THE RITUAL ~ Chapter 4

Welcome to Chapter 4!

Got here without reading what led up to this point? Use the landing page here to navigate to where you left off.

What happened last:

Lucy has started her barber job and A.J has quit her diner job—just as the big high school dance is impending.

But things could be worse. Yes…things could be much, much worse.

Prepare to meet the mysterious Mr. Malbourne…

Chapter 4: June 30th: Day

He hardly ever gave it a moment’s thought, but on the rare occasion when he did, Gareth Malbourne knew he had married well. His wife was beautiful and, due to a tragic accident, independently wealthy with no pesky parents to play the role of intrusive, irritating in-laws. And she had chosen him. Gareth Malbourne: a quiet loner who never really had developed much in the way of social skills. By no means a catch; he had given up the idea of marriage long ago. Romance felt to him like an awkward folly anyway, so he was fine with the way his life was going.

He could bury himself interminably in his work. His research. His true love. He had embraced academia like a drug and the endless search for new information filled his days. For Gareth Malbourne, facts were so much more rewarding than people; he found no one who understood his obsession with history. He also never could manage to make much of himself in the pedestrian working world, ever struggling to make ends meet. His last job as a janitor allowed him the opportunity to work alone, late at night, books on tape in his ear the whole time; the peaceful solitude proved a blessing, though the remuneration left much to be desired.

But now things were better. He could read and analyze and theorize to his heart’s content without needing to earn an income. He had even started making progress again on the book he had been making notes on for years. Lucy had made all those things possible. And it still amazed Gareth that she had come on to him. How many guys get a beautiful, rich woman to fall in love with them? And Gareth, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out how he’d done it.

But he was an opportunist and had always hoped to mechanize such an arrangement: one where he could indulge his idiosyncratic interests in the occult of the ancients. So, he never asked questions. He didn’t care how her parents died. He didn’t care if she’d been married before. Best of all, she didn’t seem to care that he didn’t care; she left him alone, providing shelter and food—which was all he really needed to pursue his obsession.

Sex was never big with Gareth. He had lived most of his life without it. The few times it had occurred, he found it too much work and too much mess for something he could take care of in a few minutes on his own. And he had a low sex drive for a man to begin with. So, Lucy accepting his lack of physical intimacy made everything seem a perfect fit. He lived contented as a kept man, one able to keep to himself…which proved the perfect set-up for his private practices.

Gareth had submerged himself so profusely into the realm of thought and analysis that, if there had ever been another side of him--a passionate, reactive, volatile side, he had buried it so deeply he had no clue if it even existed anymore. But it did. Gareth had simply become unconscious of that side of himself. But there were times when that side took over. When the waking Gareth fell asleep, the irrational, animal side ran wild. It was a crazed beast. It did not like being caged in such a dark place. And it let Gareth know. He would get terrible migraines. They were the result of this mad, passionate side of Gareth telling him it wanted out. Or so he might have thought.

But Gareth was too focused on the intellectual body of his work to pay much attention to the workings of his physical body. His body was nothing more than a vessel: a Swiss Army knife of tools for him to take in and evaluate information. One day he would find the next piece of the puzzle he needed to transform his world of words and ideas about days and demons gone by into something that would change the world. So, he sat, now, in the office he and Lucy had created for him downstairs, behind closed doors—completely absorbed in his secret studies.

Beneath the desk, his shoes remained untied.

***

“And thus we find Gulliver has learned a lesson in humility by being at both ends of the spectrum. Humility is the key theme Swift is working with…”

Scott wasn’t hearing a word of today’s lecture. His mind was on A.J. Her quitting Pops was a blessing and a curse. She hated Mrs. Curson. Who didn’t? But now A.J. had no income. And no income meant she would stop all extra expenditures. “No bills, no thrills” she was fond of saying when cash was low. And while Scott admired her stance that a woman should pay her own way, it meant she might not want to go to dinner before the dance. And the reservations had already been made. Scott had the whole evening planned and he refused to let principles get in the way of a good time.

Just then, he became aware of the picture before him. He regularly drew pictures alongside his notes. It was a habit. So, he wasn’t surprised to find he had been sketching while his mind had been far away. But, suddenly focused on his latest artwork, he realized what he had been drawing.

It wasn’t a cartoon. It was a realistic pair of eyes looking up at him. They were just eyes, but there was something odd about them. They were unsettling. Scott couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Then it hit him. I’ve seen them before!

“Madness,” the teacher pronounced. “So, at the end we realize the entire tale has been a descent into madness.”

“And she should know about that,” Jeff McGee muttered.

Scott looked over and shared a grin with the guy. Yeah, thought Scott; Ms. Calahan was a little bizarre what with that part in her hair that never moved as if she never washed her hair. Then he looked back down and saw the sketched eyes looking up at him. He was sure he’d seen them before.

But where?

***

Shit, thought Alex. That smartass jock hit the ball into left field because he knows I can’t catch.

