History of the Trap Vol. 2: Chapter 3 - A Week at the Farm Part 5

 5

 

What an operation!  Where did all the animals come from?  I had thought that when they first came out, there were a few cows and goats.  Over time, there were pigs, chickens, rabbits.  There were even a few dogs and cats.

The chickens were there from the beginning, even though I didn’t know it.  I swear nobody mentioned them until recently.  The others were found nearby, wandering in the woods near the farm.  The acreage around the farm seemed to be much bigger than when first discovered.  The boundaries of our Trap must have changed.

Like the plant life (vegetables, fruits, crops), the animal life seemed to breed and mature at an accelerated rate.  Odd, because we humans weren’t breeding at all.  Not that some weren’t trying, just that there were no pregnancies since the Trap fell.  And those who were pregnant at the time of the Fall miscarried the first day.

I had heard about the big red barn, but it was even more imposing seeing it up close.

The message in white lettering was still there: SEE BRONNER’S IN FRANKENMUTH THE WORLD’S LARGEST CHRISTMAS STORE HO! HO! HO!  I could see the picture of Santa, larger than life.  There were some spots where Santa’s paint was chipped away – nothing you would notice from a distance.  This was a sign meant to be seen from a roadway.  But the freeway taking you north to Huron, or South to Bay City, was nowhere in sight.  It had vanished, replaced by woods that the Trap electrical border would not let us explore in-depth.

Inside the barn were stalls for the cows, farm equipment (including a tractor), hay bales, and more. Initially, the chickens had been inside the barn, but chicken coops had been built, mainly for the hens to lay eggs. The chickens were able to wander the grounds of a large fenced-in area.

Probably the most impressive part of the Farm was the unexpectedly large basement.  There were at least four dormitory areas down there, room for a couple of dozen people in each one.  Three accommodated guys, but one was occupied by girls (a growing misnomer – more of us were 18 or older now).  They also had two large wash areas – including showers.  Water was never a problem inside the Trap.  It constantly flowed through the high school and the farm pipes -where it came from; we didn’t know.  Were we still connected somehow to the outside world? I’m not sure I ever understood how that worked.

They had a dining hall about half the size of the school’s – which still made it pretty darn big. I sat at a table with Ginny, Artie, and Robert.  We also had David Deneau and Annie Popper sitting with us.  Annie was my regular nurse when Ginny wasn’t visiting.  Like me, both Ginny and Artie resided at the school.

It was a fantastic feast—a salad featuring fresh carrots and radishes, creamy mashed potatoes, Salisbury steak, and sweet corn.  We drank sweet raspberry tea.  The dessert was a scoop of maple ice cream.  That was a surprise – did we have maple trees, or was this from the underground larder at the school?  I didn’t ask.  I just enjoyed it.

“My God!” I said, amazed, pushing back in my chair and patting my full belly.  “If I lived here, I would be about 300 pounds!”

“Trust me,” said David Deneau.  “If you were out here, you’d have plenty of work to help keep you in shape.”

“Speaking of which, it’s good to see you getting around.  Maybe you’re ready for the next stage of your recovery,” said Robert, a devilish grin creeping across his face.

“Sure!” I replied.  “What do you have in mind?”  They had done a lot for me.  I would not mind doing some chores. It might help me take my mind of Mark Granite and all his nastiness.

“Oh, I’d rather keep it a surprise.  Just be sure to get up bright and early tomorrow.”

Well, that part seemed less interesting.  I had gotten used to sleeping in.

When we got up from the table, Ginny and Artie approached me.  They were getting ready to go back to the school and wanted to say goodbye.  Artie shook my hand.  “Get strong, brother.  We still have a lot of challenges ahead.”

Ginny hugged me.  “Good to see you up and about, Lance. You take care of yourself, ok?”

I nodded that I would.  She kissed me on the cheek, then pulled back, giving me a warm smile. She then took Artie’s hand, and as they were leaving, she turned to look back at me, giving me a wave with her free hand.

I admit it.  My heart sped up.  I looked at them until they disappeared through the dining room doorway.

Maybe I wasn’t as over her as I thought I was.

 

History of the Trap Vol. 2: Chapter 3 - A Week at the Farm Part 4

 

4

 

The farmhouse was big.  Much bigger than I anticipated, or even thought possible.  When it was first discovered, I don’t remember it being described in such grandiose terms.

Once out of my room, Ginny led me on a tour.  I had been around some, but never with a guide, especially one as attractive as Ginny.

Outside my room, in the hallway, I noticed several rooms, perhaps as many as four.  Interesting, but not enough to accommodate everyone staying out here.  “There are not enough rooms for everybody to stay. Are these reserved for teachers?  Or some of the student management?”

Ginny laughed.  “No.  They’re reserved for something else.”

I still wasn’t getting it.  “You mean like for guests?  Like me?”

“Occasionally,” Ginny said.  “But not primarily.”

A light started to shine in my head, and rather than pursue it, I decided to move the conversation forward. “So, where does everybody go?  Do they sleep in the barn?”

“Well, I can’t rule out that nobody’s ever slept in the barn.  It takes all kinds to make the world go round.  But, no, the sleeping quarters are in the basement.” Ginny slipped her arm into mine. “C’mon.  I’ll show you.”

Before we could leave, one of the doors opened up, and Robert Bond walked out, buttoning up his shirt.  Robert was a founding member of our group, Artie’s Pals.  He’d left to be at the farm shortly after its discovery.  Before he could entirely shut the door, I caught a glimpse of someone else in the room, but I couldn’t tell who.

“Hey, Lance!  Good to see you out and about!”  Robert had a good sense of cheer about him.

“Good to see you, Robert!  You look good.  You must be taking to farm life.”

Robert glowed or turned a shade of red.  I’m not sure which. “I am!” he answered.  “Maybe you ought to take it up too?  Get out of that cesspool of nastiness at the high school.”

“Sure.  Maybe I will.” No, I wasn’t.  Too many people there to care about and help protect, not the least of which was my sister and father.

Ginny said, “I’m showing him the whole enchilada this morning, Robert.  Maybe that’ll convince him.  You want to join us, Robbie?”

That was new.  He’d never heard Robert called Robbie before. “Wish I could, Ginny.  I got to oversee egg production this morning.”

