Blood Games

    While Finley taped the scene and Helen clutched the rope, the others lifted Wilde to his feet.

    ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘This is a gag. Right? Who put you up to this? Janke?’

    Helen tugged the rope.

    His legs leaped out from under him. Hands cuffed behind his back, he couldn’t catch himself. He slammed the trail chest-first. His breath huffed out.

    ‘Let’s see if you still think it’s a gag,’ Cora said, ‘when you’re sucking water at the bottom of the creek.’

    ‘Hey! No. Come on.’

    While Helen kept the rope taut, Cora and Vivian and Abilene rolled him off the trail. To the edge of the embankment above Benedict Creek.

    ‘Come on! This isn’t…!’

    They pushed. He yelped with alarm as he began tumbling down the slope. He cried out with pain as bushes and rocks scraped his bare skin.

    The girls hurried after him.

    He flopped into the creek

    A moment later, the girls jumped in.

    Abilene cringed. The water was awfully cold. But it only came up to her thighs.

    She helped Vivian and Cora hold their captive under the surface.

    ‘We’ll see how long he can hold his breath,’ Cora said.

    Helen laughed.-‘Half an hour, do you think?’

    ‘Maybe even longer.’

    ‘I wish Maxwell was here to see this.’

    ‘Shhh. No names.’

    ‘Do you think he heard?’

    ‘Doubt it.’

    ‘We’ll let you-know-who see the tape,’ Finley said.

    ‘Maybe we’d better let him up,’ Abilene said.

    ‘Rather not,’ Cora said. But she pulled Wilde up by the rope at the back of his neck. He gasped, making whiny sounds. The front of the pillow case, clinging to his face, puffed out and sank in as he fought for breath. His chest heaved. He had goose-bumps. His arms, chest and back were blotchy with red smudges that would soon turn into bruises. His skin was scratched, scuffed, gouged, ridged with pale welts, even tinted in places with grass stains. His blue shorts hung low and crooked below his hips. The waistband of his jockstrap showed.

    Cora hooked a forefinger under it, drew it back like a slingshot and let go. The elastic snapped him. He flinched.

    Helen laughed.

    ‘Okay, stud,’ Cora said. ‘Let’s go.’

    When they tried to lead him upstream, they found that he couldn’t walk with the rope hobbling him. Abilene crouched into the water, found the rope around his ankles, loosened it a little, and slid it up to his waist. There, she tightened its slipknot against his spine.

    His legs suddenly free, Wilde tried to make a break. He shouldered Vivian aside and rammed Cora with his other shoulder. Helen yanked the rope. He flopped backward and submerged. Abilene plunged a hand down after him and held his face under until Vivian and Cora returned and pulled him up by his arms.

    After that, he behaved as they guided him up the creek.

    Finley preceded them, wading backward, the camera to her eye.

    Soon, they came to the Shady Lane Bridge.

    Shady Lane traversed the park. Once, it had apparently been open to traffic. But that was long ago. Now, both ends were blocked by permanent barricades. The road, with its bridge over Benedict Creek, was reserved for pedestrians. It was not heavily traveled, especially on weekdays.

    In the shadows under the bridge, they climbed ashore.

    Vivian, Cora and Abilene held onto Wilde while Helen pulled the loop up his back. She cinched it tight between his shoulder blades, then drew the rest of the rope out from behind his cuffed hands. She flung its end over a support beam of the bridge, caught it, tugged until the rope pressed into his armpits, then tied it to the slipknot between his shoulders.

    ‘That oughta keep him for a while,’ Cora said.

    ‘Why are you doing this?’ he gasped.

    ‘Because you’re such a sweetheart.’

    ‘Don’t worry,’ Finley told him. ‘Somebody’ll find you sooner or later.’

    ‘Maybe one of the bums who sleeps under here at night,’ Abilene added.

    ‘Come on,’ he pleaded. ‘You can’t leave me here.’

    ‘You know,’ Helen said, ‘he’s gonna start yelling the minute we’re gone.’

    ‘We can’t gag him,’ Abilene said. ‘He might suffocate.’

    ‘Wouldn’t that be just too bad,’ Vivian said.

    ‘Besides, we’d have to take off the pillow case.’

    ‘I know how to keep him quiet,’ Cora said. She yanked down his shorts and jockstrap.

    ‘No! Please!’

    She jerked them out from under his feet. He started to fall backward, but the rope stopped him. He cried out as it dug into his armpits. Then he found his balance and stood there. He sniffed. ‘Please.’ His voice was high, quivering. He was crying.

    Cora smiled at Abilene, waved the shorts and jockstrap in front of her, and said, ‘Souvenirs. We’ll take them home with us.’

    ‘Don’t leave me. Please. Please!’

    They left him.

***

    ‘Do you think he’ll be all right?’ Abilene asked as they walked home.

    ‘Sure,’ Cora said. ‘I bet he won’t be there an hour before somebody finds him.’

    ‘Foul play is suspected in the disappearance of Belmore University senior, Andrew Wilde, a varsity wrestler who vanished Friday morning. A neighbor observed the young man leaving his Oak Street apartment at approximately seven o’clock.

    ‘Uh-oh,’ Finley said.

    The announcer was Candi Delmar, anchorwoman of the six o’clock news.

    It was Sunday evening.

    ‘Holy shit,’ Cora said.