Maddy felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see who was behind her and felt her heart miss a beat when she saw Ricky Rourke. He was the most popular guy in school, next to Marcus. He was beyond good-looking, with blond hair and blue eyes, and he knew it, and for Maddy, that ruined all the good things she knew about him. He made good grades, was respectful to the teachers, didn't brag too much when his father had given him a brand-new bright-yellow Camaro for his sixteenth birthday. But all in all, he was an ass, just like Marcus. Tonight, he wore a white tuxedo, with a pale blue shirt and cummerbund that matched his eyes.
“You look hot tonight, Maddy. Wanna dance with me?”
She felt his warm breath on her neck. Suddenly she felt helpless as chills traveled down her spine. She cleared her throat, turning around so that she could see his face. “Did Marcus put you up to this?” she asked, not caring. She'd known Ricky forever and didn't really like or dislike him. However, his asking her to dance set alarm bells ringing. He rarely spoke to her. Why would he bother asking her to dance?
The invitation reeked of Marcus's work. The fine hairs on the back of her neck moved. A warning. She should pay attention. She really should.
Ricky gave a short laugh. “No, Marcus has nothing to do with it. You look unbelievably pretty tonight, that's all. I just thought you might want to dance. I like the curls in your hair.”
Maddy drew in a breath, unsure, because she was not used to compliments from one of the hottest guys in school. Maybe Ricky truly was being sincere. Marcus didn't rule everyone. The hairs on the back of her neck were still moving, however. She ignored them. What the heck, she thought, maybe he was being truthful; she didn't know him to be a liar. Because it was prom night, and she doubted she would have another opportunity to dance, she decided to throw caution to the wind.
“I,” she stammered over her next words, “would like to dance.” Then she added, “Sure,” hoping she didn't come off as desperate, “what the hell?” As though she used this kind of language regularly. She didn't. She instantly regretted what she'd said. “I'm sorry, that just slipped out. What I meant was, yes, Ricky, I would love to dance with you.”
Surprise registered on Ricky's handsome face. His dark eyes glinted with a trace of humor, and his perfect smile revealed that the many years of orthodontics his parents had paid for were worth the cost. He reached for her hand. “This is going to be the best night of your life. I promise.”
A bit hesitant, Maddy took Ricky's hand, then suddenly stopped as a cloud of darkness swept over her, a sense of foreboding, the feeling coming on so suddenly it was disturbing. “I . . . I changed my mind, Ricky. I don't think dancing with you is such a good idea after all.” She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was stronger. He squeezed her hand a bit too hard, pulling her toward him.
“Let go of me! I said I don't want to dance!” Maddy's raised voice could be heard over the slow love song oozing from the speakers. She felt several couples turn to stare at her. She took a deep breath. Not wanting to cause a scene, she quickly relented.
“Never mind. One dance.” She would dance with him, then she was out of here. She didn't need a remake of that scene in Stephen King's novel
Carrie.
Ricky actually acted as though she'd hurt his feelings. “Hey, I'm not that bad, am I?” He grinned, and Maddy gave him a halfhearted smile. Jerk.
“Well?” he persisted as he guided her toward the exit of the gymnasium.
Maddy didn't answer. “Where are we going?” she asked as he led her to the exit door.
“I'm just gonna have a smoke first. That okay with you?” His voice suddenly sounded curt, almost as if he were daring her.
“Sure.” She was lying, and she knew that he knew it. She didn't care.
Once outside, he fumbled inside his jacket pocket and whipped out a package of Kools. He stuck one between his lips, then swiped a match on the cement wall. He held the flame to the cigarette, drawing deeply, all the while his eyes never leaving her. She averted her eyes and wished she'd stayed inside. He was a jerk, just like Marcus.
Outside the gym, the night air was thick with humidity, leaving her skin clammy and damp. The curls in her stick-straight hair that had taken forever to style were now drooping, despite all the hair spray she'd used.
She was uncomfortable while she waited for Ricky to finish his cigarette and felt weird standing next to him, so she took a few steps away, then turned her back to him, pretending to gaze at something that wasn't there.