“What? Those hens won’t lay eggs without you?” Ginny playfully asked.

“You’d be surprised,” kidded Robert.  “Anyhoo, Lance, you are in good hands with Ginny. I can’t think of a better person to show you the farm.”

Robert left down the hall. I looked at Ginny, smiling.  “Ok, Ginny.  Show me the wonders of Farm Land.”

We started down the hall, heading to a staircase that would take us to the ground floor.

As we came to the head of the steps, I heard a door open down the hall.  It was David Deneau, once my lead actor in The Sands of Loren (the soap opera I wrote for school broadcast), and now the student head of the farm community.

What room was he exiting?  Wasn't that the same room Robert left?

At first, I tried to rationalize away what I saw.  Eventually, though, I was not able to that.

I’ll be honest.  I had trouble with it. But only for a while.  The more time I had to think about, the more time I saw them together, and how much caring and love was in their relationship, the more I came to accept it.

Not, as Ginny would later remind me, that they needed my acceptance.

Over my years in the Trap, Doc, I learned what a precious commodity love was. I stopped questioning it.  Wherever it came from.

 

 

History of the Trap Vol.2 : Chapter 3 - A Week at the Farm Part 3

 I know.  This ain't much, y'all.  But I'm trying to get back to it.  I hope to be up to five to seven pages a week.  Please follow the thread label History of the Trap Vol 2 for more parts.

3

 

 

What were those sounds?  Was that a rooster?  Do I hear cows moong?  Is that a sound of a dog barking? 

The animal cacophony was interrupted by the sound of curtains quickly pulled back.  Bright light flooded the room.  I had to cover my eyes.

I saw a figure standing above me, but I couldn’t make out who it was. 

“Wake up, sleepyhead!  Time to riseth and shineth!”

She came more into focus as my eyes adjusted to the brilliant sunshine.  The auburn hair, the button nose, the gorgeous face.  “What are you doing here?”  Boy, was I groggy!

“You aren’t used to these farm starts, are you? Did I interrupt your twelve hours of beauty sleep?” asked Ginny.

“Give me a break!  It’s only my third morning out here.”  I pretended to swat at her. “And I’m not sleeping twelve hours, I swear!”

“Whatever.  C’mon.  They may need this room for…something else,” she said, mysteriously.  “Do I have to pull you up, or can you do that yourself?”

I had recovered enough not to have to suffer that humiliation.  I threw back the sheets and started to rise, only to suffer a different humiliation. I was only dressed in underwear, white briefs, and a white undershirt.

I tried to pull the bedspread around me. My face was a deep red.

“Good Lord, Lance.  I’m a nurse.  Well, sort of a nurse.   Anyway, you know what I mean.  No need to be embarrassed.”

“Uh, I’d like to get dressed now.  If you could leave, I can meet you in just a couple of minutes.”

Ginny laughed, A bright, joyous laugh that, despite my exposed vulnerabilities, pulled me into its infectious nature. “I’ll be right outside.  Don’t take too long. I’d hate to have to worry about your recovery and take your temperature.  Of course, all I have available is a rectal thermometer, so I would hurry if I were you.”

She left, and I dressed in record time.

 

History of the Trap Vol. 2; Chapter Three - A Week at the Farm Part 2

 

2

 

“Come with me.”

I tried to shake myself awake.  Who was talking to me? “What?  Who is this? I’m trying to get some sleep.”

“Sorry, buddy.  I know you’re tired.”

I squinted, and Robert Bond came into focus.  Artie’s lifelong friend and neighbor, who had left the main campus to work on the Farm, was sitting on the edge of my bed.  Taller than Artie and me, short-cropped brown hair, grinning like the Cheshire cat, Robert continued, “Come with me to the Farm. You need to get away from this hen house.  We got room for you to heal and relax, regain your strength and your soul.”

The Farm.  How important of a discovery had that been?  Two lost souls, Krissa Sellenraad and Danny Truman,  looking for raspberries (and probably a place to snocker) stumbled past what we thought was the Trap barrier and came across an entire farm, fully stocked with animals, a silo of grain, a big red barn, and a large farmhouse.

Several months ago, Robert had decided to leave our group and join the crew at the Farm.  After the tunnel collapse and as Ginny and Artie moved closer, I suspect that Robert felt displaced.

It had been a wise decision.  We did not see Robert often, but he seemed to be in a better mood, more confident, and happy when we did. He came to the school once a week to make deliveries, and I can’t lie to you.  I didn’t catch him every time he came, but he was very happy to see me when I did.

Artie made an occasional trip out to the Farm to see Robert.  I’m ashamed to say that I was not as good a friend and had not once been out to the Farm.  All I knew about it was what other people told me.

I had lost one of my best The Sands of Loren actors to the Farm, David Deneau.  He had played a central character, a police detective in love with the female lead, Dr. Brenda Marr (portrayed by the super-talented Franny Cranfield).  He’d had one or two guest appearances since, but he was now a real leader at the Farm. And according to Artie, Robert had become David’s closest assistant.

“I’m getting stronger, Robert.  I think maybe I can get out of here in a day or two.”

“Look, the break I’m talking about is mental as well as physical.  I think it would do you good to set aside all this Granite nonsense for a little while, get your head on straight. The fresh air and slower pace will do you a world of good.  Trust me!”

Well.  My Dad, who grew up taking care of a large family farm in Southern Michigan, had tried to entice me into a better appreciation of farm life.  He had a small field of crops he cultivated on some farmland that Mr. Bruchow, our biology teacher, had.  I did not take to it, to put it mildly.

Nevertheless, I knew what Robert was offering was different. Nothing on Earth would turn me into a maven of agriculture.

Robert continued to plead his case.  “You’ll still see your father.  He and Mr. Bruchow come out quite often. Their advice has been invaluable in helping us be a success.”

“I don’t know, Robert.  You’re very kind, but…” I was running out of excuses.

“And we do have medical staff out there. I mean, accidents do happen on farms.  We wouldn’t want to be unprepared.  Do you know Annie Popper?  Cheerleader, and starred in some musicals before the Trap?  She’s our lead nurse out there.”

