Goblins
By Gordon Kearns
Brad
Everybody said it was the happiest family there ever was. Six kids; two devoted, selfless, involved parents. Money was no critical problem. Well, six kids: there's always a crunch. But it's the kind of crunch that brings a family together; you know, shared sacrifices, pulling together ... and all that. Brad was the second oldest. He was newly eleven at the time. There was an older twelve year old brother, two younger sisters, and two younger brothers, one of which was still a suckling infant.
They made their home in a small midwestern town. Once a lazy rural community surrounded by family farm country, but now a maze of typical suburban subdivision split-level brick-veneer homes within comfortable freeway commuter distance to the city. There were three bedrooms on the upper level of the house, down the hall to the right. The master bedroom had its own bathroom; the kids shared the hall bathroom and the one the family had built in the lower level. The living room area, which looked down over an art-deco bannister to the entrance area, held a comfy chair and couch, and an entertainment nook; even a spinet piano which the older three kids took lessons on - at a group rate. Behind the livingroom area were the small kitchen and the larger connected dining area. In addition to the extra bathroom, the lower level was mostly family room and walled-off laundry, with plenty of carpeted floor space for the kids and their neighbor friends to sprawl out on while playing games and doing homework.
The family was anything but isolated in their community. Except for the baby, all the kids participated in seasonal little league activities (boys' baseball, girls' softball, soccer, basketball, and volleyball). The children attended - and would attend - the local consolidated public schools; and their indefatigable parents were active in the parent groups. Brad's father was an assistant coach for his sister's softball team. They were active in the local Baptist Church, but were not in any way rabid believers. They had neither the time nor interest for theological matters. The kids attended Sunday school; the parents attended church, sang the songs with gusto, and enjoyed the company of the friends surrounding them.
Theirs was a hugging group, and the parents often fun-roughhoused with their exuberant offspring. The home was filled with mutual love and respect. Spankings were few, and only reserved for the most egregious offenses - more to put out tantrum fires than for correction. Ritually, the father bathed the kids until their eighth birthday, after which they were considered old enough to care for their own cleanliness.
Later, not police, friends, counselors, teachers, fellow workers, minister, nor even prying media could find any reason, logical or not, for the horror that came to pass.
It was an autumn Sunday evening. Late. Brad's mother was in the master bedroom nursing the baby. Brad's brothers and sisters, were already in their beds - some even asleep. Brad, having lost the bathroom lottery, was finishing his later than usual shower in the hall bathroom. His father was out on his nightly four mile jog.
Brad had just stepped from the tub, still shiny wet - he hadn't yet even reached for the towel - when the first shot was fired. Brad froze. Then a second shot. He opened the bathroom door and looked down the hall in time to see his father enter his and his brothers' room. As he stared open mouthed at the empty doorway, two more shots. He quickly closed the bathroom door. He heard his sisters screaming. Then two more shots. The screaming stopped. Brad was shaking, and breathing in panicked gasps. Desperately, he looked about the small bathroom. There was no lock on the door (dangerous, his mother had always said - you know, in case of an emergency). The small frosted bathroom window looked out over a perhaps twenty foot drop. Brad climbed onto the toilet tank and slammed opened the little window. There was no storm window here, just an aluminum screen. The bathroom doorknob was turning. Brad was on the sill now, pushing against the screen with his bare shoulder. Some give. But just as the screen split down the middle, the bathroom door swept open. "I'm sorry, Brad," his father said, and then let loose three rapid-fire shots at the boy. The noise in the small area was earsplitting. Brad was already unconscious as he fell through the torn screen. Lying naked, bloody, and inert within the rose briers below, he didn't hear that last shot in the bathroom high above.
Nor did he know that at the same moment, two hundred miles away, a baby girl was being born who would be christened Leanne.
