Under the Cypress Moon (9 page)

Now, Shylah was giving herself freely to someone else as if Mark had never mattered.  This was unbearable, unspeakable, unacceptable. 
  Mark would not stand for it, knew that he could not, should not, would be a fool to even entertain the notion.  "So, what's goin' on here," Mark shouted, partly just to have his voice carried over the loud music and tremendous clamor of other voices, but even more to show his displeasure and anger.

"I," Shylah began, a lump in her throat, a deep pause in her voice.  "I... I don't know what to say."

"I don't think you have to say a damn thing," Mark snapped back.  "I think this says enough."

Mark thought of just walking away, but the anger within him wouldn't let him, nor would the endless sea of people.  He felt a strong urge to lunge for the guy sitting next to Shylah, to grab him by his collar, yank him from his seat, maybe knock him around.  Mark wasn't the kind of person to really do that sort of thing, but he wanted to.  He wanted to so badly that it hurt.  "I guess I didn't mean a damn thing to you, huh?  I guess I'm a joke, somebody you can just use when you want somethin'.  I thought you were better than that, but I guess you're like all the others."  Now, Mark had said enough.  Part of him still wanted to fight to convince Shylah that she should be with him and him alone, but his anger would not allow this. 

"Hey, man, chill out," came a voice that Mark did not expect.  He realized that it must have come from the guy who still had his arm around Shylah.  Shylah had not even bothered to throw off the embrace, and now, this guy, this usurper, this imbecilic thief in a turned up collar dared to address the man from whom he had stolen.  "I'm havin' a drink with the lady here, so why don't you go find you somebody else?  There's plenty of other chicks here.  Go pick one, and leave us alone."

Mark, licking his lips, unbelieving of what had just been said to him, knew three things.  He knew that the whole situation was unnecessary and uncalled for.  He knew that he could definitely win a fight against the guy sitting with Shylah, no matter how tough the guy thought that he was.  Mark also knew that even if he did win the fight, he was in a bar filled with the frat brothers and other friends of the potential victim.  Without a doubt, Mark would find himself inside a circle of swinging fists, all aimed in his direction.  He did not feel like going to the hospital or spending days, possibly weeks, healing from his wounds.  In a fair fight, few would best Mark, but there was no chance that a fight that night would prove fair.

Mark had had enough.  It was time to leave.  Nothing he could say would make any difference with anyone.  He felt as though his bed were calling him back, beckoning, welcoming.  As Mark turned to fight his way back through the intense thicket of people and back to his truck, he heard the voice of the frat idiot that he already despised, "Hey.  Yeah, that's right.  Walk away, Bitch.  Mama's callin' you home, boy."

Shylah had no real interest in the man, but now, she wanted to get away, throwing the man's arm off of her and shoving him, stirring him to anger, shoving her back, knocking her from her chair, she falling hard to the floor with a thud, nearly stepped upon by the heels of many. 
Mark, having turned back, now seeing Shylah on the floor, threw others out of his way and rushed to Shylah's side, lifting her from her place on the floor.  Some had cleared the way and allowed Mark in; others, however, only stood by, laughing hysterically at both.

As Mark and Shylah stood, their antagonist screamed, "If you want the little bitch, you can have her!"

Mark, now so infuriated that he could hardly control his desire to jump on the man and beat him mercilessly, pushed him, decidedly, vehemently retorting, "Didn't anybody ever teach you how to treat a woman?  How do you like bein' shoved, you little shit?!  We don't like you stupid frat boys here.  You're not welcome, so get the hell out of our town!"

"Your town," the man snapped, shoving Mark back even harder.  "I don't see a town.  I see a bunch of fields where somebody put up a water tower and a lemonade stand you call a bar.  Mayberry's doin' so good now that it got it some runnin' water and a paved road.  Go ask Aunt Bea to make you a bean pie, unless you got you some cotton pickin' to do."

"Let me show you how good Mayberry's doin'," Mark replied, quite calmly considering the extremities of the situation he now found himself a part of.  "Let's go outside.  We'll settle this like men, if you are one."