Alex didn’t know why he was hopeless at baseball. Or any sport, for that matter. He always gave it his best shot, and the result was never successful. Mostly he hated how easy it was to get hurt. Someone was either tackling you to the ground or elbowing you in the ribs or—like now—hitting a ball in your direction at a speed that could crack your head open.

Alex ran to where he thought the ball would land. It’s mind over matter, he told himself. You can do this. Just make sure the ball hits the mitt and not you. Alex prayed the ball would oblige. It began to fall. It was coming right for him. All his instincts told him to step aside and protect himself. But he had to prove he could do this. He would catch this ball. Then it wouldn’t matter if he never caught another one again. He held up his mitt. Please…

The ball smacked—amazingly—into his glove…

…and fell right out.

The other boys were screaming at him. He bent down, picked up the ball, and threw it as best he could to the third baseman. Alex couldn’t throw for shit, either, so the other team scored two runs.

Mercifully, the bell rang; sixth period was over. Alex bolted for the locker room. The other guys strolled in the same direction, putting away equipment. Alex always tried to get in and out of the locker room before it got too crowded.

“Asshole,” the third baseman whispered as Alex passed. Alex didn’t care. He was on a mission.

He got into the locker room and rounded the corner of the row where his locker was.

“Hey.”

Alex stopped. There was a shirtless guy standing by his locker. He was one of those lucky, perfect people: good-looking, tall, athletic build. The kind that—in his own mind’s comparison—made Alex feel ugly, short and wimpy.

“If I’m in your way, let me know. I just moved here from Beaumont. I’m John.” He held out his hand.

Alex forced himself to snap out of it and approach the guy and his locker. He shook the guy’s hand.

“I’m Alex.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

The guy started undoing his pants.

“They said I could swim laps after school while the water polo team practices in the other pool.”

“Oh,” Alex said. He didn’t know what else to say. He sat down and focused on untying his shoes. The swimmer shucked his pants off, hung them on a hook and then slid his jockey shorts off. Alex saw it all from the corner of his eye. He had pulled his shoes off and sat up to work the combination on his own locker. He couldn’t remember the numbers. He was only aware of what he always feared. His mouth got dry as he tried to concentrate; tried to keep the sudden, confusing erection from coming.

Slam!

Alex turned to see John give him a grin.

“See ya, Alex,” he said.

“See ya.”

Alex watched the guy go. He was beautiful: his lean, muscular body fitting into his speedo like men were supposed to. It was like everything Alex ever wanted.

The sounds of the other guys storming the place snapped Alex into a frenzy. He opened his locker and changed into his street clothes as fast as he could; the terror thankfully making his erection subside. He slammed his locker closed and headed for the door, feeling miserable.

***

HAIR IT IS had an unusually busy day with all the kids ditching school to get spiffed up for the dance later that night. But Lucy Malbourne didn’t let the forming line agitate her in the least. She remained remarkably focused and efficient and yet managed to ooze her seductive charm. Part of what slowed her down was her being a one-woman show. After each haircut, she had to do her own clean-up, sweeping the shorn hair into the back so the next customer had a clean playing field. She also had to act as cashier. Even so, each time she rang up a kid, she made sure to wish them a wonderful time at the dance.

A.J. didn’t care about being the only girl in line. She knew all the girls went to Stella’s. But she was going to be low on cash and figured the new barber in town would be more likely to give a customer a break. So, she came as late as she dared and sat waiting for her turn. She watched Mrs. Malbourne cut, clean, and cashier. When only A.J. was left, Mrs. Malbourne turned to her and smiled.

“Well. Shall we make you pretty for the dance?”

***

Denise wasn’t going to the dance. Not that she wasn’t popular: her blonde hair and blue eyes brought several boys to ask her to go with them since she had officially broken things off with Billy Eikerman. She held out and until Peter Barnes, who sat in the third row before her in English Composition, finally asked. But she was begrudgingly a good girl, so when her parents revealed an event they needed to attend and Denise would have to babysit her brother Michael, she broke off the engagement with Peter. She had to play “good girl”: she wanted a car next year and she was saving all her cards up for that hand.

As she walked home from school, she fantasized about Peter. And maybe stupid Billy Eikerman had been right. After all, she was in high school, she told herself; it was time to lose her virginity. Besides: it was true love. And even if it wasn’t, the delicious tingling between her legs when she thought about Peter made her not care. If she could just get him alone…

That’ll beat some dumb ol’ dance, she thought.

***

Randy stood in his boxers, checking himself out in the mirror. He kept looking at his new hair from different angles. It was so alien—even to him. But he liked it enough. And, more importantly, he thought Mrs. Malbourne liked it. He was admittedly embarrassed about the crush. He knew it was crazy. But older women did go for younger guys, sometimes. And, looking at his short hair, he remembered how nice she had said he looked.

Very handsome, she had said.

Randy got the start of a hardon just thinking about it.

