("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: pursued.txt (FF, rom, mexican, v) Authors name: Marcia Hooper (marciaR26@aol.com) Story title : Pursued -------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 2002. As the author, I claim all rights under international copyright laws. This work is not intended for sale, but please feel free to post it to other archives or news groups, keeping the header and text intact. Any commercial use of this work is expressly forbidden without the written permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------- Pursued (FF, rom, mexican, v) By Marcia Hooper (marciaR26@aol.com) *** Remember being fifteen? Remember hanging out at the mall? Remember walking home afterwards and being yelled at by guys? This story is based upon what happened to me and my friend Janie one November night back in 1985. Most of it actually happened to us, just the way I write it. Only the ending is different. (Well, maybe a few other parts too, lol.) Anyway, I hope you enjoy. *** This is a work of fiction and is not meant to portray any person living or dead, nor any known situation. It is meant for adults only and is not to be read by person's under the age of 18, or the legal age in the county/state/country in which the reader resides. If you would like a Microsoft Word or WordPerfect version of this story (much easier to read), please contact me at MarciaR26@aol.com. Pursued by Marcia Hooper MarciaR26@aol.com It was Friday night, ten p.m., and Denise and Billie were on their way home from the mall. Both wore heavy coats against the unexpected cold, and Denise, who only the day before had on shorts and a tee-shirt, just hated it. Billie complained as well, but only so far as the cold made her nose runny and red. Billie hated a red, runny nose. "I should have called my mom," Denise complained. Billie shot back: "I'd rather fucking freeze!" Denise huddled deeper in her coat, shivering. "I'm glad, because that's exactly what I'm doing!" Billie laughed and a plume of steam drifted over her shoulder. "Pretend you're skiing!" she said "Skiing, shit!" Denise scrunched her shoulders, dug deeper into her pockets. "You are such a jerk!" They were on foot because Billie and her older sister, Regina, had fought. Over something stupid, of course--a borrowed top--but Regina was angry enough to say walk or get another ride. Neither had a boyfriend with a car. They had walked. "You know," Billie said, "if you're fucking parents weren't such dicks, we'd be okay." Denise grew red. Both knew it was having to leave early that meant not getting a ride. No one wasted precious time running two girls home with an eleven o'clock curfew. Not on a Friday night. "Fifteen years old and a curfew!" Billie railed. "What shit!" Denise only dug deeper. After the movie they had hung out in the mall, alternating between the entrance, where Billie and some of their other friends could smoke, or in a loose, constantly shifting group at the mall's center. They cruised, and Billie, for a time, had disappeared with Greg Vollmer. She got a thorough grilling from Denise when she got back. At quarter to ten, faced with Denise's eleven p.m. curfew, they had left. "You are pathetic," Billie said. Denise buried her face in the coat's lining. "Lay off, will ya?" Five foot two inches tall and one hundred twenty pounds, Denise was olive-complexioned, with huge brown eyes, and hair cut just below her jaw. Although cute, she suffered from a mild to moderate case of teenage acne. This, combined with a slight chunkiness, caused her acute insecurity. She never got attention like the blond-haired and blue-eyed Billie. Crossing the immense parking lot, Denise and Billie walked along Frederick Road to the intersection with Montgomery Village Avenue. Instead of waiting for the light to change, they headed toward the center island. They ran to beat traffic. Coming from their right, and moving way too fast, was a gold Toyota Corolla. The light changed just as the girls stepped onto the island, and the driver slammed on his brakes. The Toyota fish-tailed to a stop. Both girls laughed. Laughter was a mistake. "Uh, oh," Denise whispered. Low to the ground, with mud flaps all around, the Toyota had chrome wheel rings, dark film over the windows, and belonged to gang-bangers. Or what passed for gang-bangers in Gaithersburg, Maryland. It backed to allow traffic to pass, and then the driver's side window rolled down. The driver leaned out. "You find somethin' funny, puta?" Denise, an instant roiling in her gut, found they were stranded on the island. Cars passed behind them with the changed light. The driver, with a thin mustache and slicked back hair and, what may or might not be been a razor scar on his left cheek, looked like Rickie Richardo on crack. "You find somethin' funny, puta?" he repeated. Always confrontational, Billie jibed back: "You're driving, maybe?" Denise hissed, "Billie--" and jabbed her left arm. "Puta's a smart-ass," the driver said, looking at his friends. There appeared to be six of them in the car; three in front and three in the back seat. They were in their mid to late teens. The driver was older. "What you puta's doing on foot?" he asked. The rear door opened, and a gang member dressed in a red shirt and dark trousers set out a foot. "We got room for two more," the driver said. "Get on in." Denise took a step back. Billie, grinning sagely, indicated the green light. "You're holding up traffic," she said. The driver laughed, said something to the others in Spanish, then: "Puta is a smart-ass." Denise watched her friend bridle. "I am not a puta--" she hissed, spitting out the word like a bite of bad meat "--and I ain't smart-ass enough to get in your fucking' car! Now drive!" Denise took Billie's elbow and backed her away. Traffic had thinned enough to let them make it back across the street, and she wanted out of there before things got worse. The driver made a waving motion with his hand both meaningless and obscene, and said: "Maybe the puta needs slapped around a bit. Teach her some manners." Spitting mad now, Billie leaned forward, pulling almost out of her coat. Denise dragged her back. "You fucking prick! You think you're man enough to hit me?" She kicked at the driver's side door, missed and fell off the curb. "Go the fuck back to Puerto Rico or wherever you came from and climb under a rock!" Denise was now frantic. "Billie! Billie let's go!" But, Billie lashed out again, this time connecting with the rear door. It slammed shut on the gang members shin. He yelled out as all the doors opened. Then a siren erupted. Denise, shrieking in response, spun around to find the front end of a police cruiser just at her knees. Blue