The Reaping (11 page)

A few short minutes later, I heard something scrape the bottom of the boat.  When I opened my eyes, I turned around and saw that we had run aground at the little island I’d seen when we arrived.  Stephen hopped out onto dry ground and dragged the boat further onto the small beach area.  He walked to my side and held out his hand to help me down.  I thought it was likely the most gallant thing I’d ever seen.

I wobbled a bit when I stood, the trees tilting in front of me ever so slightly.  When he’d gotten me safely off the boat, Stephen kept hold of my hand and led me through the trees, along a torch-lit path to another cabana that was hidden from the shore.  The curtains on this one weren’t tied back.  Stephen pushed them aside and nodded for me to precede him inside.  I stepped through the opening, the intimate sight causing a prick of trepidation to encroach on my hazy sense of wellbeing. 

A low full-size cot dominated the tent.  At the head of the bed, there were two small lanterns on the ground, one on either side.  They cast their soft yellow light on the puffy blue sleeping bag that lay invitingly open.  A tiny radio hung from a hook on one of the structural supports, spilling its smooth melody into the otherwise quiet night. 

Stephen walked around me and sat on the edge of the cot, patting the space beside him.  Hesitantly, I perched next to him.  I tried to look relaxed, but I couldn’t keep the stiffness from my muscles.  I felt awkward and distinctly uncomfortable. 

Stephen turned his body more toward mine and reached up to brush my hair back from my cheek.

“I really am sorry about the other day,” he whispered.  His eyes glistened like black diamonds in the low light, his dilated pupils leaving no evidence of the blue iris.  “My only excuse is that you are so beautiful it makes me crazy.”

I sat perfectly still, completely over my head and out of my element.  I watched in wary silence as Stephen’s face got closer and closer to mine.  When it blurred, I let my eyelids drift shut.  Then I felt his lips on mine. 

It was a tentative brush at first, which was kind of nice.  The hand at my cheek slid into my hair and I felt the other settle on the outside of my leg between my hip and knee.  Just before I settled into the pleasure of it, though, Stephen surprised me by deepening the kiss.  He leaned into me, exerting enough pressure to push me backward.  Before I fell all the way back, however, I managed to put my hands out and brace myself. 

I tried to turn my head away, but the hand in my hair was holding me still.  I could feel his tongue sweeping my lips, trying to find its way inside my mouth.  His chest was bearing down on mine and, somewhere in the back of my fuzzy head, my trepidation upgraded to real concern.

“Stop,” I said when I was finally able to tear my lips away.

“Come on, Carson.  I know you want me.  You’ve liked me for a long time,” he said, scattering kisses across my cheek to my ear.  “And now I’m all yours.”

The hand on my leg shifted from the outside to the inside and began an ascent toward my groin.  Silent alarms flashed behind my eyes and I felt the beginnings of true fear penetrate my cloudy consciousness.   

“I said stop, Stephen,” I said between gritted teeth. 

“You don’t have to pretend, Carson.  It’s just you and me.  No one will ever have to know,” he said, his hot breath stirring my hair.

“I said
stop!
” Raising one arm, I shoved at Stephen, my emotional upset burning away the fog from my brain and muscles.

He finally leaned back, an indignant frown marring his handsome face.  “You are nothing but a tease.  You
knew
what was going to happen tonight,” he declared venomously.

Like the flip of a switch, my fear morphed into anger.  “I most certainly did not.  You apologized for the way you acted, which I mistakenly thought was sincere, and I was giving you a chance to prove you aren’t a pig, which you obviously are.”

Stephen sat up suddenly then stood to his feet.  He looked down at me for several seconds, his expression inscrutable, and then he turned and walked out of the tent. 

I sat there on the edge of the bed, struggling to process the surreal turn of events.  My heart was hammering against my ribs and my breath was coming in short, shallow bursts.  I couldn’t believe what was happening. 

A scraping sound followed by a hollow thump thump prodded me into action.  I raced out of the tent, down the path through the trees.  I made it to the shore just in time to see Stephen rowing away from the island.  

“Where are you going?”  A stupid question, but I was so shocked, it was the only one that came to mind.

“Back to the party.”

“But-but what about me?”

“Find your own way back,” he spat, rowing further and further away.

I stood on the shore, watching Stephen, struck by the nightmarish quality of my predicament.  When he was over half way back to the dock, it began to sink in that I was in serious trouble.

Frantically, I began to scramble about wildly, looking for another boat or a raft…something.  Anything.  But there was nothing.  Not in the tent, not in the surrounding woods (those that were well lit anyway), not along the shore.  And I didn’t know where else to look. 

I thought about walking, but that didn’t seem like a good idea since I didn’t know if the “island” was truly an island or was attached to the mainland somewhere.  The cold reality of my situation sank in.  I was alone.  At night.  In the woods.  On an island.  Surrounded by water.  With no phone and no help. 

I could see the partiers across the water, dancing around the fire.  Though I could barely hear the sounds of their celebration, I thought to try screaming anyway; if it worked it would be worth the effort. 

I walked to the edge of the water, took a deep breath and shouted as loud as I could.  No one even looked in my direction.