*****
Leanne
There was never a little girl as pretty as Leanne. She was a pretty baby; a pretty infant, and a pretty toddler. Everybody was captivated by her natural beauty. At three she'd already evolved from pretty to classic beautiful. Golden hair as woven on looms of legends. Her eyes were the lightest of light blue; you could almost see through them to the beautiful soul within. And by three, she'd learned the value of beauty and the wondrous attention it brought. And she learned to play on that knowledge. Beauty became her life-work. She studied beauty in her mother's magazines, in television commercials, in family friends who came by who were known for their beauty, and in her own mirror. She learned the value of the salons her mother went to for her hair care, and how they could serve her purposes as well. She loved the big department stores and their racks and racks of fashions to match the day's concept of beauty. She knew the fashions of adults and children. And she understood the workings of feminine allure, and how her own dress and adapted behavior brought special looks of appreciation from grown-up men like her father and uncles. She even understood how care of her own body enhanced her overall beauty. She watched what she ate. She even exercised in her own way. Everyone who knew her was entranced by her beauty ... and her acts of beauty. "How cute," her mother and aunts always said. And they encouraged her, and took her to the salon and the department stores. And introduced her to the beautiful smooth-skinned salesladies at the cosmetic counters. By eight she was wearing two-piece string bikinis to the swimming pool, and loving the attention they brought. And still then, her mother was proud of her beautiful daughter with the flaxen hair, blue eyes, and alluring little body. But while still eight, when the family was vacationing at a beach resort and she wore her first mini-bikini almost nothing thong, the first lines of concern crossed her mother's face.
Now Leanne was still indulged in her avocation of beauty and taken regularly for treatments at the salon, and tender hair care, and treated with the most gorgeous up-to-date fashionable wardrobe any child of eight could have. But her mother's concern grew. At nine and ten, her mother began sniping at the girl's obsession with being beautifully attractive. "Careful, Leanne. You don't want to appear too sexy. You never know what horny guys might think." Leanne had no idea of what "horny" meant, or what a horny guy might do. By Leanne's eleventh birthday her mother's harping grew a much sharper edge. "Look Leanne, you keep it up with those sexy outfits and sooner or later some guy's going to rape you. Mark my words. And when that happens, don't come crying to me." Don't come crying to me had been a family cliche for generations. Certainly, Leanne's mother would have rushed to her precious daughter's aid in anything even approaching such a terror. But Don't come crying to me just came so natural when trying to emphasize the importance of advice given. At eleven Leanne had a pretty good idea of what rape was; however, it was a concept completely foreign to her joyfully beautiful little world. But she didn't understand the casual sense her mother had in mind when she spoke words like Don't come crying to me. Leanne hadn't been around the family for generations.
So as she entered her eleventh year, her drive to be beautifully alluring hadn't abated one bit. And in spite of all her mother's admonishions, she still was indulged in her pursuits. She was a beautiful little girl, and sexy as hell. And all her outfits were fashionable, beautiful, and sexy - even her casual and play outfits (her short-shorts were the rage of the playground), and especially her favorite light as a feather shorty pj's. And her behavior was that of an innocent sweet little temptress. And her mother's worry increased, but she hadn't the heart to deny Leanne's wishes ... well, except if they pressed the pocketbook too much. After all, Leanne was just one of four children, all of whom demanded their fair share of attention, indulgence, and money spent. And still, hardly a day went by that at some time her mother didn't warn her of inviting rape, and when it happens, "Don't come crying to me" ... while underneath, her mother was proud as could be of her beautiful little girl. It's just that she dared not say it out loud anymore and encourage Leanne's obsession.
Leanne was the second youngest child, having two older brothers and a younger sister (who, her mother thanked the lord, was a tomboy). The kids got along fairly well for siblings. But there's no question that the older boys harbored resentment over all the attention given their pretty sister. Steven, at thirteen, the younger of the two, just shrugged it off as part of life. But for years the oldest boy, fourteen year old Mark, had seethed with anger at how unfair it was that Leanne got so much attention. "I'm part of this family too," he always shouted to the wind. He much preferred his youngest sister, who loved to roughhouse with him (Leanne never roughhoused).
So, as you would expect - all things considered - there did come that time when Leanne was raped.
That afternoon Mark was Leanne's official babysitter after his soccer practice. Both parents were occupied as wheels for the other kids' class play rehearsal and tumbling class. He'd brought three of his buddies home with him for a snack and soda. Leanne withdrew from the stag company and retired to her room to do her homework. She was in her tight low-rise blue short shorts and pink cut-off t-shirt, which revealed her cute little insy navel. The noise from the boys' raucous cutting-up drifted to her upstairs room, but she paid it little heed. What her brother and his friends were doing was of no interest to her.