and red lights flashed. "GET BACK IN THE CAR!" the speaker boomed. The Toyota's doors closed. The policeman indicated for Denise and Billie to get out of the way, and they retreated to the cruiser's far side. "Turn off the ignition and place both hands on the dashboard," the officer commanded. "You three in back, put your hands on the seat-back where I can see them." He got out, microphone in hand. Pointing at the driver, he said: "License and registration. Now." Then he looked at the girls. "You okay?" Denise, gasping, and never so glad to see a cop, exclaimed: "Yes!" Billie glared hard at the Toyota's driver and nodded. Her mouth was compressed to an invisible line. The driver glared back. "What going on?" the policeman asked. In a halting, still frightened voice, Denise explained. The cop got out of the car, closed the door, and put his nightstick through a loop in his belt. He said, "We'll get this sorted out, okay? Stay right there." Denise could have kissed him. The light changed again, and despite what the cop said, Denise and Billie moved to the front of the car. Traffic passed slowly, everyone ogle-eyed and speaking in quick, excited bursts. The officer pointed at the oncoming cars, forcing them to stop. He directed the girls to the opposite curb. Denise hissed, "I can't believe you did that!" Billie laughed. "Fucking pricks." Denise flashed into anger. "You must be crazy! They could have killed us! Dragged us into that car and no one would ever see us again!" She was so unnerved tears sprang to her eyes. "What is the matter with you?" Billie's anger flared as well. "He wasn't calling me that!" she snapped. "Us, I mean! You know what that means? Puta?" Denise snapped back. "Of course I know what it means! But I'm not getting raped over some word!" Billie scoffed. "No one's getting raped. For Christ's sake, look where we are." Denise looked. The big Holiday Inn across the road was reassuring, but there was no one in the lot. There was a commercial strip to their right and behind them was the mall. In the circumstances, it seemed mighty deserted. Billie seemed to realize this too. Begrudgingly, she said, "Maybe I did come a little unhinged." "A little!" Denise wiped her eyes. "I was ready to pee!" Billie bumped Denise on the shoulder with her own. "Sorry," she said. "Guess I'm a stupid, sometimes." "I guess." "Still love me?" "I guess." "Still having my baby?" Denise whacked her on the arm with her elbow. "Cut it out." The officer had the driver outside the car and with a flashlight examined his license. Then he directed everyone out of the car and into a semi-circle behind the Toyota. Then a second cruiser arrived, driven by a pretty blonde. The driver fixed Billie with a glare and Billie glared back. "Jesus. Why don't you just go over there and smack him," Denise said. "I wish I could." "You're antagonizing him, Billie. Stop!" Billie raised her left hand--still inside her coat pocket--in an obvious, single-finger gesture. She mouthed the word, "Prick." Frustrated, Denise said, "These aren't some local beads punks, Billie. These guys are for real." Billie snorted. "I'm not afraid." "Well I am!" Denise hissed. "And we still have to walk home!" "So?" "So?" What if they let them go?" The second officer had the Toyota's trunk open and was looking inside. Billie said. "Maybe, you're right. "Maybe we oughta just- -" she slid her hand sideways. Denise looked doubtful. "Leave?" "Uh-huh." Denise looked around. Traffic was scarce, the mall's parking lot was emptying quickly, and the longer they remained here the bolder the gang-bangers got. "Okay," she said, finally. "Let's cut down Russell Avenue, then back up Watkins Road," Billie said. She looked at the scar-faced driver, at the rest of gang members across the road. All returned her glance with a hard stare. "Yeah," she said. "We should do that. Right now." Shoulder to shoulder, Denise and Billie crept away. Billie set the pace and the farther they got from the intersection the faster they walked. "What's happening?" Denise asked. "Nothing, yet," said Billie. "They haven't noticed us gone." In fact, someone had noticed. The driver followed their retreat with determined eyes, casting glances whenever the officer turned away. Billie saw this, but said nothing. "Just keep moving," she said. Twenty feet from the intersection, Billie grabbed Denise's hand and dashed off across the street. Cutting through the lot in front of a deli, she headed down Russell Avenue. "What's the matter?" Denise cried. "The cop," Billy lied. "He was looking around." What had actually spooked her was the cops seemed to be letting the pricks go! "I hope they don't come after us," Denise said, looking back. "The cops, I mean." The wind caught Billie's hair and tossed it across her face. "Just run," she cried. "Okay!" The girls ran past the four dealerships along Frederick Road, past the Costco Wholesale where Denise's mother worked, past the Lincoln Mercury dealership where Billie's dad had bought his last car. Turning up Watkins Road, they slowed to a fast walk. Then turned back onto Frederick Road. "You okay?" Denise asked. Billie shook her head. "Cold." Denise struggled to keep up. "I don't like this," she said, looking back over her shoulder. There were no lights behind them, flashing or otherwise. She quickened her stride. "Maybe we should go back a street." Billie grunted. They passed in front of Hechinger's, where the parking lot was deserted. Only three vehicles were in sight. Inside the store, going left to right, lights were turning off. This brought gooseflesh to Denise's chest and arms. "Billie," she said. "I am really scared." "It's okay. Just keep walking." A line of cars approached from behind, and though no one called out, Denise felt suddenly zeroed-in. The road was a mess of construction, concrete barriers lining both sides with orange and white barrels marching in haphazard formation to the half finished bridge below. A huge and still unfinished wall was to their right. Descent any further seemed suicidal. "Billie, stop." Billie kept walking. Then Denise looked around and her heart nearly froze. The gold Toyota was pulled to the curb. A street lamp cast a glare on the windshield, making it impossible to see inside. Her voice a crackle of fear, Denise wheezed, "Billie!" and ran to her friend. Billie whispered, "Oh, shit!" "What do we do?" Denise cried, looking frantically around. "I don't know!" Billie whispered. "But this is bad. This is really bad." The wall to their right made flight in that direction impossible; across the street was a commercial office plaza, dark and completely deserted. Beyond that was woods. Nowhere to go but straight down-or back toward the car. Denise's teeth