Nightrunners Read Free Page B

Many times.
    Before the rape, things had been simpler. During the Vietnam War he had been so certain; had known exactly where he stood and why.
    "You wish to sign as a Conscientious Objector?"
    "Yes, Sergeant, I do."
    "You are opposed to violence of any kind?"
    "I am."
    "You are not merely opposed to the Vietnam War, but to violence itself?"
    "I said as much."
    "You would not raise your hand to protect your home?"
    "I could not kill another human being."
    "Even to save your own life?"
    "No. I could not kill. "
    And the sergeant had looked at him long and hard, pitying. And he had felt so superior to that sergeant. He had thought: What a stupid, military mind. He can't stand a rational, thinking human being. All he can think is Kill! Kill! Kill! He thinks I'm a coward instead of a moralist.
    Well, old buddy, are you a coward?
    Was the sergeant right? Have you been fooling yourself all these years?
    Is the truth more like the fifth grade when Billy Sylvester beat you to a nubbin and kicked you in the balls and made you like it?
    Is it more like that?
    Like when you paid Billy half your lunch money so he wouldn't beat the cowardly crap out of you every day?
    More like that?
    Or like when Billy forced you to watch while he fed your little brother, Jack, a dog turd?
    Remember Billy saying (smiling while he did, holding the dog turd with an old candy wrapper, holding your brother down with his knee), "Smile while he eats it, pussy."
    Remember that?
    Hey, hey, hey. Remember smiling?
    And remember your brother, Jack, dogshit masked on his teeth, kicking and struggling, being more of a man than you ever were?
    Remember Billy going away laughing? Can you still hear the echo of that laughter rocking around inside your head?
    Okay. You were right about the Vietnam War, Mr. Smart Guy. Time has proved you out on that one. But was part of your reason for not going more barnyard than political or intellectual? Was there really a plump chicken heart beating against your educated breast?
    "Not bad," Becky said.
    Montgomery swam out of it. "Yeah . . . nice."
    Becky set her bag inside the door and looked around, her hands once again folded in front of her, protectively.
    Would you stop that, Montgomery thought, but said, "Come on in and take a look."
    He walked over and put his arm around her shoulders.
    She wilted.
    He removed the arm slowly. No way he could even force a smile now.
    "It's not you, Monty . . . Really . . . it's not . . . You know that."
    "Yeah."
    "I love you . . . believe me ... I try every day. It's just hard right now. I'll be better
    ... it just takes time."
    "Sure," Montgomery said, wondering if things could ever be as they had been before. It all seemed rather perfect then.
    Becky smiled. There was the faintest impression of her old self there, but it was fleeting.
    "Really, Monty. I'm sorry."
    He nodded. "It's okay. I'll get the rest of the stuff out of the car."
    The rain felt good against his flushed face. He got the bags from the Rabbit, started back to the cabin.
    Becky stood just inside the doorway, looking in. But Montgomery knew she wasn't seeing the living room. She was tuned inward, examining an endless replay of her rape in Technicolor and stereophonic sound.
    He stepped around her and into the room.
    Becky turned and smiled at him. An empty smile.
    He smiled back, and still holding the bags, he hooked the door with his foot and kicked it closed.
    It slammed much harder than he expected.
    TWO
    The dreams had started immediately after the rape.
    Of course, it was normal that horrible dreams should follow such an experience, but somehow, Becky felt they were something other than dreams.
    Knew they were.
    They didn't come only in sleep. They weren't selective. Asleep. Wide awake.
    Didn't matter. They came. Flashing before her internal vision like moving pictures. It could happen anytime without notice. Washing dishes. Taking a bath. Reading. Even watching television.
    The damn things had destroyed her already