Who knows what snaps a person's grasp of right and wrong? It happens all the time. Usually not so much as it can't be caught before the wrong turn is taken. Especially in a small group like this. Four average boys who attended the local Catholic school and knew right from wrong by the numbers. One of them would surely come to his senses and slow things down ... wouldn't he?
There was no rhyme or reason that brought them to Leanne's open door, staring at the beautiful little girl in the tight low-rise short shorts and cut-off t-shirt. But within the next ninety minutes the child had been stripped, raped four times over, and subjected to the basest of humiliations, and left naked, bruised, bleeding, and sobbing on her disheveled bed. Her brother stood at the door and warned her not to tell their parents what happened. After all, they'd predicted she'd be raped sometime. It was her own fault. She had it coming. And remember what Mom always said, "Don't come crying to me when it happens." When she remained motionless where she sat, he came to the bed and slapped her full across the face. "You need to clean yourself up. Before she gets home. Get cleaned up NOW, Leanne. GET TO IT LEANNE."
So Leanne got to it. She showered (very slowly), washed the blood from between her legs, and, still naked, crawled into bed and under the warmth and security of her pink covers. "No," she told her mother later, "I'm not sick. Just tired. I didn't sleep well last night. Too much cocoa, I guess."
Her mother noticed the girl's bare shoulders. "Don't you have your pj's on, Leanne?"
"I was just too tired. I'll put them on tomorrow night." A deep sigh. "I just want to sleep, Mom."
To her mother's credit, she didn't push the issue of Leanne's nakedness. Something there was in Leanne's tone that worried her mother very deeply. But the child was too tired to press the issue now. She'd ask her about it tomorrow. But her mother knew tomorrow would bring its own agenda of worries, so the incident faded from her mind and interest.
Leanne sobbed silently through the rest of a long night. In the other corner of the room her eight year old sister Jeanine, the tomboy, was quite concerned about Leanne, but gave her the respect of her space and pretended not to hear.
*****
The next day Leanne asked her mother to take her to a local discount store. She wanted to get some jeans, sneakers, and casual t-shirts. Her mother was shocked, but said nothing at this indication that her style-conscious daughter was finally coming down to earth. She also noted Leanne's hair, which was uncharacteristically pulled back into a simple plain ponytail. Leanne's mother did suffer one tinge of regret. The change seemed so complete. The girl appeared to be foregoing her old ways entirely. A little femininity wouldn't hurt, her mother thought.
Other changes also began unfolding. Leanne began spending much more time with her homework, and almost no time watching tv or reading fashion magazines. At school the teachers were quick to see changes in the girl's behavior. Leanne's classroom deportment had never been a problem. But now she was exhibiting unusual interest in her studies. Her daily work improved, and grades on her weekly tests and check-ups began rising dramatically.
One thing there was that concerned the teachers, however, was Leanne's rather sudden disinterest in participation in classroom discussions. She used to love being the center of attention. Now, she never volunteered, and when asked a direct question, she'd answer, but offer no extraneous information. What with her soaring grades, the teachers felt it was a good trade-off.
Among the kids there was talk, of course. Word of a sexual orgy made its way through the student population, but didn't reach any parent or teacher ears.
Leanne's withdrawal from the social life of her class was noted, but few were sorry the "little show-off slut" had become so subdued; competition for attention was no longer limited to second place.
What with all the other positive changes, Leanne's mother said nothing to the girl about her new habit of sleeping in the nude.
For weeks, Leanne silently cried herself to sleep. For weeks, Jeanine worried about her older sister. Her worries intensified when the child-gossip reached her ears.
One night, after Leanne had stayed up extra long perfecting her Social Studies homework, she undressed for bed as usual, but when she turned the covers back she found a stuffed bear waiting for her on the bed. She recognized her sister's favorite toy. Beside the bear was a neatly printed note, "I love You." Leanne walked over to her sister's bed and sat by the younger girl ... and wept openly. Jeanine reached out welcoming arms to her naked sister.
*****
Brad worked as night custodian at the Catholic school. He'd been set up for the job by the State agency that had supervised his foster care since the night of the tragedy. When they asked if he was Catholic, he'd told them, yes. Religion was no longer a part of his life ... and he wanted the job. He was twenty-two now, and had a good record of low-skilled employment. For this job he kept clean-shaven, with his hair always neatly trimmed and combed. He lived in a low-rent five unit one-story apartment building squeezed between the local fast food and the new three-screen cinema. His home was an austere small livingroom, kitchen with attached dinette, and neat bathroom with a shower stall. It satisfied his simple needs quite well.
