Chapter 23

Thank God Ms. Andrews accompanied us into Heather's house or I don't know what might have happened. We let the trained professional open the conversation, as in, like "Now, try to remain calm. Heather has something very important she needs to tell you," which, of course, turned her parents pasty white right from the "now try to remain calm."

As it was, after the initial shock, anger, and tears had been dealt with I was relieved to be shoved out the door so Heather and her family could undergo a crash therapy session. God bless Ms. Andrews.

Considering the way I'd twisted Heather's arm I doubted she ever wanted to see me again anyway.

Shit! How could I have been so cruel?

It had to be done, The Stick kept reminding me.

That didn't make me feel any better. When I got home. Mom said the same thing while I cried on her shoulder. Even from her it didn't help. I kept asking myself why do I do these things, how can I do these things?

To which The Stick invariably replied unhelpfully with "What else could you do?"

Sometime in the middle of the night I finally crawled out of Mom's bed and went downstairs so she could get some sleep. I wound up watching a Law and Order SVU marathon. Since they can wrap up a case in an hour I figured maybe I could get some tips from them that might help me get my life back to what passes for normal.

Then, too, watching Mariska Hargitay is a welcome distraction. If I had time for a fantasy life she'd have a starring role. Think of her in a black bustier -- and nothing else -- a whip in her hand, Mom and Elaine at her mercy! Yum!

But right now I just wanted this whole thing over with.

Now!

Does it surprise you to learn that I am not noted for my patience?

Probably not.

Anyway, the whole situation explains the avenging-angel mind-set that had me sprinting through what was supposed to be my Tuesday morning jog with Missy.

"Wouldja -- puff -- slow down! Sheesh! Puff. What's -- puff -- what's got -- puff -- you -- puff -- so stoked?"

"Stuff," I answered vaguely, slowing to what felt like a snail's-pace trot.

"What stuff?"

It was stuff I couldn't share with her, even under a triple-cross-your-heart-and-swear-to-die promise to not tell anyone. Fortunately Missy was in love, so it wasn't hard to get her gushing about Saturday night's amorous activities. After returning home in time to meet her mom's curfew, she and her date, the formerly hygienically challenged Bud Lacey, had enjoyed some snacks and cozy moments on her family's living-room sofa. With her mom lurking, of course, they'd been limited to a bit of discreet necking and petting and whispered sweet nothings, but the dance plus that was enough to get her hormones foaming. I just hoped she'd keep them under better control than she had in middle school.

The rest of the way to school I managed to keep my pace in check so I didn't run her into the ground, but it wasn't easy. I was fighting adrenalin, no sleep, and five hours of Law and Order SVU. Determined and ready to smite the enemy I had a plan. My mind, drawing all the elements together, kept trying to push my feet faster so I could get to it sooner.

Element one: Heather's dad was ready to lynch the Worm. However, since he was a highly respected lawyer I was sure he would instead use his legal clout. He was probably already kicking the DA's ass to get the wheels of justice turning faster.

Element two: The same person who'd escorted me to the rapist had also escorted Heather to the same person for the same purpose more than once. While he hadn't taken part he had to have known what was going on inside that closed room.

Element three: Watching L & O SVU had suggested a way I could use that knowledge to stoke the engine turning the wheels so they'd grind the Worm to a pulp even sooner and more thoroughly.

Element four: It being Tweedle Dumb's week in The Program, finding him wouldn't be hard. I still didn't understand why that creep hadn't been busted for escorting me to the Worm's burrow. Maybe it was a lack of evidence. I was going to change that.

But first had to get him alone.

No problem. Rumor had it that so far he'd been too shy to seek relief in front of any of his classes, so I figured he had to be stroking his salami in private, contrary to Program regulations. With the Lunch Bunch providing intelligence and his skanky reputation keeping innocent bystanders at bay I caught him red handed, you might say, by sneaking up behind him in a bathroom stall.

I waited 'til he was in mid-come before I knocked him off-stride by calling him on a Program Violation. The way he flinched it was a miracle he didn't uproot his Schwanz -- and yeah, that's German. It's pronounced "shvahntz," it's vulgar, and it means just what you think it does.

"What? I'm usin' the girls' room like I'm s'posed to!"

"True. But you're not supposed to be using it for that." I pointed to his grip on his suddenly sagging equipment, which was drooling morosely into a wad of toilet paper. He hastily dropped both dick and wad, but I caught the evidence before it hit the toilet bowl and waved it in front of him like a warning flag.

"Naughty, naughty. You're depriving your classmates of their entertainment. That's a spanking offense." I had an image of him over Mrs. Devers's knee, with her practicing her blistering forehand on his ugly butt. The image was so tempting it almost had me rethinking what the committee's position should be on corporal punishment.

But that had to wait. I had different plans for him. He and his dick both drooped. The hygiene squad was very thorough. Having been given The Treatment by them only the day before he was still a skank but at least he didn't stink. "But I might be inclined to ignore the program violation if you cooperate," I offered.

"Cooperate? What? How?"