"Kick his monkey ass, Tim," came a shout from somewhere among the crowd.

"Oh, Tim," Mark added.  "That's your name?  That's real pretty for a woman as ugly as you."

"You wanna fight," asked Tim.  "Oh, we'll fight!  Me and you!"

"Really," asked Mark.  "That's the best you could come up with, 'me and  you?'  I'll tell you what.  I'll give you a bit to think of somethin' that actually takes you more than a half a second of thinkin', if you're able.  I'll be outside, but don't bring your girlfriends.  If you're really a man, you'll fight me by yourself, nobody else."

Much to Mark's amazement, the rest of the people moved out of his way, pushing into one another to clear a path to the door.  Shylah, beside herself, having no idea what to do, whether she should follow Mark outside or just stay completely out of it all, stood in complete awe, dumbfounded by this new development.  She wanted to clear the air with Mark, to maybe fix some of the problems that she had created, but she couldn't find the strength.

Mark waited casually outside of the bar for Tim to follow and the fight to ensue.  T.L., meanwhile, had no clue what was happening.  He heard people talking about a fight, but he didn't know who would be in the fight or why.  He thought that it was probably between two of the college students or maybe between one of them and a local but definitely not between one of the college guys and his best friend.  He didn't even know that his sister was cuddled up next to one of them or that Mark had found out.  T.L. knew frighteningly little more than did Mark about any of the recent circumstances.

Sure enough, Tim eventually followed Mark outside, along with countless numbers of his friends.  A crowd gathered quickly around the two men to watch the spectacle.  Of course, most were rooting for Tim, even the ones that didn't like him much.  Handing his jacket to someone, Tim stood in readiness to defend himself should Mark attack.  His stance pathetic, his seemingly ineffective posture screaming that he had little to no experience in fighting, Tim thought himself perfectly capable of showing "this stupid hick a thing or two," as he told the man who took his jacket from him.

"I'll let you take the first swing.  How about that," Mark asked.

Tim was not prepared for this but gladly welcomed the invitation.  He swung hard but swung without form or ability, his fist falling far short of Mark's face, though, of course, Mark was not dumb enough to just stand by and take the impact of the blow.  As Mark dodged the punch, seeing Tim turned awkwardly and allowing himself full openness for reciprocation, Mark rammed his fist into Tim's stomach and then into Tim's chin, knocking the man to the ground, quite stunned and taking a long moment to regain his faculties and rise once more.

Tim, now angry and embarrassed, lunged uncontrollably, but as he did so, Mark stepped aside and gave the man a big kick to the back as he passed by, sending Tim flying, face first into the pavement before him.  Mark felt that he had won.  He had suffered no injuries to either his body or his reputation.  Surely, Tim had learned a lesson, or at least enough of one to know to give up.  Mark began to walk away.  He didn't know if he would just go back inside and find T.L. or maybe even find Shylah.  He wanted to go home, yet he also wanted to settle some things or at least have some comforting words from a friend, and quite possibly, another beer or two to calm down.

Unbeknownst to Mark, one of Tim's friends had handed him a beer bottle, which he ferociously drove into the back of Mark's skull.  Mark soon lay unconscious and bleeding profusely on the ground.  No one was there to help.  No one that was present cared enough to get themselves involved with the law and call for help.  With no friends around, Mark could possibly bleed to death.  His body lying broken, bloody, and forgotten, Mark was unaware of his surroundings, unable to awaken, unable to have anyone tend to his wounds.  The crowd quickly dispersed, one man flying through the door of the bar and announcing to all of the rest of the fraternity and all of their attendees that they must leave immediately, the bar emptied within a minute, many stepping over Mark's body, some nearly stepping on his body.  The handful of locals left inside the bar were finally able to get outside and see what was the matter.  The one of them who had witnessed the altercation called for help, perhaps, part of the reason for the quick departure of the rest. 

T.L. and Shylah, upon seeing Mark's condition, threw themselves to the ground, both attempting to make sure that Mark was conscious and engage him in speech.  Shylah, cradling Mark the best that she could, completely regretted everything that she had done lately, regretted ever listening to her father.  Had she done what she wanted, she and Mark would be together, and Mark would not have to face the possibility of violent death.