He liked his job at the school. Mostly it was step-by-step routine: sweeping the classroom and hall floors, straightening the rows of desks, emptying trash cans, mopping the cafeteria, etc. And mostly it was solitary. The sight and sounds of children were not displeasing to him. He did have to interface with the public when meetings were scheduled - mostly setting up folding chairs in the gym/auditorium and go-fer-ring - coffee urn, extension cords, amplifying and lighting equipment ... that sort of thing. But even these fell easily into the range of routine.
He almost never had any direct contact with the children, except in his go-fer capacity. He didn't encourage friendships, child or adult. He had settled into a day-to-day solitary life that suited him. However, he was intelligent and had become perceptive of the humans in his surrounding world, especially the children. Through one source or another he recognized and could name most of the student population. And he had an uncanny ability to recognize sadness in the eyes of some he knew must be suffering terrible secret torments.
Such was his unassuming demeanor that his presence was taken by most kids as part of the building. They had no qualms about talking personal business and gossip in his presence. He'd heard about the orgy. Indeed, one day as he was cleaning the restroom he heard Mark and his buddies bragging on their participation. But while he'd recognize her, he didn't really know very much about this Leanne. He'd only seen her a few times in passing. Before that fated day, she participated in few typical girl activities. Now she participated in none. He wondered if this fabled girl might be one of his sad-eyed "friends." That's "friends" in a figurative sense. They had no idea they were on anyone's list.
*****
The notes started right after New Year. Lucy was the first to receive one. A child's crayon drawing of a stuffed bear, with a child's printing of the words "I love you" across the bottom of the page. Everybody knew Lucy's life was austere. She lived alone with her widowed father. He'd transferred the image of homemaker from his dead wife to the ten year old child. She was expected to make the meals and clean the house - in addition to keeping up with her school obligations. Since her mother died, she never participated in sleep-overs with friends; nor did she ever accept invitations to birthday parties. She was a charter member of Brad's sad-eyed friends. The note elicited the first smile to grace her face since her mother died. She carefully folded the note and hid it in her private box under her bed. Nightly she'd look at it, smile, and put it back in the box.
Other notes appeared. All to children who Brad recognized as sad-eyed. The recipients never advertised the notes or showed them to others. But all treasured them. Even though the recipients didn't talk about the notes, it was known that they were being given. Nothing is completely secret in a building populated by children. There was some general curiosity about the possible author, but no real depth of interest. The kids getting the notes typically weren't members of any popular in-group.
Brad knew about the notes, but had no idea who the author was either (no one admitted it in any overheard conversation). Until one day in the late evening as he went to clean the sixth grade classroom. He was later than usual because of tending to the logistic needs of the church budget committee meeting in the cafeteria. As he turned the corner, he saw the shadow of a child darting out of the room. His gut feeling was that this was the note-kid. He kept several feet back and quietly followed the shadow until it opened the exit door and stepped into the light. Mark's sister Leanne. the orgy girl!
*****
It was eerie. Every one of the notes was to one he knew should get one. So the orgy girl recognizes sad-eyes, too. So he tried to keep an eye on her, not easy since these days she participated in no after school activity. He did discover the routine, however: always about five to six on school evenings. But not daily. Actually, in all, by this time there were only a small handful of recipients - maybe a dozen at most - and distributed through all grades.
He grew attached to Leanne, though he never met or even spoke to her. But he was always alert to the delivery time and looked forward to her possible appearance.
One night, late - after an especially long Parents' Club meeting, and the resulting task of folding and storing the chairs and sweeping the gym floor, a tired Brad made his way back to his little cubbyhole, a tiny closet-room piled with buckets, mops, brooms, assorted small maintenance supplies, and a thread-worn rocking chair he cherished relaxing in at the end of a hard night. When he switched on the low-watt hanging light, he saw it - on the seat of his rocking chair - an 11x14 sheet of drawing paper - with a crayon drawing of a stuffed bear - and the words "I love you."
For the first time in eleven years he wept.