There were so many holes in this scheme I could have drained spaghetti with it, but I was counting on keeping him off balance. I was also trading on the fact that I was in a battle of wits with an unarmed man.

From what I'd heard from Heather last night I was sure Tweedle Dumb was going to be moved up on the DA's "to do" list. But I'd prefer that before Cagney was dragged out of class, kicking and screaming, he'd be down at the station house, rolling over on the Worm in exchange for a lighter sentence. To do that I needed to scare the shit out of the stupid turd.

I know, that's not the kind of cop talk you'll hear even on cable TV. Blame it on my temper mixed in with a Law and Order overdose.

I was also counting on the fact that over the years he'd fallen a bit behind, grade-wise, held back by a school and foster system determined to get him literate before he started drawing social security.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen," he admitted, scratching his shaggy head like a spaniel. Well, no, that's not right. He did use his fore-paw rather than a hind leg. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"You knew what the Worm was going to do to me when you took me to that room."

"I didn't do nothin' but what he told me to do."

That wasn't quite the answer I wanted.

"But you knew why he wanted me and what he was going to do. And what did you get in return?"

That was a shot in the dark, but it worked.

"He gave me pichers," he admitted, instead of denying everything. "But I didn't get none of you."

Pictures?! I wouldn't put it past him to be selling them. Shit!

But then, how dumb could these guys be? Not only did the DA have Heather's diary in hand by now, Cagney could provide graphic evidence. Feeling sick to my stomach, I didn't ask pictures of what or who, or what he'd done with 'em, but went on like a hard-ass detective.

"You ever stop to think what Worthington has already told the cops? Wanna bet the DA already knows you helped the Worm commit felony rape? That creep is probably already trying to trade your ass for a lighter sentence. The DA's questioned you once. I don't know why he hasn't already busted your worthless butt, but I bet he will soon. He's probably working on a warrant right now."

Tweedle Dumb was starting to sweat. "I didn't do nothin'!"

It was time for his reality check. He was in deep doo-doo and needed to know just how deep it was.

"Yes you did. You knew what was going to happen to me. That makes you an accessory," I said, carefully drawing on my late night TV tutoring while making it very personal. But with this moron I knew I was going have to hit him upside the head with a two by four to get my point across.

"It's called 'aiding and abetting in commission of a felony, ' and rape is a very serious felony, and you're as guilty as can be," I went on ruthlessly. "That means you'll be treated the same as if you did the crime. We're not talking shoplifting or shaking down some kid for his lunch money. We're talking RAPE, which is right up there with murder.

"So we're not talking a few months in county jail. At eighteen you're old enough to be charged as an adult. That is not handled in juvenile court, where you might only get boot camp. They'll try you as an adult, and you'll go to state prison, not some cushy juvie facility. You could go to prison for a very long, hard time.

"Think! You're young enough to be real attractive to the horny lifers behind those bars. Your ass will be their playground. Those butt fuckers love fresh young meat. Worse, since a lot of 'em suffered from abuse as children themselves they hate child abusers. When they find out that's what you're in for they won't know or care whether you did it or just helped. You'll be lucky if you get out of there alive."

I shook my head woefully. Watching his balls try to crawl out of sight was very satisfying.

"But," I went on more optimistically, "if you turn yourself in to the DA and cooperate by telling him what you know about you-know-who and what he did and who he did it to -- maybe even show him some of the 'pichers' -- the DA might offer to go easy on you, let you plead to a lesser charge, maybe even offer time in minimum security where you could get your GED and be out in a year or two.

"If it were me, I'd hand myself over to the DA real quick, before the cops came to get me. Cops don't like child rapists either. They've got kids of their own." I crossed my fingers as I slandered our fine constabulary. "Shit happens. You might even meet with an accident on the way to jail. But you'd better work fast. They're probably already on their way here. If you can bring a lawyer along, so much the better. With your history I bet you already know one."

He'd gone from red to white. I could smell the insulation burning between his ears.

"Why're you telling me this?"

"Because I want to make sure that son-of-a-bitch pays for what he did to me, even if means you get off easy."

The bell rang. I studied the wad of TP with disgust. "It's time to go."

Even he was smart enough to know I didn't mean to class. I dropped the tattle-tale TP into the toilet, gave the flush lever a hard kick. Serenaded by rushing water, I washed his scum off my hands at the sink and went on my way, leaving His Dumbness to contemplate his options. Even if he didn't take my advice right away I was sure he'd get caught. Now that I'd spelled out in words of one syllable exactly what he was facing I was confident he'd be anxious to cut a deal.

Surprisingly, from there Tuesday went on pretty much as usual, except Heather wasn't in school. "Some kind of flu" was the story. There was speculation that she'd had a hot weekend with Mongo and was suffering a delayed reaction. But Heather was right about Matt. He was discreet, responding to questions with a knowing smile that could be interpreted any way that floated your boat.

I didn't see Tweedle Dumb again, either, which was a hopeful sign. Maybe he'd taken my advice.

