Mr. Wang pours a second cup of punch and brings it over to Janie. “For you,” he says. His black eyes are shiny. He sits next to Janie and leans back, closing his eyes.
“Long day, Chris?” Janie says when Desiree slips away to refill her glass.
He opens a lazy eye. “Long and hard,” he says wickedly.
Janie nods. “Thanks for sharing.” She holds the cup in her hand. Listening to the music. It’s the Black Eyed Peas. “Got any Mos Def?” Janie asks.
“Mos’ definitely,” Mr. Wang says, laughing at his own stupid joke. He lunges unsteadily toward her. “Whoa,” he whispers, catching himself on her thigh. “I’ll just get that on later. Hey, you know, lighten up already, princess,” he says, tilting his head quizzically. “Your type is supposed to get plastered at these kinds of parties. You know, free booze.” He leans in and sniffs her neck. “You smell terrific,” he says. He rests his sweaty head on her shoulder.
My type? Janie burns. She can’t help it. She wants to kick Mr. Wang’s ass. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “You wanna know what the trailer trash like, huh, Chris?”
“Not all the trailer trash. Just you.” He’s slurring his words.
“Wait right here for me, then,” she says, shrugging Mr. Wang’s head off her shoulder and trying to hold in her disgust. “I’ll be back.”
“Oh yeah,” he says, grinning happily.
Janie mingles her way to the bathroom with her untouched punch and stands in line. By the time she gets in there, she hears the clumping of a dozen feet coming up the stairs. Mr. Durbin’s explaining boisterously that somebody’s gotta be the one to start eating, because the girls aren’t doing it. She locks herself in the bathroom and does the drink test again.
Spreads the drop of punch on the paper.
Waits thirty seconds.
Watches it change to bright blue.
Her stomach lurches.
Rooffies.
She dumps the punch into the toilet, and flushes.
Searches through the drawers and cupboards for bottles of liquid, powder, or pills. Finds nothing. Janie could call in the cops now, she knows. But she doesn’t have proof that it was Mr. Durbin who did it. What if one of the other students brought it in? If Janie can find the drugs, it’ll help even more in prosecuting the bastard. She remembers the last case, how frustrated Cabel and Captain were when Baker and Cobb busted the drug scene before Cabel could get the location of the cocaine. Janie wants proof. Wants to get this done right. It’s still early, she thinks as she rifles through Mr. Durbin’s things. I can find it.
Heads across the hall and searches the bedroom. Slips into the other bedroom and searches it, too. Nothing, nothing. Back downstairs, she thinks.
It’s hot, and Janie’s really thirsty now. She takes a sip from the beer in her hand. It’s flat and warm. But it’ll have to do. Captain won’t blame her for trying to stay hydrated, will she? After all, Janie’s just being smart. She knows from experience that she can easily handle two beers without it affecting her.
Janie eases past a few guys standing in the kitchen and heads to the basement. The TV and lights are all on. But everyone is upstairs now. She hopes they stay that way. She slips into the dark room with the lab table, and peers at the labels, moving the big items to search for smaller containers. She doesn’t see what she’s looking for. Frustrated, she turns and goes back upstairs. Dumps out the rest of her stale beer. Grabs a fresh one from the refrigerator and a paper plate from the food table.
She loads up her plate, taking a long, thirsty swig of her beer between the meatballs and the veggie tray. It’s gotta be here somewhere, she thinks. Maybe Durbin’s bedroom? But the door’s closed, and it’s right off the great room. I’d be seen. And what if he’s in there?
Janie shoves half a meatball in her mouth, and chews. Delicious. She noshes on a carrot stick, and moves toward the great room. Finds a place in the crowd to stand and eat. Thinking. Thinking hard.
People are out of control.
She munches, eyes like slits, looking for Mr. Durbin and Mr. Wang. The roar of voices is growing stronger every minute. The music grows steadily louder.
She concentrates on her watch. Makes her eyes focus. 11:08 p.m.
11:09 p.m.
Squeezes between two guys with her plate of food and her beer, and discovers what they are so engrossed in watching.