*****
The notes continued on their typical irregular basis. There are a lot of sad-eyes in a school of 600; but they aren't always easy to see, especially since they almost always flit in other directions when they find themselves under scrutiny of the curious. And the demands of Leanne's scholarship made time for forays into darkened school halls hard to come by. Hard, but not impossible. Never impossible. The notes were the priority on Leanne's agenda. But her scholarship was no passing matter either. She had rapidly developed into an exceptional student. In early May, with the hectic rush to the year's academic close-out just around the corner, teachers found her name leading the honor roll lists. On the basis of her classroom achievements she had become enough of a scholar celebrity that her orgy reputation was left to be mostly discussed by those who wallowed in such gossip - or were jealous of her achievements - or by her brother and his friends whose own notoriety depended on Leanne's continued degradation. However, with her new spotlighted status, it's not surprising that rumors of the orgy made their way to the parents and teachers. So in spite of her academic standing, people ever reminded one another that underneath it all, Leanne was not an angel. By now, Leanne's mother had heard the rumors. What a terrible quandary faced this sensitive parent. She mothered both victim and abuser. And she loved them both equally. To confront the one or dote on the other was to make a choice, and she had not the heart to make such an awful judgment between her children. In truth, she understood the hurt that drove her oldest child to hate his pretty sister so. So she listened to the rumors, but pretended she didn't hear them. Leanne's father was a good man, but diffident. He was quite comfortable, and secure, with his wife's assumption of family leadership. Rightfully, he knew he didn't have the tools to handle the responsibility of heading this large and dynamic family. Thirteen year old Steven was confused. He worshiped at his big brother's altar and had little fondness for his celebrity sister. But she was his sister. He didn't like that her name was being tossed around in such mean ways. But what could he do? Sensing his brother's confusion, Mark drew the younger boy into his circle of friends ... and his confidence. Steven beamed when he found himself enjoying such an exalted status.
What with Leanne's new-found notice as a scholar, Mark's hatred for her flourished even more - now well past all reason. Truth to say, even though his participation in his sister's orgy caught some flack, from those who counted, his male peers, he was convinced he enjoyed only respect - even admiration. I suppose he did, especially from his own tight circle of interdependent buddies. He still held his youngest sister Jeanine in high regard, if only to contrast his disdain for Leanne. Jeanine was, after all, a girl a guy could respect. She'd become her basketball team's star guard. Her aggressive style and skilled dribbling were such as to make girls years older envious. And even away from sports, she brooked no nonsense. For some reason months ago she'd stopped roughhousing with him, but in her own reasonable and authoritative manner - usually not denying him so much as just diplomatically putting him off until later - a later that never came. Oh, that Jeanine: she was a tough one. He could love her. He sure wished she'd get back into the roughhousing.
There is one other thing that should be mentioned about Jeanine. She was the one who drew the stuffed bear on Leanne's notes.
*****
In time, Brad and Leanne were destined to meet face-to-face.
The demands of school and homework assignments had wreaked havoc with Leanne's schedule. She had to rush her note deliveries as the opportunities arose. Thus, this nice spring evening she was at school much later than normal. The back doors to the school were locked, so she dashed around to the open church vestibule, which had access to the school halls. Her intended destination was a seventh grade classroom on the school's third floor.
The empty hall with its shiny waxed tile floors had that lonely eerie air that seems so unnatural in such areas where during the day life teems. She approached the classroom door as close to the wall as possible so as not to leave a trail of footprints down the middle of the spotless hall. As already mentioned, it was late; the classroom had already been swept, straightened ... and locked. Disappointed, she started to turn away ...
... only to find Brad standing behind her.
"Here, I'll open it for you ... Leanne," he said softly.
She was quick to see the warmth in his sad eyes, and the small suggestion of a smile. "Thanks ... Brad," she said, equally softly. He was quick to see the warmth in her sad eyes, and the small suggestion of a smile.
He waited outside the door as she completed her errand. He didn't watch to see which desk drawer she opened.
As they were going down the stairs to the middle level, he said, "If you have a minute, I'll show you the teachers' lounge. Well, if you'd like to. You probably don't get to go in there every day, but it's kind of my building at night; and my teachers' lounge."
"Sure," she said. She knew she had nothing to fear from this gentle young man. And she was curious, though not about the teachers' lounge.
He bought Cokes and chips from the machines.