I knew Annie.  It would have been great to have her in The Sands of Loren.  She often got the romantic lead, whereas Franny got the funnier, more memorable roles. 

“Well…let me think about it.”

“Don’t think! Go!  I’m sure Artie will come out some, and Ginny too!”

“Ginny too?”

Morgan was approaching my cot, her face twisted in a bitter scowl.

“You know what, Robert?  You talked me into it.”

 

The next day, I was at the Farm.

History of the Trap Vol. 2 - Chapter Three: A Week at the Farm Part 1

 

Chapter Three

A Week at the Farm

 

1

 

It took me two weeks to recover. To recover physically, that is. The damage to my mental well-being, the terrible inflictions to my soul, would take much longer.

The first week was at the high school’s makeshift hospital, carved out of about half of the library.  I lay in a cot, barely moving, bandaged in more places than I could count, the pain barely contained by aspirin.  Advanced pain medications that had been in the school nurse’s office had been quickly used up in the first month of the Trap, and although some medical supplies were found in the meandering basement, none of it was more potent than aspirin. In more severe injuries, morphine would be a substantial comfort, but alas, there was none to be found.

The most embarrassing part was having to use a bedpan the first few days. The most embarrassing part of the most embarrassing part was having to get help from a nurse. And the most infuriating part of that was the first nurse to try to help was Morgan LaDona Tigh.

At first, she was not in focus.  But I squinted hard, deblurred her, and immediately put up a fuss.  Well, as much fuss as I could.  “Get away!” I shouted.  Except it didn’t come out as a shout.  All my will could only manage a hoarse whisper.

“Don’t be such a child,” Morgan admonished.  “I’m a nurse.  This is my job.”

I shook my head and tried to pull away. That didn’t work out so well.  My body was just not listening to my brain.  I managed to use my elbows to push myself up an inch, at most.

“Trust me, you really want me to do this. You think this is humiliating?  Wait and see what happens if you wet the bed.”

I didn’t see anger in her face, like she wanted to hurt me further. I didn’t see guilt in her face, like she felt bad for being the spark that led to my pummeling. I saw cold professionalism that indeed said, I will do what it takes to care of you because that is what I do.

I didn’t care.  I didn’t want Morgan near me.

Unfortunately, that first day, I could not fight her off.

 

The next day, my voice was a little stronger.  “Keep away from me, you murderous witch.”

Instead of getting angry, she grimaced and shrugged her shoulders.  “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but yours will never heal without me.”

This time I was able to lift my arm enough to attempt to hold her away from me.  It was progress, but it was still too feeble to stop her.

 

The next day, I thought I could get out of bed and run from her.  I came close, but she was able to push me back. 

“I need to change out your bandages.  Hold still.”

I told her no, in language I won’t repeat here.

She laughed.  “You’re full of it if you think you can outswear me.  You’re a freaking do-gooder amateur when it comes to slinging the crap.” That is a less colorful version of what she actually said.

“Let me take care of him, Morgan.” 

It was Ginny Estill.  What was she doing here?

“He’s my patient,” insisted Morgan.

“He’s my friend,” Ginny said.  “I think he’ll be more cooperative for me.”

Morgan got right up to Ginny’s face.  As Ginny was slightly taller, she looked up a bit, but that didn’t stop Morgan from full-intimidation mode.  “Let me tell you, part-time newbie. I am the student nurse in charge, and I determine which nurses handle individual patients. This man is mine.  You can’t have him.”

Ginny put her hand on Morgan’s elbow.  “Look, I understand.  I don’t want to go to war over whose patient is whose.  But look at this.  You don’t want a battle between you and a patient, either. Don’t you think there’s been enough of that?  Don’t you think it would be best if we didn’t turn the hospital into a war zone too?”

Morgan paused.  She appeared to wage an internal debate.  Finally, she said, “Fine. You take care of that piece of…”

Ginny interrupted.  “Be happy to, Morgan.  I promise if I need you, I will let you know.”

 

Ginny took good care of me.  I tried to keep my old feelings for her under control.  She was still with Artie.

She had decided to spend a few days a week helping at the hospital.  She still helped Artie and his crew with the cleanup details, but she wanted a change of pace.  Did she want to spend less time with Artie? That didn’t seem to be the motive, as best I could tell. I think she had come to fill in for somebody else and found that she liked it.

In fact, on the fourth day, Artie came by to visit, and as they talked to me, Artie and Ginny had their arms around their waists. It was enough to make Morgan come over and tell Ginny she needed to focus on her other duties.  She didn’t need to linger and canoodle when there were other patients to help.

It was still embarrassing to have Ginny help me. It was hard to have someone you once had such a crush on seeing you so vulnerable.  Still, it was easier getting her help than Morgan’s.

Yes, I no longer had an all-consuming infatuation for Ginny.  But I still cherished her and her friendship.  I loved her then, and I will love her forever. That is one thing the Trap never changed.

 

 

 

History of the Trap Vol. 2 - Chapter Two: Dance Party Part 6

 

6

 

“What you doing down here by your lonesome, Marty Martian?”  Coming down the hall was Walter Drayton, his broad body taking up almost half the hallway. As he sauntered closer, I could see that Stevey Wentworth was hidden behind him on one side, and Donald Granite, Mark’s younger brother, on the other side. “Wet your pants, Soap Boy?  You come down to Home Ec to wash your soiled undies?”

This was not good.  I analyzed if  I could rush past them.  The odds were dim, but it didn’t matter.  I was frozen in place.  I couldn’t move.  I tried to speak, and nothing came out.

“Did you get the message from Mama Tigh?”  That’s what they called Morgan Tigh?  Mama Tigh?  I can’t see her being thrilled with that.  I guess if that’s what her killer boyfriend calls her, she just goes along with it.  “You shouldn’t be running to hide.  You should be going to your Daddy for confession od all the lies you told about Mark.”

“I…told…no lies,” I croaked out. 

Stevey guffawed.  “See, Walt D, I knew she couldn’t scare him.  I think it’s time for us to reinforce the message, using our extra special delivery system.” Stevey bunched his right fist up and smacked into his open left hand.

Donald stepped up, inches from my face.  “You need to back of my brother…NOW!”  He punched me in the gut.  I doubled over, barely able to stand.

