Temari knocked the dusty bottle against Shikamaru's elbow and chuckled. They were leaning against Temari's windowsill enjoying a post-coital cigarette. Temari was wearing Shikamaru's t-shirt, still naked underneath. Shikamaru was in his boxers. He gave her a half smile and took the bottle from her, took a pull. "What is this?" he asked, wincing as he handed it back to her.
"Blackberry schnapps. Back of the cabinet; he'll never miss it. I think someone gave it to him as a gift or something," Temari said with a shrug. She set the bottle back on her bedside table and sank back against Shikamaru. He idly rubbed one of her nipples through her t-shirt.
"I take it the apple vodka's gone, eh?"
Temari waved her hand as though there were no bones in her wrist. "There were only two shots in there," she said. She had chosen that one because there had been another full,
unopened bottle waiting. Her dad wouldn't remember the partial one. This was how she had been getting away with it for years, preying on bottles he had forgotten, bottles that he wouldn't remember whether they were almost finished or finished.
Another engine rumbled as yet another guest of Gaara's pulled up the long driveway. Shikamaru stretched to look. "Looks like Ino," he said.
Temari gave another slow chuckle and stretched. "Think she'll be pissed we're not down there?"
"Who cares?" Shikamaru said, and stubbed out his cigarette. Ino was late; the party had been going on for an hour already, the house shaking with dance music and people shouting. She probably spent the extra time getting her outfit just right. The couple watched her get out of her car, wearing a sheer next-to-nothing harem girl outfit, her blond hair in a topknot. She turned and waved, and the car backed away down the driveway, headlights silhouetting her costume, making her look like she was dressed in smoke.
"She must be cold," Temari said. Their breath was starting to steam on the night air. She hauled the window shut and Ino's head snapped up at the sound. Temari and Shikamaru
ducked out of sight, giggling. Temari shot a glance to her door; the deadbolt was in place. Ino wouldn't be bothering them.
"She's trying to show off for Sasuke no doubt," Shikamaru said.
Temari snorted. "Good luck to her." They had gone down earlier for pizza and to nab more liquor, and witnessed Sasuke, dressed as The Crow, and Sakura, in some unidentifiable
"dark queen" getup, getting very comfortable in one of the big leather recliners in the den. To Temari it appeared they were trying to meld together; Sakura was on Sasuke's lap,
straddling him, their mouths wide open and sealed together. Temari just shook her head and took her pizza, alcohol, and boyfriend up to her bedroom where, unlike the couple in the
chair, they could have some real privacy, and some real sex.
"Ino can hang out with Kankurou," Temari went on. Her brother had dressed up as a samurai. Gaara, in his makeshift raccoon costume, tried his best to mingle or at least ride
along in Naruto's wake as the blonde made the rounds. Kankurou didn't try; he sat by himself next to the food table, watching Sasuke and Sakura's antics get more and more explicit and
furiously gripping the handle of his plastic katana until the cheap, injection-molded seams began to split.
"They should just get together," Shikamaru yawned, meaning Kankurou and Ino.
Temari grumbled, "Don't even joke," and grabbed the bottle of schnapps for another swig. Her body felt pleasantly loose, her head swimming. Shikamaru's hands felt extra good against her skin; drinking affected her this way, made every sensation seem twice as interesting until she got too drunk and it passed into numbness.
She rolled onto her stomach, snuggled up in Shikamaru's lap, and tugged at his waistband. "Again?" he said, unable to believe his luck. He settled back with a grin. "I love our parties," he grunted.
Ino pressed the doorbell and shivered. She was beginning to regret her costume; true, she wanted to impress Sasuke and upstage Sakura, but as the hub through which all rumors at school passed, Ino had heard a lot of people talking about this party. Either Naruto had issued an open invitation, or was incredibly laid-back about letting people bring friends. Even though she had assured her mother that it was a small party with no drinking, her mother had told her, "Watch your drink. I don't know why I let you out of the house dressed like that, but you're asking to be assaulted." The silence after that carried them across town and up the Nosabakus' driveway, where Ino got out and told her mother to pick her up for curfew.