“Stay here,” Ricky said.
For the second time that evening, Maddy felt a slight prickle of fear, a bit of apprehension. Not wanting Ricky to pick up on her sudden anxiousness, she turned to face him. “Who says I'm going anywhere?” She tried to sound tough, and unafraid, but she knew she came off as a wimp and slightly on edge.
Ricky dropped his cigarette on the cement, then crushed it out with his shiny, black-leather dress shoe. “You promised you'd dance, remember?”
This was getting beyond creepy. Unsure whether she should run back inside to the safety of the gymnasium or show Ricky Rourke that he didn't intimidate her in the least, she decided on the latter, figuring she had nothing to lose. One dance, then she would go home.
She nodded and started walking toward the door when she felt strong hands grab her from behind. “What the heck . . .”
The words were barely out of her mouth before a second pair of hands reached for her, cramming her mouth full of what felt like T-shirt material that reeked with dried perspiration. She gagged, then yanked her arms as she tried to free herself, trying to shove the nasty cloth from her mouth with the force of her tongue. Suddenly, another pair of strong hands squeezed her wrists even tighter, yanking them so high they almost reached the top of her shoulder blades. Hot shards of pain rippled in her arms and neck.
She heard the sound of tape ripping, the deep, gushing sound of her heart beating wildly in her ears. Quickly and efficiently, her wrists were bound securely behind her back. She tried to scream, but her effort was useless, snuffed out by the gag they'd jammed in her mouth.
Shaking uncontrollably, she did her best to focus on the hushed words coming from the guys as they dragged her all the way to the darkened football field, stopping when they reached the bleachers, pulling her under them for protection just in case there were any prying eyes, then dropping her like a sack of potatoes. Her silver sandals hung loosely around her ankles, her heels raw and bleeding from being dragged along the gravel path leading from the gymnasium to the football field, which was at least two hundred yards behind the school.
Through blurred vision, she saw slats of lights coming through the bleachers, and then she heard another spurt of laughter coming from her attackers.
“Ain't no one gonna come lookin' for ya, Maddy,” one of the guys said in a hushed, phony voice.
Focus.
She had to concentrate if she wanted to get away from these freaks. This was her only hope of seeing that they didn't get away with whatever they were planning. If she could identify the harshly whispered words of her attackers, she might be able to put names to the voices. For sure, Ricky Rourke could be named. He'd duped her into thinking he wanted to dance with her. And she'd been a complete and total fool, playing right into his dirty hands.
That bastard
, she thought. Just wait. These pieces of scum would regret the day they ever whispered her name.
One of the boysâshe couldn't make out his features, as it was dark under the bleachers, and what bit of light shone through wasn't enough for her to identify himâgave her breast a hard pinch. Someone grabbed her hands, which remained bound behind her, and pulled her away from the bleachers to a spot where the lighting was better.
“What the hell are you doing?” one of the guys whispered harshly.
He gave a bitter laugh. “I wanna look at her, you stupid ass! What do you think I'm doing? Isn't this why we snatched her? Get with the program, bud.”
Maddy tried her very best to identify the voices but couldn't because the boys were all whispering, trying to disguise their voices. Straining to make out their features, she also realized that they were covering their faces with some kind of cloth, the way the bandits did in the old westerns she and her friend Cassie used to watch. Except for the eyes. They needed to see. Bastards. Tears clogged her throat. Fearful that she would choke, she focused her attention on the sounds, hoping she might hear her brother, Marcus. None of them even remotely sounded like her brother. Was it possible that he wasn't behind this, after all?
Before she could answer her own question, she felt the front of her gown being pulled down to her waist, exposing her breasts. More tears spilled, and her nose stopped up, making it even more difficult to breathe. She tried to speak through the nasty piece of material stuffed in her mouth, but she only managed to produce garbled noises.
This made them laugh at her.
“The bitch sounds like a retard.”
“We need to get back to the gym before we're missed.”
“Yeah, we know. We better get our money's worth after what we paid Marcus.”