My standing issue resolved a second later when Stevey unleashed an uppercut to my jaw.  I fell to the ground, the back of my hard-hitting the hard floor. 

The pain was tremendous, but I did not get the blessing of drifting to unconsciousness.  My damaged jaw's pain, my squalling gut, my broken crown, soon paled compared to the pain I know felt by being kicked in the side.  I didn’t even know which one was doing it.

The wide one, Walter, was kneeling over me.  “And now I'm gonna smash your face in.” I tried to lift my arms to guard my face, but my body was no longer responding to signals from my fogged brain.

But the blow never came.  His descending fist was held back by something. “You morons!”  That was Morgan’s voice.  It sounded far away, but it couldn’t have been if she was close enough to hold Walter back. “You’re just making things worse!”

Walter stood up.  “Your sweet talking meant nothing.  He needs to learn his lesson the hard way.”

Morgan was furious.  “I had this in hand.  And now you’ve left him bruised and maybe with bones broken, and how is all that going to be explained?  You’ve just increased the target on Mark, on all of you!  That’s all you’ve done!”

Stevey giggled.  “Maybe he ran into a door!  Or went through the Home Ec’s washer and dryer trying to clean up his pee smell!”  Stevey started laughing out of control until Morgan abruptly slapped him.

“Stop it!” she shouted.  “This is not how Mark would have wanted things done!”

“Isn’t it?” Walter said, smirking.  “I know you’re his lover Mama, but maybe we know him a little better, having hung out with him for years, and you are just this year’s squeeze.”

Morgan balled up her fists, taking a defiant stance.  “Like to test that out?  Want to see whose side he takes?”

That seemed to deflate their aggression. “Ok, Mama Tigh,” Walter said.  They started to leave, and then Walter turned and pointed at me.  “Later, Martian.  You should be grateful Mama showed up.  Next time you might not be so lucky!”

“WALTER!  GO NOW!”  Morgan stood firm, and the three left.  She looked at me, lying damaged on the floor. “You are an extra special kind of idiot, too, running off on your own just after I tried to warn you.”

“You…you can’t tell me what to do.” It was all I could do to speak, and it was more instinct than any rational expression.

“Yes, I can.  And I will,” said Morgan.  She took a step toward me and stared hard at me; her eyes lit up with a combination of anger and fear. “I told you there were things beyond my control.  Now, maybe you’ll take me seriously.”

She huffed off, leaving me broken on the floor.  This person, who was a student nurse, offered me no comfort or aid.  She just left me, bleeding and bruised.

Beyond her control?  What a lie.  What a terrible self-delusion. 

She was responsible.  She lit the match, and I wouldn't forgive her just because she couldn’t control the flame.

 

History of the Trap Vol. 2 - Chapter Two Dance Party: Part 5

 

5

 

I wanted to storm out.  I wanted to defy her.  But I didn’t.  It wasn’t because I wanted to dance with her.  It wasn’t the young toughs she brought with her as enforcement, including two of the Three Hoodlums, Robert Pelley’s thuggish pals, Stevey Tubbs and Walter Drayton.

It was my curiosity.  What was the point of her dancing with me?  It sure as heck wasn't any attraction (that came much later). She wanted to convey something, most likely threats, but if I was going to be prepared for what was to come, I needed to find out what I could.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said, and moved out to the dance floor. She followed me and waved to her goons to stay on the sidelines.  When Artie and Ginny saw her move towards me, they looked like they were going to intervene, and I waved them off.  Whatever was going to happen was just going to be Morgan and me.

We stared at each other, a momentary lull in the music. No, there was no love lost between us. For years, Morgan barely recognized my existence.  Now, it was clear I was foremost in her thoughts, but not in a good way. And I just saw her as an appendage to her psychopathic killer boyfriend, Mark Granite.

Robert Short came back to the DJ table and announced, “Ready to rock and sway, boys and girls? How about getting it down with Chicago and their megahit, Sunday at Grant Park?  It starts hard to get you rollin’ and’a reelin’, and then slows down for some up-close huggin’ and’a squeezin’!”

“I hate Chicago,” I said.  “It makes it the perfect song to dance to with you.”

“Feeling’s mutual, nut weasel,” Morgan replied.  Wow.  She must have a million derogatory names for me.

The music started up, and we gyrated in place, about a foot from each other.  She wasn’t too bad as a dancer, but I was truly legendary, but not in a good way.  She was smooth and coordinated, like the trained cheerleader and dancer she was.  I looked more like I was having a seizure and that one or more of my limbs might fall off at any second.

Whatever our style. We did not take our eyes off each other. No, there was no romance or sentiment in our stare. It was more like two wild animals trying to intimidate each other and look for a weak spot to begin to pounce.

Because I was focused on her, I barely noticed others around us stop dancing and circle us, staring. This was big stuff in Loren High’s trapped little world – the boyfriend of accused killer Mark Granite dancing with Mark’s most notorious accuser. The same instincts at play when they devotedly followed the soap I wrote, The Sands of Loren, was no causing them to hover around us.

I was beginning to wonder what the point of this was.  Just to glower at each other?  We didn’t need a dance to send the message that we didn’t like each other.  It seemed like wasting time on the obvious.

Then the music shifted gears and slowed down.  I’d had it and was going to walk away.  I didn’t want to have to come in physical contact with Morgan LaDona Tigh.

Before I could even move to leave the floor, she had her arms around me.  We began a slow spin.  I reluctantly placed my hands on her back, as lightly as I could, and still maintain dancing.

It didn’t matter to her.  She pulled in even closer, tightening her grip.  I instinctively closed mine around her.  Her face was only an inch away from mine.  Our heights were fairly similar.  We were almost on eye level with each other, Morgan having to look up just a fraction.

What would I do if she tried to kiss me?  I’m afraid I would not be able to stop myself.  No, not from kissing back, but from biting her lip. That would be bad for my social standing if I caused the most popular girl in school to bleed from the dance floor.

Bite her lip?  Heck, she might be coming to bite my lip!

But neither of those is what happened.  Instead, she squeezed closer, bringing her head to the side of mine.  I could feel her breath on my ear.  Oh, man, that would really hurt if she tried to bite my ear off.  I tried to flinch back, but she held me tight.

