Maybe she had been fooling herself. She remainded as suicidal as ever. She had merely found a new way to flirt with death. Because if she lost the game, and Biff had his way with her for a week, she might as well die. Maybe the key was just a pretext. Maybe her love for Darius was just a pretext.
No!
The teacher paused. "A problem, Colene?"
Her pain had shown on her face. "I'm better. Miss Grumman, honest! Maybe I ate too fast."
The teacher let it pass. Colene suppressed her thoughts and paid better attention in class. It was a fair deal.
But on the way home that question resumed. She hardly responded to Julie's chatter. Was she making a mistake? Was she about to torpedo her dream? For even if the illusion didn't end for Darius, it would for her.
Back home, she hurried to the shed. "Oh, Colene, I am so glad to see you!" Darius exclaimed, embracing her. "I feared I would not."
"I have made a deal to recover your key," she said. "Tomorrow."
He stared at her. "You really can recover it?"
"The punks who mugged you couldn't fence it. They thought it was just a fancy slug. I can get it."
"You can buy it?" He had had trouble with the concept of money, but understood it reasonably well now.
"I asked you not to ask."
He was silent. She kissed him, and it was good.
But that night she broached the matter herself. She had discovered that an aspect of love was an extreme reluctance to deceive the object of that love. That was awkward, but there was nothing for it but to play it through. "Darius, there are two ways to do this. I am going to gamble, and if I win, I will have the key for you. If I lose, I will have to be away from you for a week, at night, anyway. I—you said you desire me. I think maybe tonight—"
"No. I want to marry you, unsullied according to your code."
"But I—" She could not continue. How could she tell him she might be bound for a week of disgusting sex with a criminal lout, pretending she liked it, when she had told Darius no? He thought she was pure. "All the same, I think—"
"No."
If she won the game, and got the key without having to pay, and he used it and it didn't work, then the dream would be gone and it would be foolish to have sex with him. If she lost, she would have no pretense of being the kind of girl he wanted. Now was the only time.
"Darius, I told you no before, but now I tell you yes.
Please—"
"No. I will not have you sully yourself by your code for me. I will marry you in honor."
She had never expected this. It wasn't that she was eager for sex; that was far from the case. It was fraught with liabilities the sex-ed teachers hardly imagined. But if she had it with anyone, she wanted it to be him. If she had to have it with someone else, she wanted it first with Darius. But he, with his incomplete understanding of the situation, would not hear of it. If she told him the full truth, he would probably forbid her to recover the key that way.
They were, in their fashion, having a lovers' quarrel. It was not nearly as delightful as she had thought such a thing would be.
She thought of trying to seduce him, of sleeping naked with him. But she realized that this would only demean her in his eyes, and she didn't want that.
How she wished she could believe in his reality!
TUESDAY after school, modestly garbed, she sought Biff's car in the parking lot. Students she knew were runners stood casually here and there, making sure there were no authorities. That protected her as well as him, because both wanted to deal in private.
"You have it?"
49
He lifted a gray disk that exactly fitted the description Darius had given.
"May I see it?"
He handed it to her. She turned it over. There, in tiny etching, was the coding Darius had described. She had not told anyone of this. It was genuine.
She handed it back. "This is it."
"In," he said. "Down."
She walked around the car and got in. She ducked down so that she was not visible from outside. He drove cautiously out, and around the block, checking for pursuit. Satisfied there was none, he drove to his club house across town.
"Up," he said, and she sat normally in the front seat. "How come a clean chick like you wants a damn slug so much?"
She was prepared. "There's a man. He said I could have what I wanted if I got it for him. He doesn't really want it; he just thought I couldn't get it. So I'm getting it."
Biff did not seem to believe her, but was satisfied that she did want it. Few people in his business cared to give their real reasons.
They arrived at the club house. They entered. Inside were four men. She had expected disreputable types, but these were clean-cut. They were also older, in their thirties and forties. No juvenile thugs, these; they were the real thing.