"This is my favorite time of day," he said - and paused. She waited for him to continue. "It's so quiet. And no people around. But not lonely, you know?" She smiled and nodded her agreement. "Because I know there are people all around out there." He motioned his head towards the window. "They just don't happen to be here at the moment."
"But I'm here, Brad."
"Yes, That makes it better. Now it's you and me alone in the empty building ... with all the people out there."
They met often after that - on evenings when there weren't any other activities. Once in awhile Leanne would have a note to deliver. But they didn't try to make excuses. Sometimes Leanne would accompany him on his final round of securing the building. Sometimes they'd have Cokes and chips in the teachers' lounge. Sometimes they'd slip into the darkened church, sit in a back pew, smell the hint of incense, and listen to the quiet. Peas in a pod, in a way.
There were no overt displays of intimacy in their times together. They did hold hands now and then as they walked in the halls together. And now and then in that back pew she'd lean into the hollow of his shoulder. The beauty of it all was that it remained their own innocent little secret world. Jeanine knew of the meetings, of course. Leanne withheld nothing from her sister. Their's was an innocent little secret world too.
The mounting tensions gripping Mark's heart were looking for a flash point. And a flash point was found. The last week of May was also the last week of the school year. Traditionally, there was an all-school awards assembly on the last day of school. Sports citations, perfect attendance ribbons, academic competition winners - that kind of thing. The most significant award was the annual Students of the Year Gold and Silver Medals, which was given to those who the teachers voted as best reflecting the school's ideals. It wasn't so much intended for the greatest achievement, or highest grades or test scores. The honor roll and other academic awards covered those important aspects of scholarship. The medals fell in the more subjective area of attitude and devotion to school responsibility.
On Monday, word got around that the student who would be given the Gold Medal this year would be Leanne. Her impressive scholarship, and especially her remarkable attitude turn-around and work improvement in the second semester wowed the teachers - at least those who weren't interested in crude rumors; and they were in the majority.
Mark exploded. An emergency meeting of the gang was called for Tuesday after school. Steven walked home with his brother, but said very little as Mark crowed on about the coming "Day of Retribution." Steven was worried. He ate little for dinner Tuesday night, and didn't sleep at all.
On Wednesday morning he dallied about his breakfast as Mark went rushing off to school eager to meet his buddies. Steven whispered to Jeanine to let Leanne go on ahead. He was almost desperate to talk to Jeanine alone. They stopped several times along the way so he could better explain his concern.
"Something bad's going to happen, Jeanine," he'd said when he was sure he was alone with his sister. "To Leanne." Then he went on to explain the gist of what occurred at the gang meeting Tuesday after school.
This morning Mark would be giving a couple of his guys some money from his birthday savings. Maybe fifty dollars. They agreed to hurt Leanne for him. Really hurt her. He made a special point to pick eighth grade boys who didn't know sixth grade Leanne and who Leanne didn't know, and who didn't have a brother or sister in her grade. That way they couldn't be identified by her. And in turn, he wouldn't be identified as their friend. "He told them to rape her and hurt her as much as they wanted. But not in the face where it'd show. And he told them if she cried or said anything, they should say she had it coming for how she always used to tease boys with the way she dressed. That the last time she didn't get enough punishment. He told them to remind her of what Mom always said about 'Don't come crying to me.' That worked so good the last time, he knew it would work again now. They should tell Leanne SHE'S the one to blame because she was always like asking for it.
Jeanine: "When ..."
Steven: "Today. After school. At exactly four o'clock. Mom and dad are both going to be at the funeral parlor for some old friend of theirs. You'll be at your Girl Scout meeting. It's supposed to be a party or something, isn't it?"
Jeanine, her mind was driving to grasp the terror Mark was planning for her sister - and how she could possibly stop it. "Uh ... yeah, a party. It's the last meeting of the year. What about you? Where'll you be?"
"Mark's going to take me to the frozen custard place so everybody'll see that we aren't in on what happens to Leanne. I couldn't do anything to stop them anyway. They're eighth graders. Way bigger than me. I don't even know what you can do. Maybe you could stop Leanne from going home after school. But they might go after her anyway. Or just wait until tomorrow."
"We could tell Mom." Steven: "Oh no. We can't do that. We'd just get Mark into bad trouble. And maybe me for being with him. Besides, he'd really let me have it. Who knows what those two guys would do to me?"