chattered noisily. "What do we do, Billie?" "Be cool, Nisey," Billie said. "Be cool." The Toyota inched forward, and Denise stumbled against Billie, making them both nearly fall. "Oh, Jesus, Billie! Think of something!" Just when it seemed the girls would be forced to flee--to almost certain doom--headlights crested the hill. A line of vehicles approached, and with the road narrowed to only one lane, the driver had no choice. He pulled ahead. As it passed, hands gesticulated from the Toyota's windows. "You slimin' ho bitches!" someone yelled "I catch you bitch, I make you eat this fucking' thing!" yelled the gang-banger with the damaged shin. Then the car was past, and breath exploding from each girl's lungs, Billie spun and nearly knocked Denise flat. She grabbed her arm and took off up the hill. "Where are we going!" Denise screamed. "Up the hill!" "I can see that! Where?" Billie shook her head. "Anywhere! Just off this road!" Ahead of them was Travis Avenue. Reaching it, Billie dragged Denise around the corner. "There's houses up there!" she yelled, pointing up the hill. "We can hide!" Denise could barely catch her breath. "Shouldn't we call the police?" she cried. "Call my mom?" "Not now! Just get out of sight!" The grade was steep and before getting a hundred yards, both girls were winded. Despite her panic, Denise couldn't stop thinking that no one ever drove past in an emergency. Let them be skipping school and every neighbor she knew would pass. Plus a dozen of cops. Bent over and holding her knees, Denise panted, "Can't go on." Her lungs were erupting volcanoes. Lights popped in her eyes. "Gotta--gotta catch my breath." Billie's chest ballooned in and out and she rubbed her side. "Can't stop," she said, pulling Denise along. "Just a little ways further." "No!" Denise protested Billie ran ahead anyway, with Denise in tow. Reaching the first street, Russell Avenue again, Denise's only desire was to find the closest big bush and dive behind it. Billie had other ideas. Dragged along behind, Denise pointed back and wailed: "Houses! Houses right there!" "I don't like townhouses!" Billie yelled, as though explaining everything. The second cross-street, Braddock Road, was lined both sides with single family homes. Billie cut to the right across the yard of the first house, then continued up the hill. "Slow down," Denise begged. She was ready to drop. "Please?" Billie geared back to a loping jog, then to a fast walk. Halfway up the block, she came to a stop. Bent over and panting, she began to laugh. "I--don't know--what--you find so--funny," Denise gasped. Billie laughed harder. Denise pushed tousled hair out of her face, then tucked it behind her ears. Her nose ran, and her face glowed cherry red. "You are so fucking weird, Billie Hart! You get the prize!" Billie, laughingly even harder, reached out and said, "Give it to me then!" Denise dug into her pocket. "Here," she said, pulling out her loose change. "Eighty-one cents." "Not even enough to buy a condom!" Billie laughed. Both girls erupted in laughter. Finally, standing upright, Billie pointed toward the end of the street. They began to walk. Denise watched behind, while Billie watched ahead. Both awaited headlights; both prayed they wouldn't come. The road stayed blessedly dark. "Think they gave up?" Denise finally asked. Billie shook her head. Then she went suddenly stiff. The intersection behind had suddenly brightened. "No! You don't think--" "I don't know, and I don't mean to find out!" Billie exclaimed. Grabbing Denise's hand, she fled alongside the nearest house, heading into the darkness behind. Inside, a dog started to bark. "Where are we going!" Denise cried. "Just run!" Billie replied. Separating the single family homes from the town homes behind, was a strip of woods. Denise was alarmed to find Billie heading straight toward them. They plunged into the tree line and Denise ran with her free hand up. It didn't save her being slapped by a low-hanging branch. "Ow!" she yelled. "Billie! Slow down!" She dug in her heels and made Billie stop. "You're gonna kill us!" Billie laughed, breath steaming from her mouth. "This is not funny!" Denise cried, punching her arm. "You're always getting me in trouble!" Billie laughed even harder and Denise punched her on the shoulder again. "I can't cross the street without getting molested, and now you got me in the woods. Jesus!" Billie could not control her laughter. "I--I'm sorry," she choked, then broke down completely. Bent over and holding her knees, each attempt to speak degenerated into hilarity. Denise fumed. "Go ahead. Laugh." She craned her neck, looking back through the enveloping brush. "I'm never doing anything with you ever again!" Billie brayed and Denise mock-kicked her on the shin. She snapped around at the sound of an approaching engine, but it was the deep-throated rumble of a street rod, not the Toyota. A jacked-up red Camaro appeared between the two units of townhouses ahead and just as quickly disappeared. "Shit," Denise muttered, recognizing the car. It was Greg Vollmer. "What?" "Nothing. Let's go." Billie held her back. "Nisey, I'm sorry. I'm a fuck-up, sometimes. I really am." She looked up and down the path, realizing for the first time one existed. "I promise you, we get out of this and I'll never fuck with you again." Denise scoffed: "Liar." "Really. Okay?" Billie held out her hands in two fists. Reluctantly, Denise hit them with her own. She said, "I don't believe you, Hart. Not in a million years." Feeling her way ahead, Billie pushed aside what branches she could, stabbed herself on those she couldn't. She cursed softly. Behind them, the same dog set off on another round of barking; soon it had raised a chorus. Denise, who had always thought this funny before, now failed to see the humor. Billie lead them out between two end units. Then she stopped up short. To their right, one hundred feet distant, was Travis Avenue again. Left, the road sloped down and out of sight. Nothing visible moved in either direction. She stepped cautiously out of the shadows, leading Denise to the sidewalk. "Was it them, you think?" Denise asked. She looked back to the woods. The canine chorus, though muted, continued resolutely on. Billie shrugged. "The car was moving slow. Like they were looking for someone." "Would they follow us into the woods?" Billie rubbed her nose. It was runny and red. Seeing her wet finger, she made a disgusted face. "They would have had to seen us, and I know they didn't do that." Denise was not so sure. "What now?" she asked. Billie headed away from Travis Avenue, dragging Denise behind. "There's an intersection ahead," she said, indicating the bottom of the hill. "Past the apartments." Denise