“So, you’re not crackers after all.” He pulled the comforter. Joni tried to hold onto it, but couldn’t. It jerked out of her hands.
She curled herself more tightly.
“Climb out of there,” Roy said.
“No.”
“Do it, or I’ll hurt you.”
“No.”
He reached under her pleated skirt and pinched her thigh. She started to cry. “What’d I tell you? Now, get out of there.”
On hands and knees, she climbed over the edge of the trunk, and lowered herself to the ground.
Roy shut the trunk. He took the girl’s hand. “We’re gonna have a nice campout,” he said.
He climbed the slope, pulling Joni behind him. From her struggles and cries, he knew the undergrowth was punishing her bare legs. “Do you want me to carry you?” he asked.
“No.”
“I’ll carry you piggyback, and the bushes won’t hurt.”
“I don’t want you to. You’re bad.”
“I’m not bad.”
“Yes you are. I know what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You…”
“What?”
“You…” And suddenly she was making a loud, grating, “Whaaaaa!” like a baby.
Roy muttered, “Shit.”
Noisy sobs sometimes interrupted the droning wail, but it would only start again. There was no sign of a let-up. Not until Roy backhanded her cheek. That stopped the bawling. Only stifled sobs remained.
“Sit down,” Roy ordered when they reached the campsite.
Joni dropped to the mummy bag and hugged her knees to her chest. She rocked back and forth on her rump, sniffing.
Roy broke sticks across his knees and built up the fire. When it was high and snapping, he sat down beside Joni. “This is pretty nice, huh?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been camping before?”
She shook her head.
“Know what I’ve got in here?” He lifted the white McDonald’s sack toward her face. She turned away quickly, but not before Roy saw the craving in her eyes. He sniffed the sack. The aroma of french fries was overwhelming. He reached in, touched the fries, and pulled one out.
“Look what I’ve got here,” he said.
He held it high, wiggling it like a pale worm. “It’s all yours. Open up.”
She pressed her lips tight and shook her head.
“Suit yourself.” Roy tipped back his head, opened his mouth wide, and dropped it in. It tasted very salty.
He took a can of beer from the pack. The can was dry and warm. He remembered how cold the cans had felt when he took them out of Karen’s refrigerator, how they’d left his hands wet. Well, warm beer was better than no beer. When he opened the can, beer sprayed Joni. She flinched, but didn’t bother to dry her face. Roy drank, washing the saltiness out of his mouth.
“Have a french fry,” he said, and offered her another one. “No? Okay.” He ate it. He took the entire bag of fries out of the larger sack. “There’s a Big Mac in here. It’s for you.” He chewed the fries, and washed them down. “I’m not gonna eat it. It’s yours.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Sure you do.”
“I don’t.”
“I bought it for you. You’re going to eat it.”
“You’re not my father.”
Dangerous territory. He didn’t want her bawling again. “Suit yourself. It’s yours, if you want it.”
“Well, I don’t. You probably poisoned it.”
“I didn’t poison nothing.” He ate more fries, drank more beer. He finished the fries and the beer at the same time. He tossed the oily bag into the fire, and watched the flames take it. Then he got himself another beer. This time he shook the can and aimed it toward Joni, intentionally shooting the spray into her face. She bit her lower lip. Beer dripped from her nose and chin. Roy laughed. “You should see yourself.”
He took the remaining Big Mac out of the sack and unwrapped it. “Want it?”
“No.”
He raised it. He opened his mouth wide. Joni’s eyes flashed toward it, then away. “You do want it.”
She shook her head.
“Yes you do. Here.” He held it toward her face. She tightened her lips. “Open wide.”
Again, she shook her head.
Roy brushed the burger against her closed mouth, leaving a wet trail of juice and dressing. Then he lowered it and waited to see her tongue sneak out.
Her mouth stayed shut.
“Come on, open up.” Again, he rubbed the burger on her closed mouth. “Do what I say.”
“Mmmm-mmm.”
Roy put down his beer can. He got to his knees.
“Eat, Joni.”
She shook her head.
With his left hand, Roy pinched her nostrils shut and pushed her backward. He held her down tightly against the sleeping bag. For a long time, she kept her mouth shut. Finally, with a gasp, she opened up. Roy stuffed in the hamburger: twisting it, breaking it, mashing it into her mouth and chin and nose. When she started to choke, he let go. He flung the remains of the hamburger toward the trees.
Joni sat up, coughing. Her fingers scooped wads of beef and bun out of her mouth.
“Don’t get crap on the sleeping bag,” Roy warned. He shoved her forward.
On hands and knees, head close to the fire, she coughed and spit.
Roy watched the rear of her short, pleated skirt, and remembered dressing her that morning. He’d chosen a fresh white blouse, and green skirt. Joni, on the bed, had neither struggled nor cooperated. It had been like dressing a doll. Only different. This doll had real parts, and he’d enjoyed the feel of them. He hadn’t put underwear on her. He liked the idea of nakedness under the skirt.
The choking had stopped, but Joni stayed there on her hands and knees, crying.
Roy patted the back of her leg. His touch made her go rigid. He slid his hand up and down, enjoying the curve of the leg and the cool smoothness of the skin. He moved his hand higher. She turned and knocked it away.
Grabbing her arm, Roy pulled her to him. Her mouth was dripping. He wiped it dry with his handkerchief, and threw the handkerchief into the fire.
She hit at his hands as he unbuttoned her blouse. He ignored it. Then she hit his nose. That hurt. He grabbed her hair and twisted it tightly so the pain made her gasp. He kept hold of the hair. She didn’t strike him again. When the blouse was off, he let her go. She hugged herself, shivering, while he folded the blouse and set it inside the pack.
“Cold?”
She said nothing.
Roy crawled behind her. He stroked her shoulders and back. He unbuttoned her skirt and lowered its zipper.
“Stand up.”
She shook her head.
Roy pinched her back. “Stand up.”
She did. Roy pulled the skirt down.
“Keep standing.”
“I’m cold,” she murmured.
“Stand closer to the fire.”
She seemed reluctant to step off the smooth nylon cover of the sleeping bag, but she did. She moved close to the dwindling fire.
“Put more wood on it, if you want.”
He watched her bend down, lift sticks from the pile, and toss them onto the fire. He watched the flames rise. He watched the fluttering orange glow they cast on her skin. He watched her crouch down close to the fire, giving him only a side view of her body.
He unlaced his hiking boots. Pivattas. Bob had good taste in camping gear. He pulled off the boots.
“Stand on the other side,” he said. “Facing me.”
That’s when she ran.
Roy slid up his cuff, pulled his knife. Flipping it, he caught the blade between his thumb and forefinger. He hurled the knife. It whipped end over end, its blade flashing firelight.
The girl almost reached the dark border of the clearing when the knife hit her. Roy heard the thud of its impact. He heard the girl’s startled gasp and saw her tumble forward.