He halted. He faced her, grimacing and blushing.
‘What were you doing back there?’
‘Me? Nothing.’
‘Were you sketching me?’
‘No. Honest.’
‘I mean, it’s all right if you were.’
‘I wasn’t. No.’
‘Could I see?’
‘No, really. I was only…’
‘Please?’
With a long sigh, he opened his notebook and handed it to her.
‘You wrote this just now?’ Helen asked.
He shrugged and nodded.
‘It’s about me?’
‘Well… Kind of. I guess you might say you were the inspiration. You looked sort of lonely sitting there.’
‘I think it’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘Could I make a copy of it?’
‘Well, I’ll copy it for you.’
‘Would you like to go over to the student union with me? We could have coffee, or something.’
That was how it began. She told Abilene and the others about it, late that night. She showed the poem. She told about their conversation in the student union, and how they’d both cut theii afternoon classes and spent hours wandering together, eaten supper at a downtown diner, gone to a movie theater and watched The Hungry Dead, then roamed through the parks.
‘He’s just so fabulously wonderful,’ she said. ‘He even likes horror movies. Can you believe it? I think he really likes me.’ After that, she saw him every day. She was often out late at night. Abilene had never seen her so happy.
Until the night she came home bloody and crying.
She and Maxwell, returning on foot after enjoying their sundaes at the Delight ice cream parlor, had been halfway across a street when a Porsche failed to stop for the red light and stunned them with a quick right turn. As it shot by, barely missing them, Maxwell kicked its side and shouted, ‘Asshole!’
Brakes screeched.
‘Uh-oh,’ Maxwell said.
‘Let’s get out of here!’ Pulling his hand, Helen raced for the corner.
She didn’t dare look back. But she heard a second squeal of brakes. Heard a door slam. Heard a shout. ‘You’re gonna die!’ Then quick smacking footfalls on the sidewalk behind her.
The street was empty and quiet. The shops on both sides were closed for the night.
‘This way,’ Maxwell gasped. He dashed into the street, Helen at his side. They ran up the center line. It seemed like a good idea. Better to be out in the open, under the bright glow of lights, than off to the side where their pursuer might overtake them in the shadows and work his violence in the privacy of an alley or store entryway. And a car was sure to come along, sooner or later. Someone would stop and help.
But the road ahead remained empty. As if everyone in town except Helen and Maxwell and the man giving chase were asleep or dead.
He was gaining on them.
Helen realized that Maxwell was holding back. Staying with her, even though he was capable of running much faster.
‘Go!’ she gasped. ‘It’s you he’s after.’
‘True.’
With that, he halted and turned around.
‘Max!’
‘Run!’ he yelled over his shoulder.
He was still looking over his shoulder at Helen and before she could call out a warning, the man from the Porsche shouldered into his belly. Lifted him off his feet. Drove him backward, rump first. Slammed him down on the pavement.
Maxwell cried out as he skidded.
The assailant, straddling him, punched Maxwell’s face. Right fist, left fist, right, left.
It was then that Helen recognized him.
Andy ‘Wildman’ Wilde.
A senior. A star of the wrestling team.
A skinny, short little guy. But quick and strong.
Quick enough to grab Helen’s foot when she tried to kick him in the face. Strong enough to throw it high with just one hand, hurling Helen onto her back.
‘Stay out of it, lard-ass!’ he warned as she got to her feet.
‘Leave him alone!’
‘Beat it.’ He resumed punching Maxwell.
Helen dived onto him, hugging his head, throwing him sideways to the pavement. So fast that she didn’t know what was happening, he slipped out of her hold, rolled her and came down on top of her. He pinned her arms beneath her back. He began to strike her face.
Open handed. Slapping, not punching. Apparently in deference to her sex.
‘A fuckin’ gentleman,’ Cora said as she listened to Helen’s story.
‘Well then I called him a dickless pip-squeak.’
‘Smart move,’ Finley said.
‘So after that he really slugged me.’
‘Nobody came along?’ Abilene asked.
Helen shook her head.
‘Anyway, he finally just quit and went back to his car.’
‘How’s Maxwell?’ Vivian asked.
‘Oh, he was…’ Her chin shook. She began weeping again. ‘His face was awful. All bloody, and… He was so much worse than me, but when he crawled over and looked down… He started to cry. It was like he didn’t even care about himself. He cried and touched my face and kept saying, “Oh, Tulip. Oh, Tulip.” Helen shuddered with a sob.
They plotted. They followed Wilde. They kept watch on his apartment.
Each morning, he left his apartment at seven o’clock and jogged to Benedict Park, where he ran on the trails for an hour.
Friday, they were waiting for him.
He stopped running when he came upon Cora crouched in the middle of a narrow stretch of trail above Benedict Creek. She was tying a shoelace. She wore red gym shorts, a pink tank top, sunglasses and a red wig that Vivian had borrowed from the costume room of the theater department. She smiled up at him. ‘Oh, hi.’