had a vague idea where they were. Watkins Road was ahead. Which lead them right back to Frederick Road. "We're going back?" she said. "That's kinda stupid." "There's a pay-phone across the street, at the bus-stop." "There is?" "Yeah." Although they walked quickly, looking continually back, Billie no longer lead Denise by the hand. She had her hands jammed deep in her pockets. Denise did the same. Their frosty breath drifted behind. "Guys are such assholes!" Billie said. Denise grunted. "They're not men unless they shit on you and screw with your head. My sister? When she was our age, she said no- one acted like this. No, I take that back. Some guys always act like this. Now they're so into this macho bullshit, even friends think it's cool to diss you." She stopped suddenly. "You know what that prick Jimmy Winters did? I was bent over, getting stuff out of my locker, and he came up behind me and started dry humping my butt." She laughed bitterly. "You believe that? He laughed about it too, even after I hit him. And I mean I hit him hard, Nisey. Everyone else was laughing at me. I felt like a complete! "Then, a couple days later, I was at my locker again, dropping off books, and a guy I don't even know stands in front of me and puts his dork in my face. He actually touched me, Nisey! I was so mad! He said, 'Oh baby, you're the best', and then hi-fived two of his buddies. All I could do was stand there and fume. I hate guys!" Denise listened to this tirade, almost in disbelief. Just two months before, their own friendship had nearly splintered over Billie's increasing disregard, both for Denise, and for everyone else. It left Denise feeling helpless and hurt. "I hate boys!" Billie grumbled again. "I just hate them!" Denise suddenly understood. Not even a for-real item yet, Billie and Greg had problems. Greg was ultra-hot, which meant ultra-popular, which meant he cheated on Billie left and right. He lied about the Halloween dance, getting instead into Emily Holland's pants when he was supposed to be home sick. "At least you have someone to diss you," Denise said. "I don't even get that." Billie jerked around. "Stop that!" she said. "Guys just go for the easiest lay." She burst out laughing, pointed at Denise, warningly. "Don't you even say it!" Both girls erupted in laughter, forgot for a moment their danger. What made it especially funny was that both girls were virgins. Denise sobered. She looked at her watch. "You know what's the worst?" she offered. "They won't even believe us. They'll say we made it up just to stay out late. Doesn't that suck?" Billie nodded. "Parent's are assholes." Almost too late, they both heard the car. Turning around, Denise saw headlights coming down the hill, shockingly close and shockingly familiar. The vehicle approached slowly, the engine at idle, the gang-bangers obviously inspecting each yard. Billie shoved Denise to their right, into the yard of single family home. They went down behind a hedge. Denise's breath rasped. Her voice was a whine of terror. "Did they see us?" Billy looked cautiously around the hedge. "I don't know. They didn't speed up. They would have sped up if they had." She looked back at the house, at the dark yard behind. "Why can't they just leave us alone?" The 'L' shaped hedge, two feet wide on the side facing the sidewalk, was less than a foot wide on the other, offering minimal protection. Once the Toyota passed, they would be visible with a backwards glance. "Billie!" Denise cried. "They'll see!" "Shhhh!" Suddenly, a mass of shivers, Denise peed her pants. "Oh, God!" "What?" "Nothing." "Then shut up!" The Toyota pulled abreast the hedge and stopped. Denise was near panic and Billie, feeling it, grabbed her with both hands and forced her to the ground. "Don't move!" she hissed. Denise's knees felt immersed in ice water. It made her pee even worse. She started to sob. "Jesus! Nisey!" "I can't help it!" Billie whispered fiercely in her ear. "They're going to hear!" Denise began to softly wail: "Billie!" "Stop it!" "I can't!" Then the Toyota's front end was visible beyond the hedge, and Billie pushed Denise around the corner. "They see us, we're fucked!" Billie hissed. Denise hiccupped and frantically covered her mouth and nose with both hands. Her eyes were silver dollars. "Stop it!" Billie hissed, adding her hands to Denise's own. Then the Toyota was past and once sufficiently distant, Billie whispered, "Come on," and dragged Denise to her feet. They took off running down the sidewalk. "Where!" "Back into the woods!" Billie cried. "The woods? No!" Billie said nothing. "Billie!" "Nisey, please!" Billie was on the verge of tears. "Just run!" Billie veered into a cul-de-sac, dashing between the house in the middle and the one to its left. Huffing, Denise followed. "Wait!" she cried. Billie refused to slow. Denise started cursing. There was nowhere to hide and woods lay dead ahead. Suddenly Billie stopped. "Remember Tommy Bowen?" she panted. She pointed at the house on their right. "He lives right here. Or he used to, back in fifth grade." They moved hurriedly to the rear of the house. "So?" "So, we used to play in the woods." "Play?" "And other things too!" "Wait a minute!" Denise huffed. She had her hands on her knees and was puffing white breath. She pointed at the pitch black trees. "Those woods are deep, Billie! There's no street on the other side, not like back there." "But I know the way," Billie said, pulling Denise forward again. "There's a path that parallels the back of the houses. We'll be safe." Although she was dead set against it, going into the woods seemed better to Denise than being on the lighted street. "Come on, then," she gasped. "Let's go." They moved carefully into the tree line and holding her hand, Billie lead Denise through a light thicket. They found a path on the other side. Soon, all sight of the houses was lost. "I thought this paralleled the houses," Denise said. Every scrape of branch or snap of a twig made her jump. "It's heading straight back." Billie pushed aside a cluster of branches. "It turns real soon," she said. Her voice lacked confidence. "You're sure?" "Pretty sure, yeah." "Wait a minute!" Denise yanked Billie to a stop. "We're getting lost!" "We are not!" "We are too!" Denise insisted. An eerily illumination came from above, not moonlight and stars, but a reflected glow from the low-hanging clouds. It penetrated the bare branches, casting everything in a pale, ghostly white. Denise turned completely around, trying to see through the underbrush. She could not. "This is just great," she said. "Lost again." Billie grumbled: "Okay, so I might have missed the cross path." She smacked the branches on her left, looked through the