“Shower,” he reminded himself. He had already turned on the water to get it warmed up and the mirror was starting to steam up anyway. He slipped off his shorts, his member starting to fill out, demanding attention. By the time he was all slicked up with soap, he was hard and throbbing and Randy couldn’t help but slide his erection in his fist a few times. But, as good as it felt, he wanted to save it on the off chance he might, for once, get lucky at the dance. And if he didn’t get lucky, well, his hands would still be around later.

***

A.J. sat in the chair while Mrs. Malbourne worked. She had told the woman to do something nice, “but not too crazy”. And she had asked her to face her away from the mirror. A.J. didn’t want to look until it was finished. Except for the routine trim, she hadn’t had her hair cut in years. And she’d never had it “done”. But she was treating herself. She had decided that, within reason, the cost would be worth it. Just this once. She had quit Pops and she deserved a reward. And she had a wad of tip money in her pocket.

“Okay,” Mrs. Malbourne said. “Are you ready to look?”

“I’ll have to, someday.”

Mrs. Malbourne just smiled and turned the girl around.

A.J.’s jaw slowly fell open. Mrs. Malbourne had performed a miracle: the girl in the mirror had upswept hair which made her neck long and graceful; a few, perfectly placed ringlets framed her face like a fairytale princess. A.J. looked sophisticated. She looked adult. And most of all, she looked pretty. A.J. turned to look at Mrs. Malbourne.

“Do you like it?”

A.J. smiled wide.

“It’s magic!”

***

Denise McFarland came into the kitchen. Michael bounced in after her.

“What’s for dinner?” he chimed.

“I don’t know, yet. I’m looking.”

She pulled open the refrigerator. Sometimes her mother would have something prepared, ready to heat up. But that wasn’t the case. The only thing defrosted was some salmon. She looked at her little brother.

“Fish,” she said.

“Yuck,” he replied.

Yuck is right, Denise thought. And not just of the salmon; of the whole night ahead of her. Big, fat yuck!

***

Scott stepped out of the shower and towel-dried his thickening mop of hair. He wrapped the towel around his waist and wiped the mirror down to check for acne. He was clear. He stood back and looked at himself. The weightlifting was paying off. A.J. would like him when they finally got naked together. He leaned forward again. No doubt about it: he was definitely getting chest hair by the day. He was going to have a nice furry chest like his father. Girls dig that, he thought.

Girls.

What was that about? There were no girls, plural. There was only one girl for him. One. Uno. A.J.

Yeah…that’s why you’re checkin’ yourself out, a voice in the back of his head said. ‘Cause Mrs. Malbourne likes you, too.

“No,” Scott told himself aloud.

“It’s lonely, sometimes,” she had said.

He looked himself in the eye. And you like her, the voice said. You were drawing her eyes.

Scott realized it was true. They were Mrs. Malbourne’s eyes he had unconsciously been drawing. So what? he thought. It was perfectly natural: she was a good-looking woman.

And you like her.

Now the little voice was getting annoying. Scott got a hard, determined look. He took off his towel, looked down at his penis and said “You like her. I like A.J. And I’m bigger than you.”

And with that, he put on his shorts and went to put on the cologne A.J. liked.

***

“It’s on me.”

A.J. couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

“Excuse me?”

Mrs. Malbourne smiled. “This was on me. I don’t get a lot of ladies in here and it was a nice change of pace. I’m hoping you’ll recommend me to the rest of the girls.”

“I’d do that anyway, Mrs. Malbourne. You don’t have to comp me. I know what this would have probably cost at Stella’s.”

“Well, she has more overhead, I’m sure. She probably has other employees she has to pay and who knows what.”

“Well, you’ll excuse me for saying, but you could use an employee or two, yourself. I was watching you: cutting, cleaning, cashiering. You’ll burn out.”

Mrs. Malbourne looked at A.J. for a moment. Then, she smiled.

“You might be right. Maybe I should get an assistant. You let me know if you think of anyone, okay?”

A.J. was freaked. Mrs. Malbourne couldn’t have known she had just quit Pops. Maybe the universe was working in one of its proverbially mysterious ways. But it was too creepy for A.J. At least at the moment.

“Uh...sure,” she ended up saying. “Well, at least let me tip you.”

“Not a chance,” Mrs. Malbourne replied. “Now you go have a wonderful time tonight.”

“Thanks,” A.J. said with smile. Then she turned and made her way out the door and down the street.

Mrs. Malbourne watched her go, her own smile widening. Then she closed the door, locked it, and turned the sign around to read “Closed”.

***

Gareth felt the onset of a migraine. He went upstairs and took his medicine. It was a pain reliever and a sleep agent his doctor had prescribed. Gareth lay down on the daybed and closed his eyes. The medicine was mercifully fast. He fell unconscious in no time. And the other side of him came alive.

Outside, dusk was edging its way across the sky.

The night was near.

Next up: Chapter 5: June 30th: Night