"Before we deal," Biff said. "This never happened. No one was here."
"Yes. You too. No one talks. You win, no one knows how I paid. Not like those four rapists."
Biff nodded. "No one talks. It's private." There was, as she had reflected before, a certain honor in such transactions. No one wanted the police to get wind of either drug operations or juvenile sex. The police wouldn't get rid of either, they would only complicate things for all parties.
"And no welshing," she said. "I win, you give me the slug and take me back near where I live. No rape."
Biff smiled. "If you win to the satisfaction of my friends, no problem. I settle my deals."
"You win, you have me smiling for a week," she said, making sure they were agreed. "Nights only; I can't skip more school. No drugs, no bondage, no hurting. No marking."
"Kid, I like you," Biff said. "Agreed. Now, what's your game?"
Colene nerved herself. Then she began removing her clothes. "You, me, naked. Endurance. The one who fills most cups without falling wins."
Biff smiled. "Naked endurance? Chick, I know you ain't thinking what I'm thinking!"
"For sure," she agreed, removing her shoes and socks. "Naked to prove there's no cheating. No hidden tubes or things. We stand separate. Each has a bucket, or whatever. Several cups, maybe. No one touches either of us. We get no help."
"We got buckets," Biff said. He gestured, and one of the men left the room, returning in a moment with two plastic buckets. He set one before each of them.
Colene continued to strip. She had her shirt off, and removed her bra. She was doing something she had dreamed of: a strip tease before strange men who were honor-bound not to touch her or to tell. She could see that all of them were now fascinated, and not just because of her increasing nudity; they wondered just what she was up to.
"I can do that," Biff said. He removed his own shirt. Colene started on her lower half, pulling down her skirt.
"Knives. Good ones. Sharp and clean."
"I got a blade," Biff said. A handle appeared in his hand, and from it suddenly snapped a wicked narrow four-inch blade. It was obvious that he knew how to use it.
"I need one too," Colene said. She turned to one of the spectators. "May I borrow yours?"
The man was surely a killer, but he looked startled. Then he reached into his jacket and brought out an old-fashioned barber's shaving knife. He unfolded it. The blade was a good inch longer than Biff's, but it wasn't the same kind of weapon. It was a slicer, not a stabber. The kind used to slit throats. She felt a chill, now realizing that nature of his business. He was an enforcer, a contract man. He extended it to her, holding it by the blade.
Colene smiled most sweetly, though there was a layer of the ice of fear coating her heart. "Thank you, sir," she said, taking the handle. "I will return it to you soon."
Now they were twice as curious as before. "Kid, I got to tell you, if you figure to knife-fight Biff—" the owner of the razor started.
"Not exactly," Colene said. Holding the razor carefully so as not to cut herself, she tucked her fingers into her panties and slid them down. Now she was all the way naked, and the ey
es of all five men were locked onto her body. What a fantasy she was playing out, for real! She turned in place, all the way around, so that they could see everything. She was really pleased that they liked it; this did wonders for her self-esteem, in its macabre fashion.
Biff had meanwhile stripped to his jock, but here he hesitated. She knew why: her little show was giving him an erection, and he didn't want to bare it unless sex really was part of the game.
"You can wear that," she told him. "I'm satisfied there's nothing in there."
Biff scowled, but one of the men chuckled.
"All right, what's your game?" Biff demanded.
Then she dropped her bombshell. "Just this: who can bleed the most before falling. You know, like a knockout, count to ten, you're out. The one left standing wins."
"Bleed?" Biff asked, dismayed.
"I'll cut my arm, you cut yours. We bleed into our buckets. The men measure the blood. If I faint at two pints and you're still standing, and you've bled two and a half pints, you win."
"That's no game!" Biff protested.
"It's my game," she said evenly. "It's as good a game as knife-fighting, only we bleed ourselves. Isn't it fair?" She looked at the other men.
