened the door and stepped inside. And smelled the whiskey. Its stench hung in the air like a cloud, and she realized dimly that her father had somehow scraped together enough money for a fifth.

She shifted her gaze. He sat slumped in front of the television, Randy beside him, pale and tense. Her father didn’t move, but as the door screeched, her brother turned his head. He met her eyes and for one electric moment stared at her, then slid his gaze guiltily away.

Her brother had known what his friends had planned to do to her.

She sucked in a sharp breath, the realization spinning through her, bringing her to a point past anger or disbelief, past hysteria. Had her brother encouraged them? Had he laughed with them when they talked about how they would put a bag over her head so they wouldn’t have to look at her while they raped her?

The sickness threatened to overwhelm her again, and she brought a hand to her mouth, fighting it back. Tears stung her eyes. “How?” she managed to say, her voice thick with tears and grief. “How…could you? You’re my brother.”

Randy lifted his gaze to hers. She had the brief impression of a deer, frozen in the shocking glare of headlights. His expression, pinched and frightened, took on an ashen pallor.

“When we were small, remember how we played together? None of the other children would come…near us. Remember?”

Randy shifted uncomfortably and lowered his eyes once more. She shook her head, her pain nearly unbearable. “I would have done anything to protect you. I did protect you. So many ti—” She curved her arms around herself. “And now you…you let them…do…this to—”

She choked this last back, unable to take her brother’s guilty silence, the damning truth of that silence, a moment longer. Turning toward the kitchen, she went in search of her mother.

Glenna Lee sat at the kitchen table, still as a stone, gazing at nothing, her eyes vacant, her hands working at a fold of her robe. Becky Lynn stared at her, at the way her fingers moved back and forth over the worn terry-cloth.

“Mama?” she whispered, clutching her hands together in a silent prayer. “Mama, please.”

Her mother blinked, focusing on her daughter for the first time. Shock moved across her mother’s expression, a dawning horror, then her features cleared, relaxing into an almost childlike mask. “Hello, baby.”

Becky Lynn swallowed. “Mama, look at me. Please.” She crossed to her mother and stopped directly before her. “I need you to see me, Mama.”

“Of course I see you, baby.” She tipped her head back, curving her lips into a small, simple smile. “Did Miss Opal keep you late?”

Becky Lynn shifted her gaze to the stove clock, its face cracked and coated with a film of grease but still readable. Nearly eleven. Five hours had passed since she’d left the Cut ‘n Curl. Five hours spent in hell.

“No, Mama.” Her chin began to quiver, and her eyes filled. “Mama, some boys…they… Mama, they hurt—”

Her mother shook her head and clucked her tongue. “She shouldn’t keep you so late on a school night.”

Becky Lynn drew in a ragged breath, her vision blurring. “Don’t do this, Mama. I…need you. Please. I need you so much.”

Her mother clutched her robe so tightly her knuckles poked out, stark and white even against the faded terry. “Go on to bed, baby. Everything will be better in the morning.”

Becky Lynn took a step backward, a cry slipping past her lips. Her mother couldn’t deal with this. She wouldn’t deal with it. Turning, Becky Lynn returned to the living room. She crossed to her father, stopping directly in front of him, blocking the TV.

“Daddy,” she whispered, twisting her fingers together, “please help me.”

He lifted his eyes to hers. His were dull and red from drink. He grunted.

“Some boys hurt me, Daddy. They—” Her throat closed over the words and she struggled to clear it. “They forced me…they—”

As if suddenly seeing her, her father moved his gaze over her. “Where’ve you been, girl?”

“I’m trying to tell you. Tommy Fischer and Ricky Jones—” She darted a glance at her brother. His head was lowered, his shoulders hunched. “They…they raped me. They knocked me down…and held my hands and feet—”

Her father lurched to his feet, forcing her backward. “Don’t you make up stories to cover your whoring!”

“No!” Becky Lynn shook her head violently. “No…they put a bag over my head and—”

“Randy?” Her father swung toward his son, weaving slightly. “Those boys your friends? The ones on the team?”

Randy glanced up, then away, looking like he wanted to puke. “Yes, sir.”

“They at the rally t’night?”

“Yes, sir.”

Becky Lynn fought for a breath. “It happened before the pep rally! They talked about how they were going to explain to the coach, they—”

“Lying whore,” her father snapped. “Get out of my sight, before I beat the hell out of you.”

Becky Lynn stumbled backward. Her mother stood in the kitchen doorway, white as a new sheet, visibly trembling. Becky Lynn met her eyes, pleading silently. Stand up for me. Mama, I need you.

But her mother didn’t stand up for her. For long moments, she stood gazing at her daughter, unmoving save for the way she clutched and released the vee of her robe.

Becky Lynn’s vision blurred. She had no one here. Not in this house. Not in Bend. No one who believed in her, no one who cared enough to stand up for her. Ricky and Tommy could rape her as often as they liked, and no one would care.