Kyle followed the tall man up into the camper. His nose switched at the acrid smell, something like scorched vinegar. A veil of smoke hung in layers under the weak light from the battery lamp. With no ventilation inside it was hard to breathe.
Dorando the Gypsy backed away and gave him room to approach Marianne, who lay where he had left her, eyes closed, hands down at her sides. The cut on her arm was open but not bleeding. The skin of her face was pale, her expression composed. A thread of dark liquid trickled from a corner of her mouth. Kyle looked up at the Gypsy.
“What? What am I supposed to see?”
“Look.”
As Kyle turned back to the girl her body gave a convulsive jerk, as though an electric shock had gone through her. He jumped back, banging his head on the overhead panel.
“Ouch! Jesus!”
Marianne sat up suddenly, jerkily, as though a spring had been activated in her back. Her eyes popped open and blinked.
“Look out, that tree — ” she began, then gasped and looked around her. “Where are we? What happened?”
Kyle turned to the Gypsy in open-mouthed disbelief. “You … you did it!”
“It is what you asked of me.”
“Will somebody tell me what’s going on?” Marianne said.
In an agony of relief Kyle fell to his knees beside her. “We had an accident. You were out, unconscious, I guess. Jesus, I thought you were … were …”
“Dead?”
“You sure looked like it. I couldn’t get any pulse. You didn’t seem to be breathing.”
“Well I feel fine. Where are we?” She looked past him at the Gypsy. “Who’s that?”
“His name is Dorando.” Kyle turned to the dark man for confirmation, but got no reply. “He helped us. He revived you.”
He turned again to the Gypsy, who watched impassively. “How did you — ”
He broke off as Marianne coughed and swung her feet to the floor. “Can we get out of here?” she said. “I can’t stand the smell.”
“Sure. I-I think the car will still drive. There’s a tree across the road.”
“Well, let’s move the tree and get going.”
“It’s a good size tree.”
“Let’s try, okay?” Her voice was tinged with annoyance.
Moving apparently without pain, Marianne stepped out the back of the camper and down to the road. Kyle and the Gypsy followed her. While Marianne walked briskly to the fallen tree Kyle turned to the dark man.
“Listen, I don’t know how I can thank you — ”
“Don’t. My debt to you is not fully paid.”
“But — ”
“Goodbye.”
Before Kyle could say more the Gypsy walked to the cab of his truck and climbed in. He started the engine, jockeyed it around in the road, and drove back toward Elkhorn City. Kyle looked after him. A nibble of apprehension started around the nape of his neck.
Marianne was tugging at a branch of the fallen tree, dragging it a few inches at a time to the side of the road. “Are you going to help, or do I have to do this by myself?”
Kyle shook away the cobwebs and walked over to join her. With both of them pulling, it was surprisingly easy to drag the heavy tree far enough to one side to allow the passage of the car.
Marianne climbed into the passenger seat, and by throwing his weight against her door Kyle managed to close it. Kyle got in on the other side and keyed the ignition. The starter growled tiredly, drained by the headlights, but the engine caught at last. He backed up and out of the ditch, cranked the wheel, and maneuvered past the fallen tree. The car wanted to pull to the right, but otherwise ran without trouble.
With time at last to collect his thoughts, Kyle had to believe he had gotten off a lot luckier tonight than he had any right to expect. In the back of his mind had been a possible charge of manslaughter. Uncle Bob would not be happy about the damage to the car, but he could handle that.
“You’re quiet,” Marianne said.
“I’m still in a little bit of shock. It’ll take me a while to get over tonight.”
“Let’s don’t let it spoil everything, okay?”
Kyle glanced over at her. In the soft glow from the instrument panel her face was animated, her eyes bright. A remarkable recovery for a girl who had been dragged into a van, thrice raped, rolled in a car and knocked senseless, and revived less than an hour ago by a sinister looking Gypsy.
He said, “I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.”
“It’s over,” she said. “Let’s forget about it.”
“If you can, I guess I can.”
She moved over closer to him and lay her head on his shoulder. Her hair retained a faint burnt vinegar smell and she had not wiped the dark trickle, now dried, from the corner of her mouth.
“Maybe you ought to buckle up,” he said.
“A little late for that, isn’t it?”
Was there, he wondered, an implied accusation in her comment?
“Besides, this way I can sit closer to you.”
She touched the back of his neck, making him shudder.
“My, aren’t we jumpy.”
He forced a laugh. “Ticklish.”
“I wonder where else you’re ticklish.”
The teasing banter seemed jarringly out of place after the dark events of the evening, and he was glad to roll past the dark Standard station that marked the edge of Bischoff. He found Marianne’s street and slowed down the limping Plymouth as they neared her house.
“Park up there at the end,” she said. “By the fence under the last elm tree.”
“What for?”
“I’m going to sneak in the back way and I don’t want Daddy waking up with a car out front.” She peered up at him through matted bangs. “Besides, I want to talk to you.”
Reluctantly, Kyle drove on as directed. He desperately wanted to get this girl out of the car and get back to his own clean bed.
He stopped under the elm. Marianne reached over and punched off the headlights.
“I’d better keep the motor running,” he said. “It might not start again.”
“My motor’s running,” she said, and reached into his crotch.
Kyle jerked back against the seat as the girl took hold of his limp penis.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it feel like? This is what you’ve been wanting all night, isn’t it? What’s the matter, you chickening out?”
“Jesus, Marianne, you can’t expect me to be in the mood now. Not after everything that happened tonight.”
She unzipped his fly and reached inside to squeeze him through the thin material of his briefs. “I’ll bet I can put you in the mood.”
“Stop it.” He grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away.
She looked at him coquettishly from under her matted red bangs. “What’s the matter, Mr. California Stud? A little Wisconsin girl too much for you?”
“Cut it out.”
“You’re not a fag, are you?”
“No. And I’m not a sex freak either. I got beat up tonight, watched you get raped, rolled my uncle’s car, and thought for a minute I’d killed you. No way I’m going to get it up after all that. All I want to do is go to bed. Why don’t you go on in the house.”
Marianne smiled at him. She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. Her lips were caked with grit and blood. Her breath was sour. She said, “Nighty-night, lover. I’ll be talking to you.”
Not if I can help it, Kyle thought. He reached across to shove open the passenger door and Marianne got out. Then he turned the battered Plymouth around and headed toward Uncle Bob’s farm without looking back at the girl.
She had to be in shock, he decided. Some kind of hysteria. Maybe that could make the cheerleader act like a slut. Maybe the accident brought out all the emotions she had repressed as Homecoming Queen and all that shit. Maybe … ah, the hell with it. He had his own problems. First and foremost was explaining to Uncle Bob about the car. He began rehearsing how he would tell his parents, since they would have to help him pay for it. Christ, was this a rotten summer or what?
He felt a chill and reached down to find he had forgotten to zip up his fly. Could that crazy female really have expected him to perform after tonight? Right now he doubted he would ever have the urge again. Celibacy sounded like a hell of a good idea. Well, at least for the rest of the summer.
He turned up the road leading to Uncle Bob’s farmhouse. There was a light in the kitchen window. He shuddered.