Michael Smith - Siblings

"No, I'm NOT okay," she sniffed, "but I'm not hurt. Please, let's just go home!" She climbed on the back of the bike, gathering her full skirt between her knees so it wouldn't get caught in the chain and kill us both. We buzzed off and she held me tightly around the waist and pressed her cheek to my shoulder blade, which felt nice. She had calmed down on the surface but she was still upset, and I wanted badly to know why.

I waited until we were back upstairs and Alex had kicked her shoes off – clear across the room – and had sat down on her bed. Her head was down and her hands were in her lap, fidgeting. I leaned against her dresser, tried to assume a sympathetic expression, and said, "So…?"

My sister looked younger than usual; I thought it might be because she was still a little scared. But why wasn't Allen Whoever in the picture somewhere? She took a deep breath and looked up at me unhappily.

"I'm sorry I had to holler for help, Michael, but I'm glad you came and got me. I thought about it on the way home, and I guess it was partly my fault-"

I interrupted. "Alex, what are we talking about? Why don't you just start at the beginning?"

"Yeah, okay. Allen Stone asked me out – he's in my history class -and he's nice-looking, and the girls I asked said he was okay, so I said yes. We went to a show, and then for ice cream, and he*did* seem nice. A little too full of himself, maybe, but a lot of the guys I know are like that." She gave me a quick 'exception' smile.

"Then he asked if I'd like to go up and see the view from Pilot's Point – you know, where the kids with the expensive cars go to park. He was driving his father's T-Bird. I thought 'why not?' I can take care of myself. So we went up there and parked – and then he kind of changed. I just wanted to make out a little, you know? But he wanted a lot more than that! Oh, God. He's too strong and I had to fight him off, and he scared the hell out of me. I mean, we kissed, and I let him play with my tits a little – but I kept my clothes on. But then he pushed me down on the seat and pulled my skirt up, and he got my panties part-way off, and I couldn't struggle because he was on top of me, and I couldn't even yell or anything because he kept kissing me so hard, and…" She ran out of breath and the tears were coming and her voice was shaking.

I moved quickly to the bed and sat and held her, and stroked her back, and she clung to me. Her tears were on my neck and her fingers were squeezing my shoulder. I was angry, and getting angrier by the second. When she calmed down again she continued her story, but she didn't let go of me.

"I finally got one hand loose and held the horn button down, and he quit because people were looking at us from the other cars. Then he called me some terrible names and drove me back, and I was scared all the way! He took me as far as that corner, which was the first pay phone he saw, and told me to get out of the car."

I hugged her, meaning to comfort her, but she flinched and gasped slightly. I sat back abruptly and looked more closely at her. "Alex, are you*sure* you're all right? Did he hurt you?"

She snuffled a few times and stood up, silently unbuttoning her dress and dropping it (and her half-slip) to the floor around her ankles. There was a purple and green bruise across the upper part of one breast, half-covered by her bra. Another bruise spread across the inside of her thigh. And her panties were torn completely open across the front, held up only by the elastic.

My fists clenched and I felt myself begin to shake. My sister was a very sexy girl and she was correct in that she had had plenty of practice looking out for herself. But no frustrated date had ever assaulted her before. She was very adept at sending out the right signals, and most teenage boys will accept that whether they like it or not. But this Allen Stone wouldn't accept "No." And he was going to pay for it.

I took Alex in my arms again, carefully this time, and we stood and held each other for a few minutes. It was almost midnight, but what I had to do wouldn't wait until tomorrow. I led Alex into the bathroom and urged her to run a hot tub and soak for awhile. I'd be back. She looked at me with some apprehension as she undressed.

"Michael, don't do anything stupid – please? He's a lot bigger than you are."

I smiled reassuringly and went back to my room and looked up Allen Stone in the school directory. Then I dug out my leather jacket. It was meant to keep out the cold when I was out on my moped at night, but it was also enough like the classic black motorcycle jacket to afford some physical protection as well. I added the heavy, hard-toed shoes I used for hiking and climbing.

Then I dug through my odds-and-ends drawer and located the thirty-inch length of coaxial cable I had found on the side of the road a year or two before, probably scrap dropped by some line crew. It was an inch of spiral copper strands wrapped around a solid core, with a thick, hard, black rubber covering, and it had a satisfying heft.

I slipped quietly out the back door and coasted my bike a short way down the block before revving the motor. I hoped Alex hadn't heard me leave.

The Villain lived about half a mile away and all the way over there my mind kept replaying images of Alex's bruises and torn underwear. I wasn't shaking anymore; my anger had escalated to a cold, hard rage that planted a dull throb behind my eyes. I was not yet sixteen and I was prepared to commit murder, if necessary.

As I buzzed up the short street Stone lived on, I saw immediately which house I wanted: There was a jazzed up Mustang parked in the drive next to a white T-Bird. A bulky-looking character was leaning against the fender of the Mustang, drinking out of a can. I stuck the cable/club into the back of my jeans and coasted to a stop ten yards away from the guy, who was watching me curiously. I could smell the beer and I noticed three empties lined up on the trunk lid behind him. My sister seemed to be losing her taste in dates.

I walked a few feet closer and stopped with my hands in my jacket pockets. "You Allen Stone?" That coldness in the front of my brain was making me foolhardy.

His eyes flicked up and down, measuring my height, which was a bit less than his, and my weight, which was considerably less. He was about seventeen – two years older than me.

"Alex is my sister. You beat up on her, you son of a bitch!" I wished, at that moment, that I owned a revolver.

The guy stared at me uncomprehendingly for a moment before my identity clicked. Then he sneered.

"She's a fuckin' tease. I should have slugged her. And what are*you* gonna do about it, kid?" He didn't know it, but he was at a psychological disadvantage. This was just a game to him, but not to me.

"What's the matter, asshole? You can't beat up on anyone but little girls?" I put one hand in my back pocket and took a grip on the club with the other. Stone's eyebrows lowered and his face got red, and he took several quick steps toward me, still holding the beer can.

"You little punk!"

Make him come to me, I thought – especially when he isn't expecting a fight. He reached for the front of my jacket but his hand was still a foot away when I yanked out the length of cable and swung it overhand. I brought it down as hard as I could on his wrist. He yelped in shock and startlement and dropped his beer.

While he was still standing there clutching his numbed wrist, I brought the cable around in a backhand and, by sheer luck, caught him high on the side of the cheekbone. He stumbled back and held up both arms to protect himself. From the way he favored his injured wrist, I thought I might have broken it – with any luck. That would keep him out of basketball for awhile.

As he moved back, I stepped in. He hadn't expected this attack at all and he certainly wasn't prepared for it; if he had been, he'd be pounding me to a pulp right now. The beer was on my side, fortunately, because he wasn't reacting intelligently.