They looked at each other. Then the one who had lent her the razor shrugged. "It's fair. Biff," he said. "We knew she wasn't coming here to play posies. She said endurance. She didn't say what kind."
Biff swallowed. He was now in the position of put up or shut up. "Okay. You start."
He thought she was bluffing. He didn't know she was suicidal. "Gladly." She extended her left arm over her bucket, lifted the razor, and made one fast pass across her forearm. No bluffing here!
The edge was, by no coincidence, razor sharp. It cut much deeper than she had expected, almost painless in the first seconds. Blood welled out immediately, flowed across her arm, and dripped into the bucket. There was so much of it that it threatened to spill onto the floor. She had to lower her hand, so that the blood flowed down and off her fingers. Now the pain was coming, but it really wasn't bad. It was masked by excitement. She had done it! With aplomb, even. She had never cut herself like this before! What a sight it was!
She looked up. Biff was standing there, staring. So were the others.
"What's the matter?" she inquired sweetly. "Never seen blood before?"
This time two of them chuckled.
She addressed Biff. "You're a lot bigger than I am," she said. "You must have twice as much blood in you as I have in me. You can beat me easy, if you care to."
"She's right," the razor man said.
Still Biff stood, not moving.
"But you have to play the game," Colene said. "It's not fair to let me bleed myself out if you don't even start."
The men nodded. "Do it. Biff," one said.
"But what good's a bled-out chick to me?" Biff demanded somewhat plaintively. "Me weakened, and her unconscious—"
"There's no time limit on the payoff," Colene said. "I thought you'd want it right away, but you can take a rain check. Make it six months from now. I'll be there. You know where I live." She looked down again at the blood dripping from her hand, so bright and beautiful. She felt dizzy, and knew it wasn't from the blood loss; it was exhilaration.
Still Biff hesitated.
"Biff, she's got you," the razor man said. "Cut or yield."
Biff considered a moment more. At last he smiled. "Okay, kid, you beat me. You win."
"Thank you," she said. But she didn't move.
"Here's your slug," he said, handing it to her. She took it with her knife-hand, carefully.
"Thank you," she repeated. She had the victory, if she didn't lose her nerve now and do something monumentally stupid. So she did nothing. That seemed safest.
Biff took his clothes and walked from the room. One of the other men fetched some bandage material. Trust them to have such supplies; they probably had to doctor their own bullet wounds. "You won, kid; we won't touch you. But you gotta let us help you before you bleed to death."
"Thank you," she said a third time, smiling.
They did a competent job of closing and bandaging her wound, and helped her get dressed. Not one tried to handle her body even "accidentally," but they seemed to like handing her the panties, bra, and skirt. It was as if each wanted to have a personal part in what had turned out to be a most unusual game. "I'll take you home, if that's okay with you," the razor man said. "I don't think Biff feels like it."
"Just remember, no—"
"Kid, you won. No one touches you. Not now, not ever. Not until you say so. We're—you know what we are. But you got our respect. Just keep your mouth shut, and it's done."
"Thank you," she said once again. "You may take me home." She completed her dressing, donning her shoes.
The razor man extended his elbow. Startled by this bit of chivalry, Colene put her hand on it, and walked with him out of the building.
He drove her home. "Kid, you're as gutsy as I've ever seen," he said. "If you're ever in bad trouble, ask for Slick. We'll make a deal."
"Thank you." It seemed to be the only thing she was able to say now. She was riding on a high like none before. She had played her scene flawlessly, every part of it, and it had worked exactly as she had hoped. What a dream come true! It wasn't just that she had won the key, it was that she had made one of her weird fantasies come true, and gotten away with it. She had liked stripping before those tough men, having them admire her body. Rape she did not like at all, but this had been showmanship. See, no touch. There was all the difference in the world.
He drew to a stop a block from her home. "You can walk from here. I'll watch, then go."
"Thank you." She slid out.