They were at the school door now. "You'll do something, won't you, Jeanine? You have to. I don't want Leanne hurt again. And this time it might be a lot worse. Oh Jeanine, I'm so scared. This is never going to end, is it?"
Jeanine: "It's all right, Steven. You go on to class. I'll think of something."
*****
There's more needing to be said about the child Jeanine and why her brother, four years older, felt he could find a solution to the problem in her young hands. She'd turned all of nine in April. She certainly couldn't be considered a scholar in terms anything close to her sister. But she was more than adequate with her school responsibilities. Probably born a natural B to C student, she consistently managed to eke out more than a fair share of B+'s and even A's. Jeanine was ever more than a survivor. In any contest she strove only to win. Doing the best she could was never an acceptable goal. Like her basketball skills. It was more than her adept ball handling that gained her respect; her bulldog hanging in and grabbing for the least chance was what made her such an awesome opponent. You've seen people like that. She was nine years old, and very much a child; and she lacked the experience and natural wisdom to make the best choices. But being a winner, whatever she chose as a weapon, she'd wield with a fearsome determination that made her a person of substance to contend with in any set-to. The other aspect of Jeanine that shouldn't need reminding was her uncompromising love and devotion for her sister.
Through the day, Jeanine was noticeably preoccupied. Her teachers often found it necessary pointedly to wrest her attention back to classroom matters. To Jeanine, the hours of the school day both rushed and crept by. Toward the end of the last class period, her teacher noted Jeanine picking at a cuticle, her mind obviously a thousand miles away. But it was the end of the day. Hopefully, whatever it was bothering the girl would be over by the next day. This was the last week of the year, after all. Kids were still expected to behave themselves, but the teacher did get pleasure from the joy that filled her students as day by day and minute by minute summer vacation drew nearer.
When the bell ending the period rang, the sounds of desks and chairs shuffling and children gabbing excitedly filled the air. One girl called across the room to Jeanine, "See you at the party."
Jeanine, brought up so suddenly from her distant thoughts, glanced confusedly at her friend. "Oh ... yeah, sure. See you at the party." But Jeanine had no intention of going to the party. As she moved slowly from the classroom and toward the exit doors, she glanced back down the hall in time to see Leanne skipping to the stairway down to the lower floor ... and Brad's cubbyhole. Jeanine smiled, and then turned and continued on her way out.
It was three-thirty when she reached the house. Still plenty of time.
She dropped her books on the dining room table, grabbed a candy bar from the punch bowl, took the cordless phone from its cradle, and went on upstairs to the room she shared with Leanne. It took her a few minutes to find the very best place to secure the phone, under Leanne's bed. Still plenty of time, but still pretty much to do. She took off her shoes, socks, Girl Scout uniform, and undies, and headed for the upstairs bathroom. Taking a shower figured as a key element in her complicated scenario. But it was a quick shower, not meant so much for cleanliness as to set a mood. After the shower, still wet, she sifted through the bathroom closet looking for just the right towel.
Close to four now. Jeanine turned off the bedroom light and pulled down the window shade. It was still daytime, so the room was not left in the dark, but it was significantly dimmed. She stood by Leanne's bed ... and waited. She heard the front door open and footsteps climbing the stairs. She picked up the towel and held it in front of her, hanging loose from the fingers of one hand so that it covered precious little of her bare torso.
It was four o'clock sharp. Two boys from Mark's class stood at the bedroom door, staring at her. "Isn't she kind of small," one boy asked. Jeanine dropped the towel. The other boy shrugged his shoulders, "She looks good to me. Sixth grade brats come in all sizes. Let's just do what we have to do." They started moving to the girl.
At five o'clock sharp, as the boys were leaving the bedroom they sneeringly chided her, "Get yourself cleaned up, Gold Medal girl, before your mother comes home. And remember she told you not to come crying to her. Mark says." Then the boys were gone.
Jeanine lay face down on the carpeted bedroom floor. Her face wasn't touched, but her nine year old body was battered and bruised - inside and out. There was blood between her legs and on the bed sheets and even on the carpet.
But her eyes were still open. She was alive ... barely. Painfully, she worked her way a few inches closer to Leanne's bed, to where she could reach underneath for the phone. She dialed 911. "They raped me," she managed to whisper into the phone for the nice voice that answered.
