Rachel Ruggles

5^th period

Short Stories

No Destination

The first thing men look for in a potential victim is their hairstyle and clothing.  Long hair usually tied back, and loose fitted clothing is most desirable.  This makes it easy to remove clothing, while also giving something to grab on to.  Next, they look for distractions.  Women talking on a cell phone or rummaging through their purse makes them unaware of their surrounding and easily overpowered.  Time and place are crucial.  Attacks often take place during the early hours of 5:00am to 8:30am, and abductions can occur anywhere from vacant parking lots and garages to public restrooms. 

~

            Kitty boarded the train early that morning, not knowing exactly where he was going.  It has been twenty-two years since he wore his skull and cross bone leather jacket, his tight rawhide pants with his black lace up high boots, but he still felt comfortable in these clothes at the age of fifty-five.  It was all he had after his time in prison, and he was lucky enough to get these things back.  He traveled from car-to-car, looking for an empty place to sit, and found his best option with only one other passenger. 

            The woman, who seemed to be mid-twenties, was quietly reading a magazine but falling in and out of slumber frequently.  He crept into his seat without a sound, and examined her closely.  Through the window’s reflection he noticed her blond, loose ponytail, baggy pink sweatpants, and her large suitcase - that would definitely get in the way.  The train’s engine roared loud enough to eliminate all sounds, and there was even a lock on the car door.  He touched his right vest pocket and felt the familiar outline of his old scissors, a rapist’s most prized possession.  Scissors help in any situation for cutting free articles of clothing.  Most men don’t carry weapons, only scissors.  Rape carries a light sentence of three to five years, while rape with a weapon carries anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five years in the sack. 

            Kitty’s mind ran with ideas.  He couldn’t control his thoughts.  Sweat buried into his long beard, and his hands trembled.  His old techniques and flawless plans flooded his mind, and he didn’t trust his own body.  Frantically, he searched his other pocket for a small box of pills.  He popped one - the shaking stopped.  Popped two - his sweat slowly began to fade. 

            Kitty was diagnosed, while in prison, for dysthymic disorder, a moderately high level of depression. He was given a month’s supply of antidepressant medication a week ago, but already the bottom of the container was in view.  He rested his head down in the palms of his hands, surrendering himself over to darkness.  No serenity could be found among the frightful images of screaming victims begging the pain to stop.  He could still feel their helpless bodies struggling under his.

            The wind was cool on his face while he sat facing the window, watching the scenery blur past him.  The mountains, and rivers and trees and birds all stared at him through the window, as if they had never seen such a disheveled person.  Kitty stared back, forgetting for a second what nature had ever looked like.  Such beauty hurt his body.  He squinted, desperate to discern the haziness of color and light, but finally gave up, with a mind-splitting headache and a need for sleep.  He grabbed his worn leather jacket from under the chair, tightly bunched the cloth together, and rested his heavy head on top.  The old smell of cigarettes and alcohol lingered in his nose while he wandered in and out of daydream.

            “It’s my fucking turn.  What are you doing?”

            “What I do best.  Now lay off, you can score tomorrow or something.”

Kitty saw the girl lying motionless, blindfolded, and drugged in the back seat of the stolen Cadillac. 

            “Tomorrow!  What happened to our team…what happened to taking turns?   What the fuck has gotten into you?  Fuck you, Charlie.  This ain’t how the game is played.”

            “Hah!  Excuse me? I gave you the game; you are nothing without me.  I taught you, I raised you.  You owe me all that you have become.  You had no friends, no family; I gave you something to live for.  Now forget about the team, and learn from the master.  There is no team.”

            “You two-faced bastard.”

Kitty vehemently opened the car door and stepped away while watching Charlie handle his girl.  He was lost in the chilled darkness, but returned to the car a half hour later where Charlie was sleeping in the front seat.  The girl still lay in the same position, thrown on the floor of the back seat.  Blood had dried on her face, forming a crusty layer over her cheeks and mouth.  Her beauty was barely recognizable - Charlie had destroyed her.

            “What the fuck man!  Stop…what the hell are you doing!”

Kitty’s hand struck his face with his clenched fist.  Without any difficulty, he viciously tore open his skin.  For the first time, he saw Charlie is pain – the powerless victim.  He beat him long and hard, his sweat dripping onto his head and mixing with the fresh blood.  Charlie resisted his force until his body lay motionless and sprawled across the ground.  Charlie was right: there was no team anymore. 