underbrush. "It shoulda been there." Denise said, "We're going back, then. Right?" Billie shrugged. "If we keep going, I'm pretty sure we'll come out on three fifty-five." Denise shook her head. "I want to go back." Billie hesitated, then shrugged. "You're right," she said. "I'm not getting lost in these woods." Suddenly grinning, she put a hand either side of her head, stuck her thumbs in her ears and wiggled her fingers. She moaned, "Ooooooo!" Then, feigning holding a camera to her face, she mimed: "I am so afraid. I want your parents to know this is all my fault. I should never have gone into the woods alone." She sniffled loudly. "I wouldn't worry about that big black witch standing behind you though, she only wants your teeth." Denise punched her on the arm. "I ought to pull your teeth!" she said. "Ooooooo!" "Stop it!" "Ooooooo!" Billie moaned, louder. For a moment the two wrestled, until Denise lost her balance and nearly toppled over. Billie pulled her erect. "Whoa!" Denise said. Then, "What?" as she saw Billie's tense expression. She suddenly realized that expression had nothing to do with gang-bangers, or boogiewomen in the woods. For a moment there was an energy between them, Billie's eyes liquid and bright, her expression troubled. Then she blinked and swallowed hard and released Denise's arms. "We should go," she said. Flummoxed, Denise distractedly pushed hair out of her face. She wiped her nose. "You okay?" she said. Billie looked away. "Sure." Denise put out a hand. "What's wrong." Billie stopped, but didn't turn around. "I just wish this was over," she said. "That's all." Denise hesitated, then dropped her hand and fell in behind her friend, now more confused ever. They walked silently back, tiptoeing when necessary to avoid snapping twigs. Even so, Denise thought bears foraging in the woods made less noise. "We get out of this alive," Denise whispered. "I'll never refuse a ride from my mom again." Billy laughed. "I'll even let you." "Shoot me if I do, okay." Billie laughed again. Looking at her watch, she said, "Your parents are going to be pissed, Nisey. It's almost midnight." Denise checked her own watch. "They'll never believe us," she said. "Neither will mine," Billie said. She slowed as the trees began to thin. "They think because you're a teenager, you can't have real problems. Everything's either sex or bad grades or being the mother while you're just the kid." Ahead, a street lamp cast a cone of orange light onto the street. Bitterly, Billie added, "We aren't always lies and deceit." Then she laughed at her own solemnity. "Jesus! Now I sound like my mother." Denise laughed. "Then, you call my mom when we get home and tell her everything I say is true." "I'll have her telling you what a brave girl you are!" Billie said. She looked between the two houses at the empty and quiet street. "Looks okay to me." "Ya think?" Billie stepped out, took Denise by the hand, just as quickly dropped it. She hurried ahead, and Denise, looking pained, jammed her hands deep in her pockets and followed. They stopped in front of Tommy Bowen's house, looking up and down the street. They listened for the giveaway sound of an engine. Half a minute's worth of courage-building later, they walked to the sidewalk and began to walk. A couple of houses away, another dog barked. "Shut up!" Billie growled. "I hate fucking dogs." The wind had kicked up, making both girls shudder. Denise felt like an icesickle. Her knees ached and so did her toes; her new Nike's were caked with mud and leaves. "If it gets any fucking colder..." Billie said, stamping her feet. Discovering the street lamps haloed in white, Denise said, "Oh, man. Not snow!" then stretched out her hand, caught a pinhead-sized snowflake. It was soon joined by others. She shook them off in disgust. "It's sticking too," she said. They followed the sidewalk to Watkins Road and turned right. A tall, wooden fence was to there right; it continued all the way to the corner. Homeowners had planted shrubs or flowering vines along the fence and in places, denuded foliage hung almost to the ground. Visible across Frederick Road was the Ride-On bus stop. There was a pay telephone on a pole. "Yes!" Billie exclaimed, jamming her fist in the air. "That's more like it!" Then she rammed Denise against the fence. "What? What is it?" "I don't believe it!" Billie hissed, looking around a bush. "I just don't fucking believe it!" The Toyota sat in front of the bus stop. "This is fucked! This is truly fucked." Denise, pushed flat against the fence, whispered desperately, "What are they doing?" "They're using the fucking telephone! What the fuck do you think they're doing?" Denise burst into tears, sobbing loudly. Looking around in surprise, Billie put her hand over Denise's mouth. "What are you doing!" "Get offa me!" Denise bawled, angrily shaking her off. Billie whispered, "I didn't mean anything by it, Nisey. Jesus!" Denise pointed angrily at the street. "Make them go away, then!" she hissed. Billie whispered back, "I wish I could! Just keep it cool, okay?" "I don't wanna keep it cool! I want them to go away!" "I know, I know! I do too!" Looking again around the bush, Billie started to walk backwards, pushing Denise ahead. She whispered, "Go-go- go-go-go!" After thirty feet the road had turned sufficiently for them to hide and Billie took off running. Denise followed. They passed Russell Avenue again and continued down the hill to Braddock Road. Here, Billie cut left again and started up the hill. It was a long climb. "This is--ridiculous!" Denise panted. "Where are we going?" "To bang on someone's door!" "About fucking time!" Denise cried, looking at the surrounding houses. She was about to say, "What about there?" when Billie leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. For an eternity Denise stood frozen, the breath trapped in her chest, then she said: "Billie!" Billie turned and hurried off. Denise took off after her. "Wait!" she said, catching up and matching Billie's stride. Breathlessly, she said, "What was that about?" Hands jammed in her pockets, shoulders hunched forward, Billie only shrugged. They walked for the better part of a block in silence. Then Denise asked, "Are you okay?" Billie said, "Sure." Denise looked all around. "Think they're gone?" she asked, needing something--anything--to say. "Don't know." Denise stopped. "Billie! Cut it out." Billie stopped also, shrugged again. "It's no big deal," she said. "We've kissed before." Denise was flummoxed. "Not like that!" "Don't worry about it, okay. I just got excited. It wasn't anything." Denise breathed lightly. "For you, maybe." Billie turned around and walked back. "Don't make a case out of this, Nisey. People do