*****
All hell broke loose. Jeanine's parents were home now; the police had contacted them on the father's cell phone. But they couldn't get close to Jeanine for the EMT's surrounding her and tending to her injuries. And a sobbing Leanne was sitting alone off to the side of the living room. Police, EMT's, and firemen were circulating through the house. The lights atop the many emergency vehicles turned round and round, red and orange flashes alternating against the neighbors' houses and the trees lining the street.
Confused, nervous Mark and Steven had just stepped in the front door as Jeanine was being rolled out. As soon as Mark saw her face he screamed and screamed and screamed. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no-o-o-o-o!" He cried and cried, and hammered the wall with his fists.
Steven's naming of the two boys whose job it was to assault Leanne, along with Jeanine's almost gasping descriptions of the perpetrators lead police to the boys' involved. They were taken to the juvenile detention center. Mark was also taken into custody for instigating the crime, but he was still blathering and had to be taken to the state psychiatric center. His mother called the family lawyer and arranged to meet him at the center. His father followed the ambulance carrying Jeanine to the hospital. A kindly neighbor agreed to watch over Steven and Leanne in their parents' absence.
Jeanine was hurt very badly. She had suffered a broken wrist and three broken ribs, and her vagina was severely damaged.
*****
Jeanine was in the hospital for two weeks and then sent home. She was still weak, and her chest would be bandaged and her wrist in a cast for perhaps four more weeks. Her vagina walls required minor surgical care, but she was improving. Once home, Leanne watched over her most of the time, except when Jeanine insisted she go to her Brad. At those times Steven sat with his sister. He'd read to her from her favorite books and play fun video movies for her.
When Jeanine had sufficiently recovered to have her cast taken off and be able to walk on her own, she'd often accompany Leanne to her meetings with Brad - now mostly in the daytime because of school summer vacation. At those times they'd plan on future targets for the stuffed bear notes. Jeanine couldn't work on the drawings while her wrist was in a cast, but when she was finally freed from it, she put herself to work drawing a backlog of pictures ready for whenever required by her sister. Jeanine herself told Leanne in no uncertain terms that she was not to give her a stuffed bear - real or drawn.
In time the boys who attacked Jeanine were released to the custody of their parents, and directed that they were never to have any contact with Leanne, Jeanine, Steven, Mark, or their parents. Disposition of Mark's case pended his release from the psychiatric center, probably not too far in the future. His mother didn't know what she would do then. It was made clear to her that Mark was always to be kept from his sisters until the doctors okay'd it. When she was able, Jeanine, of course, spoke for her brother Steven, and he wasn't charged with anything. Their mother still spent most of her waking hours at the psychiatric center with Mark.
Jeanine didn't accompany Leanne on all her visits with Brad, even after she was well. She didn't want to impose on their relationship. However, there was the question of Jeanine's status: had she now been moved to the fellowship of sad-eyes? For a long time it was hard to tell. They weren't exactly sad. Distant would be a more accurate description ... or wondering, perhaps, at times.
*****
Jeanine was returning from her last trip to the bathroom for the night. She had nothing on, intending to don a comfortable shorty gown before she went to bed. Bed. She smiled when she saw the big lump under the covers on her bed. Obviously her older sister. When she turned back the cover, lying there sweetly smiling was Leanne in all her naked glory. On her belly was a sheet of drawing paper with crayon printing, "I love you." "Well, you said, no stuffed bear," she said innocently. Laughing, Jeanine tossed the paper aside. They lay down on their sides face to face, their bodies touching full length. They giggled and giggled, and kept giggling. But Jeanine's giggling intensified. Now louder and faster. Non-stop. She giggled and giggled till tears poured from her eyes. She began uncontrollable hiccupping and hiccupping to accompany the giggles. Then the giggling and hiccupping turned into spasms - spasms of uncontrollable sobs. She sobbed and sobbed, her body shaking and shaking. Leanne wrapped her arms securely around her baby sister. But the sobbing and sobbing went on and on and on. Louder and louder. In the master bedroom their mother pressed the pillow over her ears. Their father stared ahead unmoving, his forehead lined with confusion. In the dark bedroom across the hall from the girls, Steven was sitting up in bed, tears cascading down his cheeks. And the sobbing went on and on and on through the night. For hours. Sobbing and sobbing ... until there was no sob left in the child's heart. Naked, she went to sleep in her naked big sister's arms.
The house was silent.