"You got a nice little body," he said as she closed the door. "Damn nice. Keep it clean, kid. Don't mess with our kind if you don't have to."
"Thank you," she said yet again, experiencing another thrill of pleasure. Then she walked away, knowing he was watching that body in motion. His name was Slick, as in slick-as-a-razor. She would remember.
THINGS were normal at home: Dad was out and Mom was drunk. Colene fixed herself a generous meal and bundled it up and took it out to the shed. If she was spending more time there now than she used to, nobody noticed. As long as she kept her grades up and stayed out of trouble, nobody cared. There had been a time when that bothered her.
She knocked, then entered. Darius had been snoozing; there really wasn't much for him to do, as he had not made much progress learning to read her books.
She brought out the key and held it up.
He seemed almost afraid to touch it. But when he turned it over and saw the coding, he knew.
"Colene, I didn't think you could do it!" he said, hugging her. "But you have! You have recovered the key! We can go to my reality!"
Now she was descending from her euphoria. She had not actually lost that much blood, but she had taken a phenomenal risk, and knew it. It had been her luck that Biff had been squeamish about letting his own blood, and that his criminal friends had had a sense of honor about a game played by their rules. In the letting of her own blood she had shown guts, not quite literally, and they had respected that. She knew that some killers had very conservative family lives and were kind to children. But some were otherwise. She had gambled that not only could she beat Biff, but that his friends would side with her. She had won, but she wouldn't care to try it again.
Now she faced another gamble: that Darius wasn't crazy or a con-man. Because either that key would work or it wouldn't. And she knew it wouldn't. Which meant that the lovely bubble would burst, and things would be back as they had been before.
She set down her bundle of food. "I think we'd better talk," she said. She spread out the makings, and they began to eat.
"Yes, of course." His actual speech was much more limited, but she liked to think of it as educated and courtly, and her fancy filled in the nuances. "I realize that it is a daunting decision, to leave your family and your entir
e Mode, without any guarantee that—"
" 'Snot that, Darius. I want to go. I love what you have described. I have nothing much to hold me here. And if you can't marry me, but all the rest is real, well, I'll be your lover instead. You've been up-front about that aspect. But there's a problem."
"You don't believe me," he said.
"I wish I could! But I just don't."
"When I take you there, you will believe. I will take you there now, if you wish. With the key—"
"Here's the thing: suppose you take that key, and hold it to your head, and make your wish—and nothing happens? What then?"
"Colene, it will work. The same Chip that sent me here will bring me back. But as I said, you do not need to believe, because this is not a matter of faith. I will take you there, and then we shall discover whether you can multiply your joy, and—oh, I want so much to marry you!"
"You have faith, but I don't, and these things don't necessarily work unless you believe in them."
He smiled. "If it doesn't work, I will be amazed!"
"If it doesn't work," she said doggedly, "you will be crazy." There: she had said it.
He glanced more intently at her. "You believe I am not sane?"
How she hated this. "Darius, I think I love you, but I'm a realist. I think you are deluded. I think you have a dream that's a wonderful thing, and you've spent years perfecting it, but somehow you got out of the institution and I found you, and now it's my dream too, but I know that's all it is. When you try to use that key, the dream will be over. Because I'm not crazy, and I'm not going to be. So what do we do, after you try that thing and nothing happens?"
"You do not wish to try it, and discover the truth of it directly?"
"Discovering the truth directly can be a whole lot of trouble," she said, pushing down memories that were trying to rise, like bodies buried in muck. "I'd rather know what I'm getting into first."
"What would persuade you to try it?"
"If there were some way it could be believed. I mean, I don't believe in ghosts either, but if one came in here and said 'Boo!' to me, I'd sure check it out and maybe change my mind. Same thing for a flying saucer, a UFO." Here it took some time for her to get the concept across, and they finally settled on Ship Containing Alien Creatures. "But if one landed beside my house, I'd consider it. Can you show me anything to make me believe you?"