Read Write On Press Presents: The Ultimate Collection of Original Short Fiction, Volume II Page 35

  ~*~

  Nick stayed in the doorway long after Jesse drove away. She had recognized him.

  He was surprised. He hadn’t recognized her until he could see her clearly in the light and met her eyes for the first time. Those green eyes were emblazoned in his memory.

  They had both changed. He was no longer the lost, angry boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Brighton High School was long in the past. And judging from her reactions, she was no longer Jessica Roberts, the classy, cool girl with every hair in place. She had been the girl every female wanted to be and every male wanted. She had walked the halls practically dripping blue blood. Her father was a senator; her mother came from the richest family in the state. She was smart, beautiful, and popular.

  His smile was grim. Apparently she was Jesse Holbrook.

  Wayne Holbrook.

  Not a name Nick was ever going to forget. His fingers went instinctively to the scar that ran from his chin to the center of his right cheek. Moodily, his eyes flicked across the parking lot. Suddenly his eye caught a piece of gravel, stark white, glittering in the glare of the streetlight. And just like that he could see it: Wayne, the party, and his sister.

  It had been a typical teenage party. Nick couldn’t ever remember whose house it was. But he remembered dropping his sister off to meet her friends. He remembered her giddy excitement and the fact that she whined about her hair getting messed up on his motorcycle.

  She was a sophomore, while he was a senior. He had zero interest in making friends so he didn’t do parties. Their mother had dragged them to Brighton after their father died, and he had exactly six months to go before he had a degree. Then he would join the navy and get on with his life. He saw no point in socializing. So he dropped his sister off and roared off to the gym, promising to pick her up in a few hours.

  True to his word, he came back. Even though it was late, past midnight, the party was in full swing. So he had parked the bike and sauntered over to where his sister should have been, and leaning against a tree, he waited.

  The house was huge, with a wraparound porch. People were milling around it, spilling out of the house and onto the lawn. Some of them stole glances at him, but he ignored them. The stench of beer kegs wafted through the air.

  He suspected the only reason the cops hadn’t been called was because it was set off on an acre of its own land. No real neighbors to disturb. After waiting for about 15 minutes he began to get restless. He pushed off the tree and went inside, patrolling the house, looking for Claire. Nothing.

  Finally, standing in front of the house, he drew a grid in his mind. He started on the left side of the house and worked his way all the way to the right side, going through bushes and landscaping. Where the hell was she?

  At the far right of the house was a small driveway and parking lot with a boat house, and tennis courts. He was starting towards the boat house when he heard it. It was a small sound, muffled and tight. He stood very still. He heard it again.

  “Shhh...quiet...you are so pretty. Don’t worry, this will be quick.” The words were muttered and slurred and Nick almost walked away thinking it was just another drunk couple necking.

  Until he heard his sister’s voice.

  “No! I don’t want you to touch me! Leave me alone.” Her voice had a hysterical note to it and suddenly Nick felt a hot flash of rage. Some scumbag was trying to hurt his sister. Hot turned to cold and he coldly calculated where they were as he circled closer to the sound. Then he stepped through the bushes and saw them.

  Wayne Holbrook, football star of Brighton High had his little sister rammed against the wall of the boathouse, his huge hand was stuffed in her shirt holding her breast and he was working on undoing her pants. His big shoulder was pressed against her small frame pinning her. His mouth was glued on hers in an attempt to both persuade her and silence her while he worked on getting her clothes off her. She looked terrified.

  Nick was deadly silent as he launched himself on Wayne’s back pulling him off of Claire. They landed on the hard gravel of the driveway of the boathouse and the two boys rolled as each grappled to get on top.

  Grunting filled the air punctured with gasps and curses. Wayne was bigger, but Nick was a street fighter. He ground Wayne’s head into the gravel and pummeled his midsection with punishing kidney punches. Nick felt Wayne go limp, but didn’t fall for it as he waited a beat for Wayne to go on the offensive again.

  Two seconds and Wayne exploded, but Nick was ready for him—or would have been if he hadn’t felt a slice of fire gouge his face. The pain was indescribable and Nick jumped back landing on his feet in a smooth motion. His eyes took in the wicked looking knife in Wayne’s hand and he felt the blood pouring from his face. He knew the cut had gone deep. He also knew that a simple fight had just gotten really dirty.

  That was fine. Nick could do dirty. They circled each other, looking for an opening. Nick danced on the balls of his feet as Wayne lunged time and time again at Nick with the knife. Claire was screaming and threatening to go and get help. Nick’s eyes flicked to her and he did a cutting motion at her with his hand and she shut up, stifling her sobs.

  Nick had to admit that he felt alive for the first time since they had moved to this small town. Even the fiery pain in his cheek was secondary to the anticipation of bloodying Wayne’s face.

  Maybe it was the fact he was finally able to get some of his anger out, his rage at his father’s death, his anger at his mother for ripping their old life out from under them. But probably it had more to do with the fact he couldn’t stand Wayne.

  The air was quiet now except for the heaving breathing and Wayne’s grunts as he lunged. Nick’s focus tunneled down to just one thing: his opponent.

  “Come on you chicken-ass loser. I’m gonna make you regret— “

  Wayne’s voice ended on a scream of pain as Nick slid under his guard and kicked his knee out viciously. With satisfaction, Nick heard a crack and he knew Wayne wouldn’t be using that knee anytime soon. Which was going to be a real bitch when he tried to play football.

  Nick stood there a moment, tempted to do more damage, but instead he just motioned for Claire and they left. They left Wayne moaning in the gravel with the knife next to him. Nobody even glanced at them as they got on his bike and left.