stupid things when they're stressed." Denise said nothing. All around them, snow continued to fall, flakes now the size of dimes. The air danced with their swirls and soft gyrations. Billie walked away and Denise caught up. "I'm not upset, okay?" Billie's head tilted fractionally. "Meaning what?" It was Denise's turn to shrug. "I'm just saying there's no reason to be upset." For a time they were silent, their footsteps the only sound in the night. The snowfall had thickened, covering the sidewalk and street with a thin white gauze; it stuck to the grass. Billie stopped. "I am upset," she said. "You should be too!" Denise sensed a watershed moment, a moment when making the wrong move, uttering the wrong words would leave them second guessing for the rest of their lives. She never got the chance to speak. A car approached. Caught directly beneath a street lamp, haloed in snow, the girls were completely exposed. Both looked for a place to hide. "There!" Billie said, pointing to a wooden shed just visible behind the next house. They charged off through the grass, dodging any patches of snow that might leave tracks. Seconds before the vehicle arrived, Billie and Denise slipped around the shed's corner. It was not the Toyota. "Jesus," Billie said, collapsing against the shed's door. "I am so sick of this." "Me too." They panted in unison, open-mouthed and expelling steam. Both girls wore crowns of snow in their hair. "I don't know what's worse," Billie said. "Being chased by these grease balls, or being punished for it." She slipped her hand, along with Denise's, into her right pocket. They returned to the sidewalk. "We should try Hechinger's," Denise said, remembering the metal sheds, the wooden gazebos and the cedar framed Jacuzzi's. "There's a phone outside, and at least some protection." "Let's hope," Billie said. She sounded more wishful than convinced. Following Braddock Road back to Travis Avenue, the girls turned left, moving alongside the building. At the corner, Billie cautiously looked around. Except for a Ford Bronco turning gradually white, and an old pickup, the lot was deserted. Denise pointed to the telephone, fifty feet away. Billie pointed out another, next to the Pier One. Two chances, then. Digging in her pocket for a quarter, Denise said, "Here. You call." Billie stuck the quarter in the coin slot and the receiver to her ear. She started to punch the buttons, then stopped. Denise's stomach tightened. "Don't tell me." Billie slammed the receiver back in its cradle. "Jesus Christ!" she exploded, slamming the side of the coin box. She kicked the side of a cedar platform, making it ring hollowly. She limped angrily away. Losing hope, Denise fed in another quarter, her next to last, this time hearing the coin drop with a sickening thunk. The phone was definitely broken. "What now?" she said, looking around. Billie indicated the second phone. Just as they stepped off the curb, however, headlights appeared and the gold Toyota screeched around the corner. Denise spun around and ran into the wall, bounced off, then ran into Billie. She squealed incoherently. "I know! I know!" Billie wailed. "Run!" They dashed headlong up the sidewalk, past the first and the second entrance, the sound of the Toyota's revving engine echoing off the wall. The Toyota reached the end of the building first, cutting them off. Both girl's shrieked again. Reversing course, Denise's feet slid out from under her and she crashed to the ground. Grabbing her arm, Billie tried to get her up, but by now, the gang members were all out of the car and they were trapped. "Billie!" "I know! I know! Easy!" They backed flat against the building. Denise could hardly breath. Two of the gang members took up position on their left, and two on the right. The driver and the smallest member confronted them. Denise had never been so afraid. She clenched Billie's hand. "Looka what we got here," the driver sneered. "The little stink-bitches. Been all over the 'hood chasing you down, little stink-bitches." He stepped forward, head cocking first to one side, then to the other. "Glad you stuck around," he said, drawing out the last word. "What do you want?" Billie demanded. The driver laughed. "The little stink-bitch wants to know what we want!" This brought laughter and the gang members drew tighter in. Denise's legs felt ready to give. This isn't happening! she thought, locking them in position. This really isn't happening! The smallest gang member, a nice looking teen with short black hair and a flawless complexion, looked ready to bolt himself. Out of place in loud baggy clothes, he looked no more than fourteen. His eyes, the few times they met Denise's, seemed almost as fearful as hers. Billie said, "Why don't you just leave us alone, okay? We didn't do anything to you." The gang member on Denise's immediate left, tall and skinny in a red silk shirt, laughed and hi-fived the member beside him. "Gonna fuck this little bitch," he said in broken English. "Si!" the other youth shot back. This one bore the look of a malicious small animal, one fearful of being left out of the kill. His eyes told Denise that she and Billie would be gang-raped, maybe even killed. Denise, looking desperately from one gang-member to the other, gripped her coat tightly around herself; she backed harder against the wall. Her teeth chattered noisily. Emboldened by the talk and by Denise's show of fear--and Billie's lack of it--the driver herded Billie against the wall. "What you think, puta? Any reason I shouldn't put you in the car and fuck you right now?" Un-cowed, Billie shoved the driver back. "I told you before! I am not your puta! Now get the fuck away from me!" Quick as the snake he resembled, the driver stuck a forefinger against Billie's forehead. "You just a little stink-bitch, 'ho. I eat stink-bitch's every night and pass 'em on. Just like I'm gonna do you." He slapped Billie's face. Screaming in rage, Billie leapt forward and dug her fingernails into the driver's face. He fell back howling, tripping over his own feet and going down; the other gang members were too shocked to react. Rather than run while she had the chance, Billie followed the gang-leader down, continued to maul his face. She took multiple hard punches to the head and sides before the others jumped in. Then they wrestled her to the ground and punched her repeatedly. Denise took off running. Flying by the startled young teen, and into the parking lot, she headed for the street, screaming. "Get her! Get the other bitch!" the driver yelled. Red-shirt and the other vicious looking youth gave chase and hauled Denise down. They immediately silenced her with a hand over the mouth and picked her up. Fighting back in terror, she