“Back off,” she whispered to me.  Back off?  How could I do that?  She had me in vise grip!  Then I realized she wasn’t talking about dance moves. “Recant.”

I turned my head so she could hear my quiet reply.  “Are you nuts?  I’m not backing off anything.  I saw what I saw!”

“You must be mistaken.  Mark is not like that.  You don’t know him as I do!”

“Yeah/ Well, you don’t know him as I do.”  We continued to turn slowly, keeping our conversation as low and as quiet as we could.  Others must have been amazed at our seeming intimacy.  “Besides, he’s already been convicted.  And I’m not the only witness.”

“You’re the one that matters.  You’re the one who says he saw the murder.  You’re the one your father will listen to.”

So that what it comes down to.  The old Principal’s son has special connections theory.

“Not gonna happen, Morgan.  Mark is where he belongs.”

I felt her hand encompass the back of my neck.  Her fingernails were starting to press into my flesh.  “I can make your life very difficult, Soap Boy.  I can influence people, get you off writing that soap opera.”

“Good!  I’m tired of writing it.”

“That’s just the start.  I can make you become a ghost, a pariah.  I can make things happen where you’ll be the one in trouble with the law, things so bad even your Daddy can’t help you.”

I laughed.  “Threatening a social outcast with being more of a social cast isn’t much of a threat.”

She shifted her head and now looked into my eyes, this time not with anger but pleading. It was the most unnerving move she made. Then she went back to whispering in my ear.  “Please.  You don’t understand.  Believe it or not, I’m the good cop.  There are forces at work that I can’t control.  Do you understand me?”

I understood perfectly.  She was suggesting that some of Mark’s other friends would become violent towards me. I pushed her far enough back that I could look her in the eye.  She almost looked sad, perhaps a little scared herself.  But I wasn’t buying it.  What an act!  If she wasn’t such a scumbag, she might’ve made a good actress for The Sands of Loren.

The song ended. I pushed her away, forcefully uncoupling us. It was our last physical contact for five years. Neither of us said a word.

Was there a tear in her eye?  I thought it couldn’t be so; maybe it was a trick of the light.  Years later, she told me it was a tear.  I don’t know.  Maybe so.  But at that time, I sure as heck didn’t believe it. Even if true, it had to be part of the act.

I pushed my way through the crowd that had gathered around us.  I ran out of the dance, down into a deserted corridor that held science and home economic classes.

I was alone, shaking, unsure as to whether to cry or scream.  I didn’t think about being isolated.  I didn’t think about being followed.

That was a mistake.

History of the Trap Vol. 2: Chapter 2- Dance Party Part 4

 

4

 

Was it worth going to? 

Socially, I’m not sure.  Discovery-wise, it was pretty illuminating.

My heart pounded.  My head thrummed with the vibrations of the music.  It reminded me of dancing with Lisa, and the vibratory hum I would get from holding her close.

We had fewer records to play, thanks in part to Robert Pelley’s collision with them, losing his temper at a dance last September, confronted by his boorish behavior towards Lisa, the last dance Lisa would ever attend. But our DJ, Bob Short, our smooth-voiced news announcer, the number one most trusted student at Loren High, just a-dripping with maturity and confidence. No, The Bob had two bands to rely on as well, Brassy Jazz and The Harlin Brothers (four guys none of whom were named Harlin, nor were any of them brothers).

But there were also records, one of which was playing when I noticed the hum.  It was a song that I had danced to with Lisa.  Sum of My Love by The Wall Nets. I don’t remember many of the words.  “You don’t have jut some of my love…you have the sum of my love.”  I know.  Pop music is strange.

While the Wall Nets played, I played being my new favorite, Wall Flower.  I stood near the side wall of the cafetorium.  If things got tough, I could look through the windows into the courtyard garden. Our agricultural had recently planted a couple of fruit trees, an apple tree and a pear tree. Usually, those were more of a Western Michigan thing, but they seemed to be thriving here, so, what the hey.  Again, we were grateful for Mr. Bruchow’s large inventory of seeds.  Mr. Bruchow had proven to be our most valuable and practical teacher.  Between my father’s Mr. Bruchow’s agricultural knowledge and the discovery of the Farm, our food palate was increasing in diversity every month.

I looked across the dance floor.  Ginny was dancing close with Artie.  They were affectionate, but not overtly mauling each other.  Artie had long resisted school dances, but Ginny had finally broken his resistance down. I won’t lie.  I still felt a twinge drawing me to her, but for the most part, I was happy to see them together.  There was so much heartache. It was good to see two people in love.

Looking past them, I saw Morgan near the opposite wall. My first reaction was surprise that she wasn’t dancing. I knew that her beau was now behind bars, but I thought she was the type that would still party. 

Then, as I brought her into focus, I could see the set of her face.  She was glowering, staring right at me, her eyes on fire.

Well, fine.  Be upset with me all you want.  It doesn’t change what your boyfriend did.

She could glower all she wanted.  I didn't have to look at it. I averted my gaze to Bob Short, who was getting ready to put on another song.  “Hey, Lookouts!  What say we step it up a notch?  Let’s go all out with Gina and the Giraffes, and their powerful ballad, I Want Out of Here? “

That was a good one, and a sentiment many in the Trap could identify with. I applauded, and then I felt a presence right in front of me. I turned and saw it was. I was so surprised, I took a half-step back, banging against the courtyard window.

“Dance with me, Soap Boy.”  It was Morgan, inches from my face, still looking fierce.

What was this about?  Why would she want to dance with me?  Whatever her motivation, it couldn’t be good.

“N-no!” I stuttered out.  “Are you out of your mind?  I’m not gonna dance with you!  I don’t want to be anywhere near you!”

She flashed a smile that was more terrifying than her glower. “Tough tiggers, Principal’s kid.  You don’t have a blanking choice,”  She didn’t say blanking,  That’s my substitute. 

 

 

 

History of the Trap Vol. 2 Chapter 2: Dance Party Part 3

 

3

 

The dance was delayed a week later than intended because, apparently, it was the time of the year.

One of the oddities of the Trap was that all the females stopped having periods.  At least that’s what we thought.  I didn’t have girls rush up to me and tell me whether or not it was their time, but I sure didn’t hear anything otherwise. 