Janie stares at the scene. She’s feeling the effects of the beer, even though she only sipped a little from the first and drank half of the second. Still, she’s dying of thirst and doesn’t dare to drink anything else. She chugs down the rest of this beer, and then eats quickly, knowing she still has work to do. Knowing things are getting a little crazy.
She glances at the punch bowl. Nearly empty. Students are sprawled around the room, sitting on one anothers’ laps, making out. A few are sitting alone, a vacant, dazed look on their faces. And in the middle of the room, where everyone else’s eyes are riveted, Mr. Wang and Stacey O’Grady are dirty dancing. Very dirty. Mr. Wang’s shirt is off, and his muscles bulge and shine with sweat. Janie’s eyes wander over his body, and she is surprised to find him suddenly, strangely, attractive.
Stacey is completely toasted. She can hardly stand up. Janie reminds herself to keep an eye on her. People are slurping the dregs of the punch, like it’s a desert oasis. Mr. Durbin comes from the kitchen with more.
Janie lets her eyes wander lazily as she eats. She’s feeling tired. Mellow. The guys who aren’t otherwise occupied head back downstairs, tripping and shoving their way to the TV. Janie’s head is buzzing now, and she’s surprised—she’s only really had one beer. She should eat more, she tells herself, to stop the buzz.
Back in the kitchen, she loads up her plate a second time, head starting to spin. She leans against the counter, hoping it will pass.
And then she stops.
A distant thought—a nudge. Something she was about to do. She pictures it.
Looks up on top of the refrigerator.
A can of paint stripper.
A bottle of Red Devil Lye.
That’s . . . something, she thinks, screwing her eyes shut, trying to concentrate. But her brain isn’t working right. That’s . . . that’s it. She knows she needs to remember it, but now she can’t imagine why.
Janie’s buzzing hard now, and she’s not sure she likes it. She sits down on the floor and digs into the food, trying to stop spinning, finish the food on her plate, feeling sleepy. Gotta call . . . The thought pops into her head, but leaves again just as quickly. Someone trips over her leg, and Janie drags her body up off the floor and stands, and then tries to remember why she stood up at all. She shakes her head, attempting to clear her mind, and gets dizzy, nearly falls, bumping into somebody else who looks vaguely familiar. She laughs at herself and remembers what she has to do. She picks up her plate and throws it in the garbage can. Two points.
Her skin is tingling as she wanders around, checking out the students on the couches who are in various stages of pre-sex. Janie watches them curiously. And then she thinks maybe she’s in somebody’s dream. She stumbles around the great room, knowing that if she really is in somebody else’s dream, no one else can see her. Stacey and Mr. Wang are gone. Too bad, because Janie wanted to watch them dance some more.
Twelve something in the morning. Janie’s eyes linger on the clock, not quite comprehending the position of the hands.
There’s a sudden ruckus in the room, and Janie rouses herself, trying to remember where she is and why she is there. She stands up from the floor, wondering how she got there in the first place. Mr. Durbin is standing by the door, handing Coach Crater a drink. Crater drinks it down in one shot, and Janie is impressed. He’s cute, too, she thinks. And she is still so thirsty. She wanders to the kitchen, looks in the refrigerator, and sees her dessert. “Hey,” she says, her tongue feeling strangely thick. “I should set that out.” She reaches for it, misses on the first try, but gets it on the next one—after serious concentration.
And someone is touching her bum.
She stands up and sets the dessert on the counter, so she doesn’t drop it. “Whoa,” she says, laughing.
“Mm,” says Mr. Durbin. “Here, I brought you something to drink. You look thirsty.” He’s slurring his words too, thinks Janie. It must be his dream. Janie remembers that she should be glad to be in Mr. Durbin’s dream, but she can’t remember why.
She smiles gratefully. “Thank you so much,” she gushes, and holds up the cup, feeling like there might be something she’s supposed to know about it, but her thirst overwhelms her. “Is everything tipping just a little bit in here?” she asks, laughing like it’s the funniest thing she’s thought of all day, and then puts the cup to her lips. The punch slides down her throat, cooling it. “I thought all the punch was gone. Mm, oh god. That’s so yummy,” she says.