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, but we are arriving at one of our destinations.  The train will begin moving again shortly sir.” The stewardess’ too friendly of a face towered over Kitty, and he nodded to display his comprehension.

            The sun was beaming into Kitty’s eyes as he stepped out of the train, but he showed no reaction.  He decided to go and make a phone call during his spare time.  As he walked through the bustling train station, faces stared at his high top leather boots and disheveled figure.  His gait was heavy and unnatural, as if he was a child still learning how to walk.  In prison, he didn’t have to deal with these stares, but now everyone was looking at him.  He found the nearest phone booth, slid in, and slammed the door shut behind him.

            He frantically ripped through the Yellow Pages without any success of finding familiar names.  He needed a plan, but recognized no one.  On the brink of desperation, his eyes diverted straight to one entry.

            “Lorwick…. Tom Lorwick.”  His breathless whisper trailed off as he jetted his hand into his pocket, fishing for seventy-five cents. 

“Hello?” The man was obviously sleeping when the phone call came through, and groaned through the phone’s wires. “Hello?  Hello….is anyone there?”

Kitty froze, with his mouth slightly open as if he was going to say something, but was paralyzed of producing any sound. 

            “I’m hanging up no-“

            “No.  No, don’t hang up.”

“Who is this?”

            “It’s…. it’s Kit.” No response. “Kit Newson…Kitty?  It’s been awhile but you gotta remember me from Tampa High School.”

            “Uhhhhh.  You know, I can’t say I do.”  An awkward silence took over the conversation while Kitty waited for another reaction.  “Oh wait!  Yes, you are the guy who got put out.  Why the hell are you calling me?”

            “Well, I need a place.  I mean, I need a place to go. I’m out.  I’ve got no one and nowhere to go. Lemme roll through.  It, it will be just like old times!”  Kitty showed such optimism in his voice, and realized how pathetic he must sound to Tommy - probably Tom by this point in his life.

            Tommy paused for a minute, not knowing how to react.

            “I have a wife.  I have kids.  I can’t help you out.  I’m sor-”

            “You have to!  Wait, please!  Do you see what’s going on here?  People are staring at me! I have to hide in a telephone booth to feel secure.  I need to leave.  Why won’t you help an old friend?  Why!”  Kitty heard a click, and dropped the phone from his ear.  He violently smashed the phone against the door, and punched the window screen.  Once, twice - his knuckles began to bleed and his anger subsided into a somber daze.       

“Excuse me little boy, is your name Kit Newson?”

            “Yeah.” 

            “Five-year old son of Laura Newson?”

            “Uhh, yeah.”

            “I’m so sorry, but you have to come with us.”  The three male police officers all stood stiff in their uniforms as they pick Kitty up outside his mom’s apartment.  “Where’s mommy?” He thrashed his body around resisting their grip.  They didn’t answer. 

            “Where’s my mommy!  Where is she???” Still, no response.  

“I’m not leaving until she comes home.  She will come home, she’ll be back…she’ll be back!”

Kitty was placed in the back of a police car for the first time when he was five years old.  Only later did he discover that his mom had left him for a more peaceful world, with an empty bottle of pain medication beside her.  

            “Sir..sir!  Excuse me, sir!”  A man urgently tapped on the thick plastic of the telephone booth, abruptly shaking Kitty from his trance.   

            “You’ve been in there for a long time now.  You know, other people gotta make phone calls.” 

            When he entered back into the real world, clamor rushed to the top of his head and he was once again staggering through the crowd, only now with bleeding knuckles.  He had no recollection of the time, and had no desire to return to the train.  With nowhere to go, a train was useless.  He sat on an empty bench, and heard the last call for boarding his train. 

            He watched the faces of married couples saying a last goodbye before a long journey, and the tears of children leaving their mother.  The station was a center of welcome and departure.  Kitty wasn’t welcomed, or departing – just sitting. 

            “Hey, I think you are on my train.  You know we both better hurry, they already announced final boarding!”  The same woman with pink baggy pants, and an oversized suitcase was standing before him. 

            “Oh, umm.  Yea, I’ll catch up to you.  You go on ahead.”  He could barely look at her remembering his victimizing thoughts just hours ago.  He motioned towards the train by lifting his hand, forgetting to conceal the blood. 

            “Oh my!  You know your bleeding!  Here, let me help you with that.  I have some first aid stuff in my suitcase.”