At the same time, there were no pregnancies.  I haven’t got into it, Doctor, and I probably won’t, but yes, there was activity in the Trap that should have led to babies, but it did not.  I thought it might be related to the lack of a normal cycle.

Now, a little over a year later, it happened all at once, within about two weeks.  Luckily, Mrs. Novik had kept the inventory of sanitary napkins, and that part of it was taken care of.

I had been told that women get quite cranky as their period approaches, and that is why they couldn’t be President or other positions that required a level head.  I don’t know.  I didn’t notice much of that.  I’m sure some might have existed, but not enough for me to note. In my time in the Trap, I noticed more erratic behavior from men than I did women.

Mrs’ Novik pleaded with my father to wait until it was through before he scheduled the dance.  My father was chauvinistic enough that he quickly acceded to her request.  He wanted to deal with that as little as possible.

No one had a grasp on it scientifically, not even our brightest.  On the one hand, our food crops grew fast and robust, on some kind of accelerated time table.  On the other hand, it was becoming more apparent than our own age processes had slowed.  Our hair grew slowly.  I was hard-pressed to see anyone who had visibly aged, or grown in height.  And now, were women’s cycles going to be yearly instead of monthly?

Many things to ponder.  I was still a teenage boy (17 technically), and my worldview was still fairly self-centered.  So, the scientific concerns of the Trap received consumed little of my thinking time.  Mostly I was running a Hamlet style debate in my head as to whether or not to attend the dance.

I did not feel comfortable having “fun,” especially at a dance.  I had no interest in moving on to another relationship.  I didn’t resent others' relationships, like Ginny and Artie, but I had to be honest and admit it heebie-jeebied me a tad.  I wasn't sure how emotionally music would affect me, especially if it were a song I connected to Lisa.  Yeah, I was going through the kinds of mood swings that the guys were associating with the women and their ‘time.”

I also considered that I had friends who cared about me and wanted me there.  And I was, by nature, an observer, learning about people as I watched them interact with each other.  It helped inspire me in story direction and developing characterization for The Sands of Loren.

So, I could stay in my sleeping room, maybe the library, take a pass of the night’s activities.  Or I could go, start to draw myself out more, risk a gradual climb back into social engagement.

I emulated Hamlet up until the very last minute, and then I made up my mind.

 

History of the Trap Vol. 2: Chapter Two - Dance Party Part 2

 

2

 

“What do you think, Lance?  Should they hold new elections?” Ginny, head in her arms as she sat in the cafetorium table across from me.  She had arrived early, ahead of the others.  I was always first to get a head start on notes for The Sands of Loren.  She has been quiet for a while, except to say good morning.  She knew my routine and let me have quiet to write. 

I put my pencil down.  She was still so beautiful to me, Her auburn hair maybe a fraction longer than a year ago, her green flecked eyes wide and expressive, her button nose, her sardonic smile – I had to remind myself that she was with Artie now.  They had been together almost from the time the Trap fell.  I was almost ashamed at how much I was still attracted to her, but after what I had been through with Lisa,  my flair for the romantic had been virtually extinguished.  I was just glad that Ginny was a part of my life.  She was a good friend, and I hoped I would never lose that.

“New elections?  Why?  Is Artie tired of it already?”

“Oh, you know why.  Granni-Knights still dominate the Student Council.  It’ll make it real difficult for your Dad to manage things.”

I understood her fear, but I was skeptical of Granite’s hold on them.  “However, many of them got onto the council, I doubt if they still feel beholden to a convicted murderer.”

“You’d be surprised.  I mean, my gosh, Lance, one of them is Mark’s brother!”  That was true.  Mark’s younger brother, Donald, had won a Sophmore seat (class designations were becoming increasingly meaningless, but there you go – soon we would all technically be adults) in the last election. 

“I don’t know.  Shouldn’t everyone be judged on their own merits?  The sins of one brother aren’t necessarily the sins of the other brother.”

“You might be right, but you might not.  I think we should start with a clean slate.  If any of the Granni-Knights run again and they’re re-elected, more power to them.”

“I disagree.  We should at least, give it some time.  See where their loyalties really lie.”

Ginny shook her head, strong enough for her lovely, slightly curled hair to spin across her face.  “By then, it might be too late. I think we should change things up before the dust settles, before Mark’s defenders can strengthen their rationalization.”

“Or more evidence comes out about what a monster he is” I still held out hope that he would be held responsible for Lisa’s death. 

“Look, I can dig what you’re saying, but truthfully, Artie has told me that your Dad is 99 percent set on having elections by the middle of May.  I can’t believe that Artie has to be the one who has to tell me what your Dad is thinking.  Haven’t you two resolved your differences?  Aren’t you two better now?”

“Better, yes.  But no, we’re not talking administrative policy or Student Council politics.  Sorry.”

“It’s ok.  I understand.  I still envy you your relationship with your father.  My Dad is…well, not much like your Dad.”

From what I knew, that was a bit of an understatement.  William Estill was the owner and pharmacist at Estill Pharmacy.  The rumors were not all the prescriptions made it onto the shelf.  As far as I knew, he wasn’t abusive to Ginny, but he was distant and cold. 

“My Dad is a good man.  I won’t slip up again.  I won’t withdraw from him again, no matter what happens.”

“Will you run again?”

“Run for what?”

“Student Council, silly.”

I hadn’t thought of that.  Mostly because I had no interest in resuming any kind of political career. “I don’t think so.  Nepotism, and all that.”

“Still, if students elected you, then that meant they were accepting of all that.” She grabbed my hands and stared at me with those beautiful, intelligent eyes. My head swam.  It was intoxicating.  I instinctively squeezed her hand.

 I didn’t know what else to say.  I didn’t want it.  But I didn’t want not to support my Dad, or the many students that had been hurt by the Granni-Knights.  So, I deflected.  “What about Artie? Will he run for re-election?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet.  I’m kinda waiting to see what you and Lindsey do.”  Artie had come up to us while my mind had been absorbed in Ginny. He looked down and saw we were holding hands.  “Hey!  Whatchu doing with my girl?”

