How many times a day does a person walk through a door? Do we ever really think about it? The doorway, I mean. Perhaps we should.
Meghan stared through the display glass window of the dress shop. Her light grey eyes focused completely on an antique wedding dress that was made almost entirely of lace the color of dried corn silk. It was strapless, but it had matching gloves that ended at the wrist to imitate sleeves. The skirt puffed out under the lace layer in a trumpet like shape. Meghan loved it, she knew that dress was meant for her.
Inside the shop a woman with blue horn rimmed glasses and dark hair pulled back in a menacing bun, watched the grey eyed girl with interest. Most of the people on the street would turn to glance at her small store, but so few really appreciated the beautiful peaces that were her life's work. This girl she could see, was absolutely taken in by it. She smiled to herself, and the deep wrinkles on her face stretched themselves deeper. Perhaps, she thought, here was the opportunity she had been waiting for. She walked around the counter and looked up. The girl was gone.
Jonathan watched Meghan from across the street. His deep red hair hanging in his face made him look sad. She was staring through a window at a dress shop. At what? he wondered. He shrugged his shoulders and his denim bomber jacket jingled as one of the buttons fell to the ground. He groaned, attracting the attention of a cute blond girl that was walking past. He winked at her and she giggled, then he bent, picked up the button, and returned to watching Meghan. Meghan, whose black hair hung to her waist in soft waves. He loved her hair, and he was almost paralyzed by it as it fanned in the wind when she turned away from the window and started walking down the street. He didn't notice the blue-rimmed glasses that watched him as he moved away after her.
George Conover was a business man. Business was what he was all about, and business was what he was good at. He was the highest paid consultant in the entire state, but he had a little problem paying his parking tickets. So now, he was sitting at this smelly corner bus stop waiting for the green line to show up and take him a block from home. His leather briefcase sat at his feet, it was heavy and polished black so that is shone and was almost reflective. He looked down at it and was surprised to see a flash of silver, a high heeled shoe, two of them actually, on feet. He looked up at the dark haired girl in the green halter dress. She smiled casually at him, her grey eyes crinkled slightly, but she said nothing. He nodded back at her and looked around. The bus stop, which had been empty when he arrived, now held three other people, the girl, a red haired boy, and an older man with a can and an oxygen tank. George got up off the bench and offered it to the old man, who wheezed at him in gratitude and sat down. The dark-haired girl smiled warmly at him. "That was incredible" she seemed to say. The red-haired boy coughed behind her and moved a few steps closer to them. It was a relief to George to board the bus when it arrived.
The boy with the denim bomber jacket and brown biker boots caught her eye, and Brooke shifted to make room in her seat for him. She smiled when he sat, and crossed her legs, letting her shorts ride up a little, to show him her thigh. She was rewarded for her efforts when he took a long look, and she ran her finger down the line of her leg for him. He blushed a bit and looked up. She caught his brown eyes in hers and uncrossed her legs, for some reason this boy made her feel bold, and a little dangerous. She reached out for his hand, and he closed his eyes as she laid it on her exposed inner thigh. She flushed when she started to gently moved his finger over her skin and towards her center. She was afraid to look at him again as he touched her, but if she had, she would have noticed that he was watching the girl who sat two rows ahead of them and across the isle, and if she had noticed that, she would have been insulted. Instead she was moist and hot when he got up without a word and followed the girl off at her stop. Brooke smiled with pleasure at the encounter.
Ryan was thirteen now. Today was his birthday, and he was teenager. Three years away from his license, and lifetimes away from ever getting a date. He looked longingly at the cars parked on his block, and thought about how it would feel to drive one. He waved at Meghan, the pretty girl from down the street as she got off the bus. She waved back and kept walking. Ryan didn't really pay attention to the red-haired guy behind her, he was too busy watching Meghan walk, but he noticed when the guy pushed her into the alley, he heard the thud as she fell. He also noticed that one of her shoes had come off on the sidewalk, one of her silver high heels. She wore those shoes all the time. He scurried across the street to the mouth of the alley. He should have tried to help her, he knew that. Instead he watched. She saw him standing there, her eyes begged him to help, but Ryan couldn't move. She was bleeding from a cut on her forehead. The guy had a hand over her mouth, he was raping her. Ryan knew that. He knew a lot of things, he knew he should do something. So he picked up her shoe, and watched.
Betty Miller answered the door. The neighbor boy Ryan, stood on her porch. He was shaking and pale, covered in sweat. He handed her a silver high heeled shoe, her daughter Meghans, and then he fell, face down into the house. Betty screamed when she saw the boot knife and the blood. She called the police. She was too late. Betty trebled as the covered the boy with the body bag, she answered every question, but no one could answer hers. Why did he have Meghans shoe?
Anchor woman Joy Alms scanned her top story for the evening news and frowned. Just once she would have liked the top story to be happy. The producer gave the cue and Joy came on the air. She told the story of a local girl, found in an alley, she was rapped and beaten. She was wearing a single silver high heel. Joy Alms didn't know it, but Betty Miller, had finally gotten the answer to her question.
Book Review: Behemoth by Scott Westerfeld
10 years ago