I watched as Stephen rowed, getting closer and closer to the other sid.  I hoped that when he showed up without me, someone would do the sensible thing and come get me. 

When he reached the dock, Stephen tied off the boat and climbed out.  He walked along the wooden pier then up onto the grass.   I saw him stop when he reached the group near the fire.  I assumed he was speaking, as he was gesturing wildly and pointing in my direction.  My hopes rose when I saw all heads turn and look out across the water. 

Then, to my utter devastation, they began to laugh.  I felt the sting of humiliation burn in my cheeks as tears welled in my eyes.  I choked back a sob, my mind racing through my options.  As I stared back at my mockers, I realized with a sinking heart that I had only two choices:  swim or stay.

Certain I was overlooking a better option, I sat down on the bank to think. 

Maybe Leah’s still there and she’ll come get me when she finds out,
I thought.  So I waited.  And I waited. 

That hope kept me occupied for what seemed like an eternity.  Then, when it finally became clear that Leah wasn’t going to rescue me, I revisited my options.  It seemed there was only one truly viable option.  I was going to have to swim across the lake. 

I walked to the water’s edge and dipped my fingers in to test the temperature.  It was freezing.  With a growl, I turned back to the shore, silently cursing Stephen, berating myself for not seeing his cruel streak earlier.  Then I thought of the laughter I got from my schoolmates, laughter instead of help, and my anger escalated.  I paced the shore, back and forth, seething. 

Walking back to the water’s edge, I stared into the shimmering black pool, fury simmering in my blood.  I looked once more across the water.  It appeared that my increased movement had gathered a crowd.  They were lining up along the shore, whooping and shouting words I couldn’t hear, waiting to see what I’d do.  They pointed and gesticulated, pumping their fists into the air, all the while Stephen stood near the dock, his arrogant posture daring me to make my move. 

Spurred by pride and numbed by anger, I dove in without hesitation.  The cold water hit my muscles like an electric shock, which only served to further enrage me.  Kicking out with my legs, I pushed my sluggish arms ahead until they began to cooperate. 

I swam feverishly, indignation burning in my stomach like a lump of hot coal.  I was determined that he would not get the best of me.  None of them would. 

The closer I got, the louder their laughter and chants became. 

They shouted, “Loser!  Loser!  Loser!” 

“Look, Fitchco, she’s swimming all the way back over here to get to you,” I heard one guy say.

“Are you that good in bed, Fitchco?”

“I’ve heard of ‘rode hard and put away wet’, but man!”

“Hey Porter, did you need a cold shower?”

“She got too hot for Fitchco,” one girl mocked.

On and on they taunted until my rage was a blinding red haze behind my eyes.  It pounded in my head like a ferocious drum.  It blazed in my chest like a wildfire.  Every nerve in my body felt alive with it. 

When I reached shallow water, I put my feet down and walked slowly toward the shore.   I felt no chill, no wetness, only white-hot anger.  The onlookers laughed and pointed and continued their taunts.  Stephen had moved out onto the dock where he was standing with his legs spread and his arms crossed over his chest.

My eyes met his and I stopped where I was, thigh deep in the water.  Defiantly, he held my gaze.  Then, as I watched, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a smug smile.

A low hum sounded in my ears and my right shoulder blade began to burn.  Heat spread across my skin, down my arms to my fingertips.  They tingled and trembled in response. 

From the corner of my eye, I saw the flames of the tiki torches rise, snapping and crackling higher into the clear, velvety sky.

Stephen took three steps forward, bringing him closer to where I stood in the water.  He squatted down.  “Guess you’ll think twice before you throw milk in someone’s face next time.”

My eyes blazed into Stephen’s, but I made no comment.  The water around my legs bubbled and churned as the hum in my ears grew louder and louder.  I turned my attention toward the crowd at the shore.

With an eerie whoosh, the fire in the pit exploded, sending sparks out into the clearing.  Tiny orange flames rose quickly in the dry grass, skittering along the ground in every direction.  Tongues of yellow flame rose from the fire pit, licking at the tree benches that hung overhead.  Within seconds, they were ablaze. 

Leaves fell, some catching fire in midair and drifting to the ground.  Dead limbs popped and snapped in the heat as they began to give way. 

Above the hum in my ears, I heard laughter turn to screams as the curtains around the main cabana burst into flames.  Partiers scrambled to get away from the fire, some running toward their cars, others running toward the water.  I watched as a few stragglers disappeared into the woods, seeking shelter deep in the forest. 

I heard Stephen calling my name.  Over and over, he called.  I ignored him, watching instead the scene on the shore unfold in fiery detail. 

And then I saw him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Standing at the back of the clearing, dressed entirely in black and nearly impossible to see, was the stranger from my dream.  Again. 

His eyes were on me, an angry expression on his face, much like the one he wore in my dream.  He shook his dark head, one long piece that had escaped its bonds waving in front of his face.  His disapproval was so poignant, it seemed to reach across the span of grass and water between us and thicken the air around me.  I watched as he closed his eyes and tipped his face toward the sky.  He stood that way for several seconds, unmoving.