I withdrew my hands quickly, and at first, saw a dire look cross Artie’s face.  It just lasted a millisecond, and he promptly brightened with a smirk and a wink.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Arthur Evans Pentler?  I’m not your possession.  I don’t belong to you,” Ginny said, her expression more amused than bothered.

He sat down next to her and put his arm around her.  They kissed briefly.  I thought she seemed embarrassed by that, but it was probably just me reading into things.

“What about the big Dance, Lance?  Do you know about that?”

“No. Not really.”  I had not been involved with student dances since the one just before Lisa’s murder, the one with the violent confrontation with Robert Pelley.

“It’s something your Dad initiated, Lance,” said Artie.  “A celebration of a return to normalcy.”

“Please don’t miss it, Lance,” Ginny urged.  “It will be good for you.”

There were too many bad memories.  I doubted that another dance was capable of washing them away.

Artie stood up and extended his hand to Ginny.  “Come to me to my Kasbah.”

Okay, I wasn’t even sure what that meant.  It felt like I had stepped into the middle of something that I had of no knowledge or part. 

“What, my little Poohbah?” she replied. “Why would I want to be a part of your Harem?  Just another lass for you to fawn over?”

“Ah, but my dear!  You are not just another Harem girl; you are THE Harem girl.”

That was more than I could take.  “You two need to get out of heer.  I can’t take any more of this conversation.”

Ginny laughed.  “Ok, bye-bye, Lance.  But please do go to the dance.”  They started to leave, arm in arm, but after a few steps, she turned and said, “And be sure to save one dance for me,  You know, like always.”

One dance.  Like always.  What could be the harm in that?

History of the Trap Vol. 2: Chapter Two - Dance Party Part 1

 

Chapter 2

Dance Party

 

1

 

One by one, they were interrogated.  The questioning led by a team of my Dad, Mr. Eurich (my favorite Social Studies teacher), and Mrs. Novik (Head Guidance Counselor), did their best to ferret out the truth.  All admitted they were friends of Mark Granite, and have often done him favors or offered him support.  All denied any involvement in the killings. 

“That’s something he did on his own, man.  We had nothing to do with that.”  That’s what I heard was the gist of what Ricky Rosalie, fellow track team member, and Granite buddy.

A few were visibly bothered by what happened and accepted with resignation that Mark was guilty.  Some vehemently rejected the idea, insisting that Mark was innocent and that he had been set up.  One blamed me and refused to talk if my Dad was one of the interrogators.  My Dad left, and Mr. Eurich and Mrs. Novik did their job without missing a beat.

Robert Pelly was one of the deniers.  Yes, the very person who witnessed Mark Granite kill Mrs.  Forsyth was one of the most adamant that Mark was being framed.  He did not accuse me of the crime. I’m not sure why.  I was the most convenient patsy, and we had no love for each other.  Up until Mark’s strange confession, I was convinced that Pelley was Lisa’s murderer.

Yes, I did tell my father and the other two interrogators that Robert Pelley was there.  No, he did not directly kill Mrs. Forsyth, but he was there and had done nothing to stop it.  The three said they would take it into account, but they would need more evidentiary support to be able to do anything about it. No one else saw him at the scene. 

Don’t worry, son,” my Dad told me. “I believe you.  We’re going to question his alibiers aggressively, and we’re going to have him under careful watch.” I nodded that I understood. But I didn’t. I loved my Dad, but I was not sure how well half measures would work.

Turns out…not so well.

 

History of the Trap Vol. 2: Chapter One - Justice Trapped Part 6

 

6

 

Diane, my sister, was already there, in what once was and now was once again, my father’s office.  We hugged briefly and then sat down.

“I know this is going to be hard on you,” my Dad began.  He was tall, of medium build, kind eyes with one eyelid partially closed due to a muscular condition. “I really didn’t want to be in charge again. But with everything that happened, and Mr. Tate being more involved in it than he should have been, it was felt that we needed a familiar figure to lead the transition. It’s temporary, I hope, until we can get things on firmer ground.”

“I’m not worried about it being hard on Lance and me,” said my sister.  Diane was a brunette, only a couple of inches shorter than me, which put her in the medium to tall range of the girls here.  She was attractive, at least as far as a brother could tell.  As far as I was concerned, Diane got the good looks of the family.   She had been together with her boyfriend, Mike, the entire time of the Trap, but there was no talk of marriage yet.  “I’m worried about it being hard on you, Dad.”

He took her hand.  “Don’t worry, Diane.  I can handle it.  I promise you; I’ll be safe.”

That did not ease Diane’s mind.  “You don’t know what you’re in for.  Mark Granite has more friends than you can imagine.  They’re going to retaliate sooner or later.”

Dad got up and went towards the window, looking out at the landscape, the same unchanging landscape we had seen for the last year, with no hint besides trees of what lay beyond the school grounds.  “I’m aware that there are dangers.  And we’ll take appropriate measures to mitigate any potential risk.  But the most important thing we need to do is restore normalcy, that we can make life here as good as we can, and continue to hope that we will someday find our way out of this..trap, and that when we do, we are still decent and kind, that we have maintained as much of what is good about civilization as we can.”

He sounded wistful as he looked into the limited horizon.  “I know everyone has been through so much.  I know thee has been so much tragedy and heartbreak.  But I am praying that we could hold on to our best traits and instincts.”

I appreciated my father’s dreams but I couldn’t help but speak out.  “I appreciate what you’re saying, Dad.  But I’ve seen the horrible things that so many seem to be capable of, and I don’t know how much we can hold them in check.”

“I don’t know either, son.  But we’ve got to try.  I don’t know if I can live with myself if we don’t even try.”

And he did try.  He tried very hard.  It was not his fault that it was not enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 

History of the Trap Vol. 2: Chapter One - Justice Trapped Part 5

 

5

 

“Did you ever think you would fall in love with goat cheese,” said Ginny, looking with dreamy eyes at a piece of feta, like it was Adonis.

“Gee,” said Artie Pentler.  “I wish you would like at me that way.”

Ginny laughed, tearing off a bite of the cheese and tossing to Artie. “Here.  Taste it, and you’ll look at it that way too.”