Maddy stiffened in shock. She seethed with an anger unlike any she'd ever known. And humiliation. So this was how Marcus kept his cash flowing. Fire burned deep in her gut.
One of the boys grabbed her breast, squeezing so hard that it brought tears to her eyes. “Yep, Marcus was right. They're real.”
More laughter, then another set of hands took turns touching her breasts, pinching her. Then what she feared most happened next. Someone pulled her long dress up around her waist. Knowing what was about to happen, Maddy did her best to try to scream through the gag in her mouth, but she only sounded more garbled than before.
“Hey,” someone shouted, “Marcus said all we could do was look at her boobs. Man, this is not right. Come on, back off
now
!”
Maddy heard the words and prayed that they would be struck down by some unknown force, some superhero or whatnot, that silently protected girls like her. She wished she believed in a higher power, anything to get her through what she knew would define her for the rest of her life.
“Crap!” said one of the boys, “She wears granny panties, and they aren't even silk! What a downer! Man, from the way Marcus talked, I thought she'd be wearing a pair of those sexy crotchless things from Victoria's Secret. I'm going to make Marcus give me my frigging money back.”
Seething with a mounting rage so intense she felt as though her head were about to explode, she tried to swallow another round of sobs as they pushed their way up her throat. Wishing she'd told Ricky no when he asked her to dance was useless at this point, she thought, as a slimy hand reached for the waistband of her white-cotton panties.
A round of laughter, from at least four boys, Maddy guessed. She heard Ricky Rourke sneer, a sound she knew from science class with Mr. Bledsoe. Every time Ricky was asked a question, he'd give that particularly unattractive sound, a sort of gush of breath followed by a low growl. The son of a bitch.
As she lay on the dew-soaked grass at the edge of the football field, partially beneath the bleachers, her arms twisted behind her at an unnatural angle, the backs of her feet raw and burning while the group of boys took turns looking at her most private area and touching her, Maddy prayed that one of the chaperones had seen her step outside with Ricky and, hopefully, would come outside to look for her. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut and allowing another round of tears to trickle down her dirt-encrusted face, Maddy reluctantly accepted the fact that no one was going to come looking for her.
She'd made it a point her entire life to do her best to go unnoticed, to remain as anonymous as one could in such a small town, despite the circumstances of her family life and living conditions, which the entire town of Blossom Cityâpopulation 3,742, according to the sign at the city limitsâwas quite aware of. She'd heard the whispers, and jeers, observed the faces of the townspeople when they crossed paths. You would've thought she'd committed a crime by name alone, or that she had an infectious disease. And for this, she hated her mother beyond belief. If she knew who had fathered her, she was sure she would hate him, too.
A sweaty hand grabbed the waistband of her panties and yanked, the sound of ripping cotton bumping up her level of fear so high, she thought she might pass out. Again, she tried to scream, to yell, anything to prevent what she knew was about to happen, but all she did was gag on the built-up saliva from her inability to properly swallow.
Closing her eyes as tightly as she could, she forced her mind to another place, a safe place, where girls like her were wanted and needed. And loved and cared for. But there was not a single happy recollection she could call up to help her. She tried to remember a pleasant experience from her childhood, a trip maybe, but couldn't. She tried to recall a time when her life was happy and carefree, when she lived without fear. She couldn't.
Next she felt a hot, searing pain in her most private area, then pounding against her thin body. Over and over. Again and again. She silently prayed for a quick death, an end to the physical and emotional trauma she was suffering before she thankfully blacked out.
Later, she didn't know how much time had passed, only that it was still dark outside, and she sensed she was alone, though the smell of sweat and fear still clung to her in the humid night air. She discovered that her arms had been freed of the heavy-duty duct tape. Someone had made a halfhearted attempt to pull the bodice of her dress over her breasts and cover her from the waist down with the torn remnants of the prom dress she'd carefully chosen for this night, which should have been special, memorable. Memorable, yes, but not in the way she'd hoped for. Tears fell freely from her eyes, and she tasted the saltiness as they fell to her mouth. She had awakened from a real nightmare. She would never forget this night as long as she lived.