Let's Go Play at the Adams'

She could easily have conned Cindy the night before last, but she had not wanted to hurt that

child who would? Barbara's sense of nicety would not permit it. Moreover there was no sense

in trying to catch Bobby; he not only went by the book; he had written it. He stayed carefully

out of reach. That left the outsiders-John, Dianne, and Paul. She would send her message to

the outside via a black eye, a split scalp, or a swollen nose. She was, after all, a competitive

swimmer, someone who tried things.

Since John was too strong, and Paul was, too well, if she failed, he might just kill her on the

spot-she centered on Dianne. Mornings offered Barbara's greatest moments of freedom; she

was on her feet, at least the lower part of one arm was free; the space in the bathroom was

confined enough to make attack possible; and who else was there? Only proper and sometimes

helpful Dianne. Moreover the thin girl was the most responsible member of the group; if she

failed to go home, or went home badly banged up, inquiry was sure to follow. Yesterday, in the

morning, Barbara had even done a little private rehearsal; she was sure she could get Dianne.

That certain delicateness that pervaded and marked Barbara's character, however, had so far

prevented her from doing more than planning. Everyone was susceptible to love and charity,

and the kids could be counted on to come through, couldn't they? She could see it to the end

this way, couldn't she? Violence wasn't necessary, was it? So much for yesterday's generously

liberal thoughts. Having been knife-scratched by a thir-

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teen-year-old, raped by one not four full years' older, and threatened by the presence of an

unknown prowler, however, she reversed herself. Now, lady.

In the morning next, then, she had dropped her washcloth and felt her whole system go on

double time. Argument and argument came together: I must do it versus I can't do it. Then

Dianne was bending beside her and then her own hand-it hardly seemed hers was swinging

out.

Once she had sunk her fingers into that neat hair of Dianne's-Barbara had to content herself

with the first grip whatever it was-she knew that she had at least enough determination never

to let go. When it came to hurting Dianne enough, however, she held back as she had been

afraid that she would. Mentally she gave the command and momentarily the advantage was

hers. A real swimmer's smash of the hips banging Dianne's head and face against the wash

basin would have been the end of the game: if not, the next smash would have been. Even as

she moved, however, she held back; being Barbara, she somehow hoped a little bit would do

it. She thumped Dianne a good one, of course, but it was delivered with a mercy not returned;

Dianne was not made of so tender a stuff as Barbara thought; and then the moment of

opportunity passed, and the struggle was in progress.

Barbara never truly saw John's first blow coming save as a blur in the corner of her eye, but

even with the bright green and white flashes that followed the explosion at her temple, she

somehow froze him in memory. He, too, was made of harder stuff and would not hesitate to kill

her, and then he hit her again, and she was falling. She had underrated them all.

When she went down, it was in a daze. Releasing Dianne too late and throwing her free lower

right arm out too late, she struck the tiled floor unprotected, and then coldness rushed up to

meet her face and hurt it.

For some time, it remained that way. She vaguely heard crying and voices, dimly felt things

being done to her, but she was somehow anesthetized. There was a

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dizzy fog between the essential inside Barbara and outside Barbara. She was gratefully

numbed. She would have liked to remain so, but pain and consciousness relentlessly returned.

She opened her eyes and found herself still on the bathroom floor, both hands tied again and

her feet no longer just hobbled, but bound tightly together ankle and-ankle. Her mouth was

again stuffed with lumpy, , damp cloth, and her lips were heavily covered with tape. Little

dazzling shock waves of hurt-injured wrist, thudding head-went across her consciousness.

Above her, on ~the other side of this flickering return to waking, John and Bobby stared down

at her. Even though they came and went from focus, she knew they were white-faced and

breathing hard, too. She turned her face down against the cool ceramic floor and made a sound

of heartbreak.

She hadn't had it in her.

The pain at the point where Dianne's head had struck the sink, lessened and left in its place

only a headache and slight swelling. When this became apparent to her, she was reassured

and calm again, almost supernaturally calm. Drying her eyes, she got up from the sofa, went

into the kitchen, opened the freezer, took ice cubes from the automatic ice-maker, crushed

them in the ice-crusher in Dr. Adams' bar; wrapped them in a towel, wet it, and put it to her