Chapter 5

Unfortunately for Mark, the paramedics were on another call and could not arrive for some time.  They were doing all that they could to get to the scene, but in the meantime, no one knew how badly Mark was hurt or what might happen to him next.  Shylah remained where she was, having been able to move part of her right leg under Mark, just enough to allow his face to rest on something other than pavement.

It seemed no time at all before a police car came barreling down the street.  First to the scene, perhaps, by good luck, was Dan Brady.  Officer Brady went to high school with Mark and T.L. and was what you might call still somewhat of a friend. 

"T.L., Shylah," Brady began, slamming his car door.  "What's goin' on here?"

Neither Shylah nor T.L. could muster the slightest thought of how to respond.  Neither had witnessed the fight or knew the exact details.  The most that could be told was of the altercation inside the bar.

"Dan," Shylah replied, "I don't know exactly.  There were all these frat guys here from Valdosta.  I was sittin' with a few of 'em.  One of 'em got a little too cuddly with me and started a fight with Mark when he came to talk to me."

"Why would this guy start a fight with Mark over you?"

"Well," Shylah reluctantly answered, "I was seein' Mark for a while.  We stopped seein' each other, my fault, I guess, but Mark saw me with the other guy and got mad, but he didn't do anything.  He had some words with this other guy, but when I threw the guy's arm off, he got mad and pushed me down, and Mark came to help me up.  They got into again, and they went outside to fight.  I didn't see anything.  I was still inside, and so was T.L."

"So this guy, what was his name," asked the officer hastily
, more than a little jealous of Mark at having secured a relationship with Shylah but just as concerned for Mark's well-being as were Shylah and T.L.  Mark, with blood still pouring from his wounds, had glass fragments protruding from his skull.  No one dared to attempt their removal, afraid of causing further harm.

"Tim somethin'.  Redenour, or somethin' like that.  He goes to VSU."  Shylah never raised her eyes from Mark while speaking to Officer Brady.

"Either of you know where Ronny Dean is?  He's the one that called this in, so I'm guessin' he saw what happened and can tell me what I need."

"Can't say as I've seen him since right after I got here," shot back T.L., nervous for Mark, nervous that nothing could be done to catch Mark's assailant, really, just so distraught that he didn't know what to do.

Shylah shook her head swiftly, in agreement with her brother, just as distraught, agitated, and afraid.

Brady quickly went into the bar to ask around for Ronny Dean Stirgis, but, to Brady's chagrin, no one else had seen Stirgis for some time either.  Brady was left to go looking for Ronny Dean.  He was the only local resident that had witnessed enough of the incident to give a report and perhaps, the only hope that there was of any ground being broken in regard to the entire matter.

Climbing back into his squad car, Officer Brady called in his preliminary report, "Officer Brady reporting about the assault at the Muddy Water Tavern.  The victim's name is Marcus James Crady, 26.  I'm gonna go look for Ronald Dean Stirgis, the eyewitness.  No one else at the scene witnessed the incident.  What's the status on the ambulance?"

"Officer Brady, they just finished their previous call.  They are en route to the scene, e.t.a., fifteen minutes."

Brady, now more shaken, believing that amount of time far too long, immediately fired back, "I'm not so sure the victim is gonna make it fifteen minutes.  Get ahold of the paramedics and tell 'em they gotta get here faster!  This man has bottle fragments in his skull, and he is bleedin' bad.  He needs help, NOW!"

"Ok, Officer Brady," came the voice from the other end.  "I will let them know."

Brady thought it all over for a moment and could not decide if he should try to find Stirgis or not.  Someone needed to remain with Mark until the paramedics could arrive.  As luck would have it, another squad car pulled up only seconds later.  Brady and the other officer nearly exchanged heated words after Brady insisted that the other officer go looking for Stirgis.  Officer Reynolds, having a few more years' seniority than Brady, felt insulted and would not take orders from someone he thought lesser than he.