            “No, it’s fine.  I’ll meet you there-”    

            “Look, I know I don’t know you, and maybe you just want me to go away, but I really think you should just come with me back on the train.  I can help you.”

            Kitty eyed her as if to wonder why she even cared.  He looked miserable, and was obviously unstable, what gave her the courage to help him?  He felt her touch the small of his back, gesturing him to stand up, and he did so without hesitation.  His mind was cleared; no thoughts of any kind were to be found.  He just followed, as if hypnotized.

            He sat down in the same spot across the car where he had been sitting before.  This time the woman sat down right next to him.  Their presence took up only two seats in the entire car and they both looked around and sensed emptiness.  The space seemed never ending, so the woman grabbed her suitcase and stuck it on the seat across from them.  Kitty was beginning to feel uncomfortable, regretting his decision of returning to the train.

            “You know I don’t have anywhere to go.  I really shouldn’t be on this train.”  Kitty looked outside, tempted to jump out the emergency exit door. 

            “Well, it’s better to be going somewhere, rather than nowhere!”  She chuckled lightly at her joke, but Kitty didn’t seem to find it all that funny and continued to stare outside.  “Ok, well I’m Jen Parker.  What’s your name at least?”

            Kitty didn’t know how to respond to that question.  He hadn’t been asked that in years.  He used to say ‘Kitty’ with ease, but now he was an adult.  He wasn’t in high school any more and people probably didn’t use nicknames at his age.  He panicked, and looked at her with a blank expression.  She stared back, not understanding how this could have been an offensive question.  As he watched her, he studied her face and found himself lost in her soft hazel eyes.  A hint of green outlined her pupil, while a wash of browns melded together before a crisp white was even noticed.  They were attentive, they were gentle, and Kitty no longer doubted his answer to her question 

            “Sorry, my name is Kit. Kit Newson.”

            “Well, it’s nice to meet you Kit.  If you want, I think I might have some bandages in my suitcase, and some disinfectant if you want to clean up those cuts.”

            “Yeah.  Yeah, ok.”  Kitty watched her promptly rummage through her bags, looking for the supplies.

            “Here we go.  Now if you just give me your hand...” She gently placed her fingers over the wound, and examined the area.  For the first time in many years, Kitty did not flinch or back away.  He let her grab his hand and the warmth surrounded his whole body.  He wasn’t thinking with his rapist mind and scheming his next move, he sat steady, without showing any sign of instability or fear.  He watched himself, as if detached from his own body.

            “You might want to go wash up before I put on these bandages, just to clear away the dried blood.”

            Kitty agreed and stood up in the train.  While in the enclosed bathroom, he washed away the old blood, and saw his own hands.  They had aged lines flowing through them, and traces of old battle scars, but as he rubbed them together he felt warmth again.  He stepped back and looked at his face in the mirror, and appeared unrecognizable.  He stood studying his features, how elderly he looked with his matted white beard, and long hair.  The room’s air was still until he realized he had almost spent ten minutes in the bathroom.

            When he emerged, he saw Jen sitting peacefully reading her magazine, ready with the bandages.  As he approached her, she looked up and smiled, eager to fix his hand.  Kitty found himself displaying a tiny grin, using those unfamiliar muscles in his cheeks.    “So…uhhh…where you headed?”  Kitty asked with a hesitant voice, yet determined to make conversation. 

            “Well, you know, I’m not totally sure – like you.  I have all this stuff, and I’m an artist.  I guess I’m traveling to the nearest city, which would be Ann Arbor, and trying to start up a studio or something.  I don’t have an exact plan.  What about you? What’s your story?” 

As he listened to her speak, and all the questions that he really didn’t have answers to, he realized he wanted to make answers.  Only he could do this.  She had gone out of her way to help him, and that really seemed to empower him. 

            “I, well, I don’t have a story.  I don’t know where I’m going either I guess, it’s not like I have anyone to go see.” 

            The train came too a slow stop at a new station, once again greeting and deserting new passengers.  This time he wasn’t going to just sit and watch.

            “You know, I think I may get off here.”  His tone was unsure, but his intentions were genuine and with that he slowly got up and stepped down into the depths of a new city, of a new life. 

            Moment’s later, Jen saw his old leather jacket stuffed under the seat where he had left it and cried out, “Hey!  Hey Kit!  You forgot your jacket!” but he had already passed, leaving it to ride alone through the night.