kicked and flailed but was dragged back to the Toyota and thrown in. The two gang members held her down. "Move and I'll break you fucking' neck," one of them said. "Please! Please don't hurt us!" Denise begged under the hand. She looked outside for Billie. Red-shirt said: "We takin' you and you girlfriend for a little ride." Denise tried to shake her head no, but was not allowed to move. "Do it easy and we be easy on you. Do it hard and we fuck you up real bad. Understand?" Beneath his clamped-down hand, Denise nodded. "Do it hard, puta," he laughed. "I wanna fuck you up real bad." In the parking lot, Billie was now off the ground and being carried back to the car by the driver, the frightened looking youth, and the sixth gang member. Her bloodied nose oozed bright red, and she moved not at all. Bundling her into the front seat, the driver held her as the frightened youth got in, then went around to the other side. The sixth gang member slammed the passenger side door and got in. Denise found herself between Red- shirt and Weasel in the back seat, locked in a bear-hug. "Vamoose!" Red-shirt yelled. Gunning the engine, the driver sped away across the parking lot. Tight-faced with anger, Red-shirt leaned forward and smacked the frightened-looking youth on the head. "Hey!" the youth shouted, spinning around. "What the fuck you do that?" Red-shirt hissed, "You nothin' but a pussy-faced little coward!" and struck the youth twice more in the head. Then the driver stopped the car. "What the fuck are you doing!" Red-shirt angrily replied, "The sombitch did nothing! The white 'ho ran right by him and he didn't do nothing!" He cursed again in Spanish. The exchange continued heatedly for some moments, then the driver pointed at Red-shirt and yelled: "Shut the fuck up or I shoot you fucking dead!" A chrome-plated automatic was in his hand. Red-shirt, seething with anger, smacked the roof of the car. He got out to walk off his frustration. "Anyone else?" the driver asked. When no one answered, he addressed the youth. "You okay, hombre?" "Si, Jose." Jose smoothed the boy's hair. "Next time, maybe you stay home, huh? Take care of the women?" Though rebuked, Alex seemed terrifically relieved. "Si," he said, again. Jose motioned for Red-shirt to get back in the car. Once inside, the Toyota peeled off. "Please," Denise begged. "Don't do this!" "Shut up, bitch!" said the driver. Denise was forced onto Red-shirt's lap. She jerked in panic as the youth beside her first forced open her legs, then dug a hand into her crotch. "Nooooo!" she wailed. "Leave me alone!" Red-shirt's reaction was immediate. Whipping out his hand, he smacked the offender on the face. "Get your fucking hands off her!" he said, rearranging Denise's legs. "Do that again and you be one dead hombre!" Denise didn't fool herself for a moment: Red-shirt was protecting his kill. Doing sixty miles an hour, the Toyota crossed the newly built bridge, hung a ninety-degree turn into the first turnoff, and after a series of jolting bumps, transitioned onto a graveled road. The driver sped up the narrowing path and, Billie, awake again and looking around, began to struggle. Her nose was obviously broken. "Stay still!" the driver hissed. Billie struggled even harder. Red-shirt leaned forward and smacked her on the back of the head and Billie caterwauled, trying first to bite Alex's neck, then Red- shirt when her tried to grab her. They're going to rape us! Denise's mind cried. They're going to rape us, over and over again! She felt her mind loosing its grip, drifting toward mindless shock, and then a hand went inside her coat and yanked out her shirt and another hand yanked at her belt. "Leave me alone!" she screamed, twisting sideways. She caught the gang member on the end with her right foot and smashed his head against the glass. She kicked him again, and the glass shattered. Then she threw back her head and screamed, dodging the hand over her mouth. "Shut her up! Shut her the fuck up!" Jose bellowed. Denise continued screaming, kicking even harder. Yelling, "Jesus Fucking Christ!" Red-shirt tried to restrain her, but Denise got her right leg free and kicked again at the end youth. She caught him full on the neck, and the youth became enraged. "You stupid fucking bitch!" Grabbing her feet, he jammed them between his legs while Weasel undid her belt. Denise became hysterical as both her jeans, and then her underwear were dragged down to her knees. "Noooooooooooo!" she screamed, while fingers sought to violate her. Suddenly the Toyota was skidding sideways, the rear end jolting up and down on the rutted ground. Denise realized Billie had her foot jammed hard on the accelerator, and she began to scream. "Wreck us Billie! Wreck us!" Tying to control the skid, Jose yelled, "Let go! Let go!" and hit hard against Billie's chest with his elbow. Denise heard cracking ribs. Totally enraged, she kicked her legs free, punched hard with her right foot into the end gang member's head, smashing it through the window entirely. Holding his bloodied face, the gang member started to scream, but was kicked again, driven back into the jagged hole. Then she brought both feet down in a vicious kick to the boy's groin, and he was permanently out of the fight. He spewed yellow vomit between his feet. "Denise! Denise help me!" Billie screamed. She was pushed almost horizontal and the engine no longer revved. Struggling into a sitting position, Denise kicked at the driver's head, but Red-shirt dragged her viscously aside. Screaming, she smashed her head back against Red-shirt's face, but two blows landing on her jaw made stars exploded before her eyes. There was terrible pain in her mouth. Hitting at him again, she connected this time with his right temple and this was all the break she needed. Drawing back both feet, using Red-shirt as a buttress, Denise kicked viciously at the driver's head. She drove him forward against the steering wheel. Then the Toyota was spinning out of control, denuded trees whipping past the windshield, and everyone screaming and grabbing for handholds. They careened sideways into a tree, then whipped back to slam into the opposite embankment. "Noooooooooooo!" someone screamed. Then everything turned topsy-turvy as Denise was thrown first against the roof and then against the floor, then back into the roof again. In her terror she heard the shatter and spilling of glass, the crunch and the groan of bending metal and then a tremendous thud as the Toyota righted itself and plunged nose first down the hill. Then the car went suddenly vertical and for a moment it stood there, precariously balanced on the grill, as the human cargo inside crashed against the dashboard and windshield. Then, like