At swimming practice Greg wondered why I was so distracted. I told him it was "female troubles," which had him worrying he'd somehow damaged me.

Men! Why to they always assume it's about them?

Still keyed up, I stayed after practice to work on my diving and it was a disaster. Over and over I got that "uh-oh, this is going to hurt" feeling as I left the end of the board, and I was usually right. I'd strain muscles trying to save the dive. I'd be over long, my calves whip-lashing the water, or I'd be short and my thighs would catch it. Water hits back hard enough to raise bruises. Belly-flops from high enough have been known to cause serious internal damage, but I avoided those ... usually.

Coach was very patient. I tried to tell myself I was distracted, but by the time I called it quits I felt like I'd been worked over with a baseball bat and was starting to buy into his assessment that I'd simply outgrown the sport.

Shit!

At home that night I cooked dinner for Mom and Elaine, put liniment on my bruises, and tried to concentrate on my homework. All the time I was waiting for my cell to ring, worrying about Heather, not daring to call her. I hoped she was okay. At last exhaustion caught up with me and, after falling asleep at my desk and banging my head, I managed to stagger to my bed. At some point Mom must have come in and drawn the covers over me, but I didn't remember it.

The next day, having done what I could, I didn't push Missy on the run. I was too sore anyway. Classes and lunch went reasonably well. Tweedle Dumb was absent again, which gave me hope, but Heather was out, too, which worried me.

Then at the closing bell I was called to Mrs. Devers's office. It being Wednesday that put a kink into my scheduled modeling session with Greg and Kathy, so I hoped to make it quick, thinking Devers wanted to give me some suggestions about what I should say at Saturday's dedication of the "Spirit" statue. Instead I found Heather waiting for me, looking what was, for her, very second hand -- unkempt hair, no makeup, dark circles under eyes that looked like they were bleeding.

My body went on high alert. I wanted to reach for her, while thinking that I was about to be consigned to her scrap heap. Somehow I managed to respond to a gesture from Devers and shut the door behind me, cutting off the racket in the hall. The next thing I knew Heather was wrapped around me, tears flowing like a river, and for the longest time all I could do was stand there, and hold her, and soothe her. When I looked over her shoulder at Mrs. Devers through my own tears the vice principal had a sweet, sad smile on her face.

When Heather started to run down and drew back a little, tried to talk, choking out "I'm sorry" I grabbed her by the ears and shut her up with a full-bore, no-holds-barred kiss, tasting her tears and her snot, contributing my own secretions to the mix as I did. Once we broke the first big smack I kept telling her that I was the one who was sorry, that it was all right, all between gentler kisses and lots of tears, stroking her hair.

Eventually we settled in chairs across from Mrs. Devers, holding hands, Heather choking up whenever she tried to say anything.

"She spent yesterday at the District Attorney's office," Mrs. Devers explained while Heather soaked a solid stream of tissues between the box on the desk and the wastebasket. "She tells me there have been developments that she thought you'd like to know."

"I'm just glad to know she's okay."

"She told me what you did."

"I didn't do anything," I protested.

"Did too!" Heather snorted out.

"I didn't! You did what you knew you had to do."

"And I suppose the three other girls turning up aren't your fault either?" Mrs. Devers asked.

"What three other girls? I don't know what you're talking about!"

"'cause of you, and Daddy, I talked 'em into coming with me." Heather snuffled. "I knew he'd done it to them, too."

That meant three more families for Ms. Andrews to try to piece back together. Shit.

"I had nothing to do with that!" I protested.

"Did too!" Heather insisted. "You started it!"

Mrs. Devers interrupted before it turned into one of those silly "did-didn't" squabbles.

"And I suppose you had nothing to do with Mr. Cagney turning up at the DA's office yesterday about the same time a couple of policemen showed up in the school office looking for him?" She cocked a skeptical eyebrow at me.

"Uh." I sought a way to shift the blame, but couldn't, so I went for distraction, not that Devers would fall for that. "How's your mom and dad taking it?" I asked Heather.

She was down to sniffles. "Mom cries a lot and doesn't want to let me out of her sight. She's out in the parking lot right now, so I can't stay long. I just wanted to tell Mrs. Devers and you what was going on.

"Daddy's got the DA on the warpath. Daddy, he's furious, but not with me, or with you. He's pushing the DA hard, telling him to keep all our names out of the news while making sure <<choke>> -- you-know-who -- <<choke>> gets what's coming to him." <<SNUFF>>

"Daddy also says he's going to turn most of his cases over to his partners, right away, so he won't be traveling so much, at least for a little while. That'll be nice." She managed a tearful smile.

"I didn't..." I trailed off. I didn't know what to say. Apparently I'd succeeded beyond my wildest expectations.

"Dee, you dropped a pebble into the pond and the waves are still spreading," Mrs. Devers said softly. "Thank you."

"She th -- th -- thr -- thr -- threw a whole fucking rock!" Heather stuttered, on the verge of tears again.

"She does make waves, doesn't she?" Mrs. Devers allowed wryly.