With all the changes that had occurred, with all the trauma I had experienced, with losing Lisa, with my aching heart, you would think that watching Ginny and Artie flirt would no longer bother me.  Did I like Ginny?  Yes, she was beautiful and possessed a personality I found extremely attractive. I cannot deny that.  But I had long accepted that she was attracted to Arite and not me.  And it was hard to deny their connection. Maybe that it was bothered me.  Not jealousy that Ginny should be with me, but jealousy that together they could have who I no longer could.  Lisa was gone, taken from me by a brutal killer who at least was now behind bars.

Well, bars may be an exaggeration.  Up until this point, we had had some minor infractions that resulted in students serving detention. Teachers on a rotating basis supervised them in a room where the violators spent the day, except for when Coach Walterzak (our football coach, and strongest disciplinarian) would take them out to clean around the school grounds.

That seemed too weak of a response for a murderer.  The Shop classrooms had a caged area, where parts and supplies had been kept.  Those were removed, and the area was made over into prison cells, or as close as we could come.  A total of three cells were set up, even though the only prisoner was Mark Granite.  I guess we wanted to be prepared for future problems. Yeah, that turned to be both prophetic and a wild underestimate.

Our little group was changing again.  Ginny and Artie were still mainstays, of course, as was Jerry Mack.  Mary Estill, Ginny’s sister, and Lindsay Starn were with us more often than not, as was Geoffery Misner and Nathan Harkin.

Jerry Mack, small and frail, barely over five feet tall, had often been ill the past year but was feeling better the last month.  He still said little, and when he did speak, it was most often supportive and kind.  He sat next to me, offering me a piece of feta cheese, but I declined.  He didn’t seem to eat much and was often offering his food to others.

Mary Estill was finally laughing and engaging more.  I think the loss of her boyfriend, Jim Kurrash, who died in the tunnel collapse last July, had receded enough that, although hardly forgotten, she sometimes could experience moments of joy and happiness.  She was giggling with Lindsay Starn, sharing some private joke.  Both were blondes, Mary’s hair longer, and Lindsay’s more closely cropped.  Hair length grew in our weird little trap, where so many natural laws seemed to be fractured, but not as quick as it did in the outside world.  Monty Keller found that out the hard way, when last Fall, he shaved his head bald, and now, over a half year later, he barely had more than a crewcut peach fuzz.  Mary was taller than Lindsay, as Mary was an inch or so shorter than Ginny. Mary’s height put us at each other's eye level, whereas Lindsay had to look up at me (not very high up, but up nonetheless).

Geoffery Misner laughed at a joke that Mary told.  He had told me last month that he was ‘intrigued’ with Mary, and although she was polite to his flirting, she did little to engage it.  Geoffery was in my sleep room (they stuck us together alphabetically, so I roomed with a lot of M’s – indeed, we were nicknamed the M & M’s), and also an actor in my soap opera, The Sands of Loren, playing an ambitious young lawyer.  Geoffery was tall and gangly, hair a light ginger color, a pleasant face often brightened with a big smile.

The most recent member of Artie’s gang was Nathan Harkin.  He was a survivor of the tunnel collapse, still using crutches to get around.  Our amateur medical staff had tried to repair his damaged leg, but they were not able to fix it enough to eliminate his need for the assistance of crutches.  Sometimes you could see the excruciating pain on his face.  Our pain relievers were limited, beyond a supply of aspirin that was found in the tunnels.

We had others who came in and out, that were with us some but not all the time. They included Phil Irman, who I worked with at the TV studio, Arlette Mierkey, and Larry Weisman.

Larry was just coming to join us this morning.  I remember because of the news he had to tell. “Hey, Lance!  Are you excited about the news?”

I had no idea what he meant.  “What news?” I asked.

“You don’t know?”  I shook my head.  “I’m stunned.  Ok, here it goes…guess who’s going to be the Principal’s son again?”

“Melissa Brown?” joked Ginny.  Melissa’s father was Director of Elementary Education and had been a principal of Loren Elementary School before that.  She was just kidding around, as Melissa’s father hadn’t been at the high school the day of the Trap.

I pushed aside Ginny’s lame joke. “You’re talking about my father, I gather. They’ve put him back in charge?  What happened to Mr. Tate?”

Oh, he’s out,” said Larry. “There was not enough to convict him in the Granite murders.  There was nothing to show direct or indirect complicity. He was held responsible for allowing Mark Granite such free reign and not be observant enough to be more aware of his activities.”

“He is responsible,” asserted Lindsey Starn. “Mr. Tate used Granite and his popularity to pack the Student Council with students that would help impeach and remove your father. And the price Mr. Tate paid was to let Granite’s buddies become the controlling part of the Student Security Force.  As far as I’m concerned, he should be in a cell right next to Granite.”

I couldn't help.  “Yeah.  And Robert Pelley right there with them.”

“Hey, be careful now!” said Geoffery.  “The prison isn’t that big.  Those three will take it to full capacity!”

“Nevertheless,” said Larry, “he’s only been stripped of administrative responsibilities, and will just be a teacher again.”

“Teaching what class?” asked Mary.  “I sure don’t want him to be my teacher.”

Larry looked smug, ready to reveal the most ironic fact of all.  “Teaching World Humanities.  Yep, he’s taking over Mrs. Forsyth’s schedule.”

We all gasped—what a horrible legacy.  Nathan turned a pale green.  “Crap.  I’m in that class.”  He closed his eyes for a second.  Then he opened them, resolved.  “Well.  I guess I’m dropping that class.”

“I’m betting you won’t be the only one,” said Lindsey.

My mind was aswirl.  I could not process this information.  On the one hand, I was glad my Dad was vindicated and restored to the position to which he excelled. On the other hand, I feared for the future scrutiny he might have to endure. The arrest of Mark Granite, and the demotion of Mr. Tate, did not immediately remove all threats and challenges to him.  There were still Granite’s accomplices and defenders.  There were still teachers and administrators who might not be happy with the change.  And there was still David Izzner and his black markets.

As those around me mused about what this might mean, the Guidance Counselor, Mrs. Glenda Novik, came up to our group. “Lance, would you come with me, please?”

“Why?” I asked.

“You’re wanted in the front office.”  She put her hand on my shoulder. “Trust me.  You’re not in any kind of trouble.”

I went with her, fearing that trouble was something that would never go away.

And was I ever right.