a tree toppling in slow motion, the Toyota smashed down into the creek bed. For Denise, the world went black. * "'nise? Nisey?" Denise heard the voice, heard many other sounds she could not identify. She heard crying. "Nisey? Please? Please be all right! Please?" She opened her eyes and Billie was there, looking truly awful. Her nose was smashed and a deep gash cut through her right eyebrow. A paramedic tried unsuccessfully to attend the cut while Billie pushed her away. "Nisey?" Billie burst into tears. "Oh, God! Oh, thank God! I thought you were dead!" Denise tried to speak, but something was wrong with her jaw. Tears running down her face, Billie shook her head. "Don't try to talk," she warned. "Don't even try." She laughed in sobbing fits. "Your jaw's broken Nisey, broken all to hell. They have you in a neck brace, and you're strapped down to a board." She laughed again, and Denise discovered the only thing that moved were her eyes. "It's okay," Billie said, reading her panic. "Just take it easy." Denise became aware of four paramedics working over her, one stripping lengths of tape from a roll and attaching them to equipment laid out on her chest while a second yanked plastic tubing from a bag and started an IV. A third paramedic had arranged a bottle of oxygen--she assumed it was oxygen--between her knees and was fitting her with a mask. When she experimentally moved her hands and feet, she found them strapped down also. One of the paramedics, a pink-faced young blond in her late twenties, adjusted something out of sight. "Don't move," she said. "Don't move at all. Just blink twice for yes, once for no. Okay?" Denise blinked twice. "We have you on a transport board, Denise. You've been hurt, but we don't know how bad." She conferred in a whisper with someone beyond Denise's field of view, put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Probably it's nothing more than bumps and bruises, but we don't want to take a chance. You do have a broken jaw though," she confirmed. She grinned. "And it's a beaut. Get used to that. She gripped Denise's left shoulder. "Everything's going to be fine." The paramedic lifted Denise's shirt--Denise recoiled from her cold fingers--and probed gently among her ribs. Something even colder was planted on her chest in three different places; wires strung out to an electronic box. "It's okay, Nisey," Billie said from somewhere to her left. "They got you all taken care of." The board was lifted and carried by the four paramedics along what Denise perceived as a stream bed, then up a shallow but very high embankment. She was met at the top by her frantic parents. "Denise! Oh, my God, Denise!" her mother wailed. Immediately, she was in tears, clutching the board as the paramedics went by. "Oh, God! Are you all right, Denise? Is she all right?" Then her father was there, wrapping Denise's mother in a protective hug, pulling her aside so the paramedics could get by. All Denise could manage was a grunt. "Were putting you aboard now," the pink-faced paramedic said. Denise strained for a glimpse of Billie, wanting only that her friend be okay, but the rear doors slammed shut. She was in sudden, sterile silence. Siren wailing, the ambulance sped away down the gravel road. Focusing on the ceiling above, the dangling plastic lines and unnamable but somehow familiar equipment, Denise shut her eyes and tried to blank out the pain. She never remembered making it to the hospital. Epilogue: "What about Alex?" Denise asked. Two weeks had passed since the wires were removed from her jaw, and Denise still found speaking difficult. Broken in three places, her jaw now had gold plates and fourteen surgical steel screws. She sat with Billie and Billie's parents in the corridor outside Courtroom 604. They awaited sentencing of four of the remaining five gang members. Denise's parents were en route from work. Billie's father replied, "What about him?" Denise leaned forward. "They're letting him go, right?" Billie's father said in disgust: "According to the assistant D.A." He looked at his wife, then at Billie, then back at Denise. "Why you girls--" he shook his head. "Why you would stand up for that scum in court, I don't understand." Billie, looking both irritated and resigned, folded her arms. "Because he pulled Denise and me out of the car. Hello?" "He also dragged you in there, if you remember right. Denise, as well." In a somewhat stilted voice, Denise said, "He never wanted to be involved, Mr. Hart. We could see that the whole time. I honestly think he wouldn't have taken part." Mr. Hart shook his head. "I don't believe that for a second." "Dad--" "Six guys and two helpless girls? Come on!" Mrs. Hart elbowed his ribs. "Enough, John. Remember where you are." Billie rolled her eyes. "Like we weren't the one's there." "Young lady--" Mrs. Hart cut him off. "Billie's right, John. That car went up in flames not ten seconds after he got Denise out. He didn't have to do anything. He could have run away. Like the others." "He did run away," grumped Mr. Hart. "Afterwards." "And that's understandable. He's only fourteen." "Fifteen." Mrs. Hart shook her head. There was silence for a time, then Denise leaned forward. "It wasn't just us," she said. "He saved Jose too." "Should have let him burn." "John!" Denise went on, "It took him and Billie both to get Jose from behind the wheel." No one, including Billie's father, said anything to that. "I think he's a hero." The door to the courtroom swung open, and a Bailiff motioned them in. "The judge is ready for sentencing," he said. "About time," mumbled John Hart. Waiting for Denise, Billie took her elbow and whispered: "They don't let him off, I am going to be so pissed!" Denise nodded. It was difficult holding anger toward someone who'd saved your life. Sitting together in the second row, Denise and Billie observed the remaining defendants. All were in suit and ties, their gang-banger persona's scrubbed miraculously clean. It didn't matter. Denise and Billie's testimony would put the four away for years. "What about Greg?" Denise whispered, leaning over. Billie looked caught off-guard. "We're going out Friday," she said, glancing around. "But he's ready to dump me." She leaned close, lips touching Denise's ear. "Should I care?" Denise looked sideways. A tiny grin stole over her face. "Not in a million years," she whispered back. For a moment their eyes met and held, then, as the judge entered the courtroom and sat down behind her bench, Denise moved her hip and right leg in against Billie's. She allowed herself to smile. The End ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life in anyway shape or form. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 19