And then Mr. Durbin’s pushing her back against the counter and kissing her, and she’s feeling his hot tongue on hers. She starts kissing him back, because that’s what feels right. The fuzziness in her brain grows.
“I gotta go . . . ,” she says suddenly, pulling away.
“No, you don’t have to go.”
“I mean, to the bathroom,” she says seriously.
“There’s one in my bedroom,” he says, his eyes hungry.
“Oh, cool. Do you still have that porn magazine in there?” Janie hesitates too late, wondering if she was supposed to say that, but she can’t remember why she shouldn’t.
“Lots of them,” he says. “Not that I need them with you here.”
“Huh.” She follows him through the dazed and half-naked crowd. He stops to grab another glass of punch, and gives her another one too. On the way to Mr. Durbin’s bedroom, Janie waves at Coach Crater. “Hey,” she says, turning back to Mr. Durbin. “Wasn’t Stacey here? Before?”
“She’s still here, Janie.” His words are deliberate, like he’s concentrating. “She’s fucking Chris in the other bedroom, so we can fuck in here.” His words sound like slow-motion, matter of fact, and Janie is certain she’s in his dream now.
He shows her to the bathroom, and she decides maybe she should close the door, even though she doesn’t feel like it. It’s so much work. But that’s weird, because if it’s Mr. Durbin’s dream, why would she be in a room where she can’t see him?
She sits down on the toilet, her head heavy. Something seems wrong, but she doesn’t know what it is. She sits there for a long time, in a half-dream. She almost falls asleep, she’s feeling so warm and mellow. And in her mind, she’s whirling through memories that pop in and out of her brain.
She hears a knocking sound, far away.
“Just go home, Carrie,” she mumbles.
She can’t seem to open her eyes.
She leans to the right, and there’s a cool, comfortable wall to rest her cheek on.
There is another knocking sound. But this one turns into a car’s-engine knock, and Stacey’s driving. There’s going to be a man coming any second from the backseat, Janie remembers, and then he’s there, gripping Stacey around the neck. His hands are sexy, she thinks.
“Come on, Janie, don’t be shy,” she hears from far away, and Janie rouses herself.
“What?” she says.
“Come on out, sweetheart. We’re all waiting for you.”
It must be Cabel. He sleeps a lot. And then she remembers she’s sitting on the toilet, and she chuckles silently to herself and finishes up.
She drinks a long drink from the bathroom tap. She’s so thirsty. She wants milk. Milk always makes her feel stronger. She turns to leave, but the door is gone. It’s just a wall now.
She scratches her head.
Looks around.
Laughs.
It’s on the other wall.
Stumbling, Janie bumps against the door, trying to push it, and finally tries pulling it. It opens, and Mr. Durbin is on the bed. There are three girls from class with him, and he’s taking their clothes off as they lie there.
Janie finds this fascinating.
But now she remembers that she wants milk, so she walks carefully out of the bedroom, trying not to bang into anything.
Mr. Wang is standing by the slider door in his underwear, letting the cool air inside the house. “That feels great,” Janie says. She breathes it in.
It smells like cigarette smoke.
She stands there, spinning. There it is again. That thing that feels funny.
Coach Crater comes down the hallway toward them, as Janie tries to remember why she came to the kitchen.
“Hey, there you are, Buffy,” he says.
Surprisingly he’s wearing jeans and a shirt, although his shirt is open and his chest hair shows.
Janie looks around. Walks back to look in the great room. Everyone is practically naked. How bizarre, she thinks, and goes back to feel the cold air again.
And then Coach Crater grabs her by the shoulders and turns her toward him. He plants a big wet kiss on her mouth. And moves on.
He’s tripping as he walks to get more punch.
She remembers that she doesn’t think she likes him. But maybe that’s not really true.
It’s so hard to decide what is true.
She smells more cigarette smoke, and she has an urge to go outside to have a cigarette. So she goes to the door.
Outside on the deck, it’s dark. Mr. Wang follows her out there, in his Calvin Klein briefs. Janie breathes in the cold air. She holds on tightly to the railing when Mr. Wang starts touching her. “I smelled smoke,” she explains, but she doesn’t see anyone smoking.
