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Authors: Eileen Rendahl
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here.”
“You’re from there, then?” It didn’t sound like it would be a good thing to be from “there,” wherever and whatever it was. It sounded a little like it might be a leper colony.
“Not exactly,” I said, figuring it was best to be as noncommittal as possible.
His eyes still narrowed, he finally stepped out of the door. “I think you’d better go,” he said.
“Well, okay then,” I said.
I slipped past him into the hallway, which was when the commotion started downstairs.
One voice said, “Don’t you see? They’re coming for me next. Somebody’s got to help me. Why won’t you help me?”
I couldn’t make out what the answer was, but it was a deep male rumble that didn’t sound welcoming.
Bouncer Boy brushed past me and took the stairs two at a time. I followed more slowly, but not by much. I wanted to see what was going on just as much as he did, but I didn’t want to rip my skirt.
A young man stood at the doorway to the house. A ring of men prevented him from entering any farther. The entryway was virtually invisible from the living room because of the retaining wall on that side. No one could really see what was going on and the buzz inside the house from dozens of conversations masked any noise.
“You have a lot of nerve showing up here, Littlefield,” Mr. Bossard said, keeping his voice low regardless. “You need to leave and you need to leave now.”
“Please,” Littlefield begged. “Listen to me. They’ve cursed us or something. You’ve got to see that. This can’t be a coincidence. I’m next. Don’t you see I’m next?”
“All I see is the person who ruined my son’s life now here tainting his funeral. Get out.” Mr. Bossard shoved the boy back. “Get out before my wife sees you. She doesn’t need your sorry ass here reminding her of what started all this in the first place. I knew I should have forbidden Neil to be around you. You’re nothing but bad news, Littlefield.”
Littlefield stumbled backward, holding his hands up in front of himself to ward off any more blows. “Please, Mr. Bossard. You gotta help me. Somebody’s gotta help me.”
“Like you helped my boy end up in prison? I said get out and I meant it, you little piece of shit.” Bossard advanced. The group of men around me closed ranks behind him. Whatever Littlefield wanted, he wasn’t going to get it, and no one from inside the house was going to help him.
He must have figured that out because with one last desperate look, he turned and fled.
My friend from the upstairs bedroom then whispered something in Mr. Bossard’s ear. He turned and looked at me where I stood, halfway down the stairs. The look he gave me was unmistakable. I’d worn out my welcome here.
I held up my hands in front of me and said, “I got it. Time to go.”
I headed directly to the door, walking past the line of men standing with their arms crossed and glaring.
Right before I crossed the threshold, someone gave me a little shove to send me on my way. I stumbled and righted myself.
Now I was on my way out the door. What’s more, I was doing it peacefully. That little shove was just plain mean and as far as I’m concerned, mean people suck.
I whirled. One of the men reached toward me as if he were going to grab me by my jacket. I knocked his hand to one side and gave him an uppercut to the solar plexus. He doubled over and gasped for air.
Another one tried to grab my arm. I twisted my arm around his and broke his grasp and then swept his legs from underneath him.
They hadn’t expected a girl to fight back. The other men backed away, their hands raised in front of them. I didn’t wait around for them to marshal their forces. I whipped the door open and ran down the steps.
The door slammed behind me and I fell directly into the arms of Officer Ted Goodnight.
I looked up at him. He looked down at me. In unison, we said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
4
“YOU FIRST,” TED DEMANDED, RIGHTING ME
“You’re from there, then?” It didn’t sound like it would be a good thing to be from “there,” wherever and whatever it was. It sounded a little like it might be a leper colony.
“Not exactly,” I said, figuring it was best to be as noncommittal as possible.
His eyes still narrowed, he finally stepped out of the door. “I think you’d better go,” he said.
“Well, okay then,” I said.
I slipped past him into the hallway, which was when the commotion started downstairs.
One voice said, “Don’t you see? They’re coming for me next. Somebody’s got to help me. Why won’t you help me?”
I couldn’t make out what the answer was, but it was a deep male rumble that didn’t sound welcoming.
Bouncer Boy brushed past me and took the stairs two at a time. I followed more slowly, but not by much. I wanted to see what was going on just as much as he did, but I didn’t want to rip my skirt.
A young man stood at the doorway to the house. A ring of men prevented him from entering any farther. The entryway was virtually invisible from the living room because of the retaining wall on that side. No one could really see what was going on and the buzz inside the house from dozens of conversations masked any noise.
“You have a lot of nerve showing up here, Littlefield,” Mr. Bossard said, keeping his voice low regardless. “You need to leave and you need to leave now.”
“Please,” Littlefield begged. “Listen to me. They’ve cursed us or something. You’ve got to see that. This can’t be a coincidence. I’m next. Don’t you see I’m next?”
“All I see is the person who ruined my son’s life now here tainting his funeral. Get out.” Mr. Bossard shoved the boy back. “Get out before my wife sees you. She doesn’t need your sorry ass here reminding her of what started all this in the first place. I knew I should have forbidden Neil to be around you. You’re nothing but bad news, Littlefield.”
Littlefield stumbled backward, holding his hands up in front of himself to ward off any more blows. “Please, Mr. Bossard. You gotta help me. Somebody’s gotta help me.”
“Like you helped my boy end up in prison? I said get out and I meant it, you little piece of shit.” Bossard advanced. The group of men around me closed ranks behind him. Whatever Littlefield wanted, he wasn’t going to get it, and no one from inside the house was going to help him.
He must have figured that out because with one last desperate look, he turned and fled.
My friend from the upstairs bedroom then whispered something in Mr. Bossard’s ear. He turned and looked at me where I stood, halfway down the stairs. The look he gave me was unmistakable. I’d worn out my welcome here.
I held up my hands in front of me and said, “I got it. Time to go.”
I headed directly to the door, walking past the line of men standing with their arms crossed and glaring.
Right before I crossed the threshold, someone gave me a little shove to send me on my way. I stumbled and righted myself.
Now I was on my way out the door. What’s more, I was doing it peacefully. That little shove was just plain mean and as far as I’m concerned, mean people suck.
I whirled. One of the men reached toward me as if he were going to grab me by my jacket. I knocked his hand to one side and gave him an uppercut to the solar plexus. He doubled over and gasped for air.
Another one tried to grab my arm. I twisted my arm around his and broke his grasp and then swept his legs from underneath him.
They hadn’t expected a girl to fight back. The other men backed away, their hands raised in front of them. I didn’t wait around for them to marshal their forces. I whipped the door open and ran down the steps.
The door slammed behind me and I fell directly into the arms of Officer Ted Goodnight.
I looked up at him. He looked down at me. In unison, we said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
4
“YOU FIRST,” TED DEMANDED, RIGHTING ME
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