And then Coach Crater comes out too. Mr. Wang is kissing her neck, and Coach is telling her how hot she is and feeling her up, and he says something about bench pressing.
Finally she remembers why she hates him.
And she remembers that she smelled smoke, but no one is smoking.
Then, in her mind, while the two men kiss and touch her, is Miss Stubin.
Telling her something.
Janie struggles to listen. She remembers liking that old lady for some reason.
Cigarette, Miss Stubin says in Janie’s mind.
“I need a cigarette,” Janie whispers.
Use your lighter, Miss Stubin says. In your pocket.
“I need a cigarette,” Janie says louder. “Now.”
Coach Crater goes inside and comes back with a joint. “How’s this, Buffy?”
“Okay.” Janie takes the joint with a shrug and reaches into her pocket. She didn’t know she had a lighter. Maybe the old maid put it there.
And then the words register, from what Coach Crater just said.
Janie.
Does not like.
To be called.
Buffy.
Janie reels back against the deck’s handrail, stumbling, grabs Coach’s arm off her breast, wrenches his elbow around so he twirls and faces the other way, and she kicks him, hard, in the kidneys. “Don’t call me ‘Buffy,’ ” she says mildly. “Ever again.”
His feet splay sideways and he lands with a thud on the wet deck, moaning.
Janie pulls the lighter from her pocket as Mr. Wang stares. She examines it, puts the joint in her mouth, and pulls back the lid.
She tries lighting it.
No fire comes out.
She tries it again.
Mr. Wang is confused, looking at Coach Crater, who is groaning and barely moving on the deck.
“Get me a fucking lighter that works, or I’ll beat the shit out of you, too,” she says to Mr. Wang, and sinks to the deck, exhausted. When her hip starts buzzing, she just figures it’s one of those weird things that have been happening all night.
She looks at Coach Crater. He’s sprawled every which way. His hands are reaching. Reaching for her leg. She watches them, like it’s not happening to her. She focuses on his fingers, thinking how weird fingers are. Like little animals, all their own.
He’s wearing a strange, square ring. She wants it, sort of. It looks cool, like he belongs to
something.
Mr. Wang returns with a lighter just as Janie’s hip buzzes again. Maybe she’ll have to have her whole leg amputated, she thinks sadly. That would really suck.
She lights the joint and inhales the smoke. Holds it in. Lets it out slowly. Mr. Wang falls to the deck next to her and starts kissing her cleavage.
She doesn’t like that, she decides. He’s in her way. She’s trying to smoke a joint here.
She makes a peace sign with her fingers, marveling over them. Then, when Mr. Wang grabs her nipple in his mouth, she stabs him in the eyeballs.
She learned that somewhere.
She doesn’t know where.
Mr. Wang swings his fist wildly, crying out in pain. He catches her on the jaw, her head flies back and hits the deck’s rail, and she blacks out. The joint burns down between her fingers.
NOT ALL RIGHT
March 5, 2006, 6:13 a.m.
Janie is dreaming. She’s dreaming Stacey’s dream, over and over again, and she’s dreaming that she can’t pull out of it. She tries. Hard. But she’s stuck on the rapist in the backseat.
Over and over again, the dream pauses on the rapist’s hands. And then she sees it.
She gasps awake and sits up wildly, even though she’s numb. “Oh god,” she croaks, her voice gone. She can’t see. But someone is talking, rubbing her hands, her arms. Soothing her with his voice. She’s breathing hard, in and out, and she cries hot tears, because all she wants is to open her eyes. But they feel open.
“I need my glasses,” she cries out in a broken voice. “I can’t see.”
“Janie, it’s me, Cabel. I’m right here. I have your glasses, and you’ll be able to see in a few minutes. You’re safe.” His voice breaks and he pauses. “You’re safe. Just sit back and rest. Wait for it. You’ll see shadows in a minute, and then everything else will come back, okay?”
Janie slumps back.
She shudders, but she can’t remember why.
She tries to breathe, in and out.
“What time is it?” she whispers.
“Six fifteen.”