Music thudded inside. No way would they hear her ring or even knock. Ino tried the handle and the door opened. She went inside. Fake cobwebs, balloons, and streamers hung from the banisters of the stairs in the entryway. A jack-o-lantern, its face carved with an expansive grin and squinched-shut eyes, sat on a side table beneath a poster board sign that read, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." The arrow pointed toward the den.
All the light bulbs in the room had been replaced by black and orange lights. Furniture was pushed aside and the huge Persian rug that dominated the middle of the room had become the dance floor. Naruto was out there now, with a crowd of people Ino recognized from school, and some she didn't. Others wore masks or so much makeup that she couldn't tell if she knew them or not. Neither Neji nor Tenten seemed to have shown up. Ino let out a breath, then started as Hinata appeared from nowhere bearing a tray of cupcakes.
"Happy Halloween, Ino!" she said. Even in ideal conditions her voice was barely audible; Ino strained to hear it over the din. "Would you like a cupcake?" They were decorated with candy to look like cat faces. Hinata was dressed in a black one-piece swimsuit over white tights, with white gloves and cat ears, her face painted with whiskers and a pink triangle on the tip of her nose.
"Thanks," Ino said, and took one. She looked around. "Who are all these people? Did Gaara and Naruto invite them all?"
Hinata glanced around quickly. "I don't think so," she admitted, gnawing her lip. "I think people just showed up. Some of them brought booze." She leaned in closer to Ino. "I went in the kitchen to get more napkins and some of them were leaning on the stove, smoking joints with the hood vent on." She looked down at her cupcakes. "I hope the police don't come."
"Oy! Hinata!" Naruto shouted. Hinata started and looked over. He waved his hand, beckoning her over.
"I don't want to dance, but…" Hinata trailed off, looking from Ino to Naruto. "Can you take over for me, Ino? Thank you!" She held the tray out to Ino, who took it, and threaded her way through the crowd to Naruto. He pulled Hinata to him and kissed her. Ino watched Hinata's face redden, but the girl seemed pleased. Naruto looked a bit unsteady himself; someone handed him a cup, which he drained in one go before starting to dance. Hinata hesitated, then began to dance somewhat self-consciously, her movements stiff as her eyes darted around the crowd.
Ino turned with the tray and almost bumped into Gaara. He was wearing a makeshift raccoon costume: khakis with a gray sock, stuffed and painted with stripes, pinned to the rear; a gray hoodie with ears sewn on the hood; eyes doubly-lined. "Hi," Ino said.
"Hi. Aren't you cold?" Gaara stared at her unblinkingly. Ino felt twice as naked.
"Uh, no, it's kind of hot in here, actually. All these people," she replied. "Where are Temari and Shikamaru?"
Gaara pointed to the ceiling. "Upstairs. They didn't like the crowd."
Ino looked around. "I don't even know the crowd," she said.
"I don't either," Gaara admitted. "But it's nice to be popular."
People seemed to be giving Gaara at least four feet of personal space. Ino looked over to where Naruto danced, surrounded by people. "Uh huh," Ino said.
"You can set those down over on the table. No one seems interested in eating," Gaara told her, pointing. A folding table was set up against one wall, with coolers lined up in front of it. Gaara went to bask in Naruto's popularity. Ino went over to the table and shoved aside some empty beer cans to set the tray down between the cold pizza and the display of withering, untouched veggies and dip. A couple of guys came over and grabbed a slice of pizza. One elbowed the other, snickering, and said, "Hey, I didn't know they hired strippers! When's the show start?" he leered through half-closed lids, running his tongue over his upper teeth. "Yeah, take it off, baby," his friend added, knocking back more of his beer.
"Fuck off," Ino growled. The pair stumbled off, laughing. Ino's cheeks burned. She walked over to where Kankurou stood at the end of the table, glowering. Ino followed his gaze to see Sakura undulating against Sasuke in a leather recliner, in the shadows at the far end of the room. Her short, black skirt rode up; Sasuke's hand disappeared beneath. Ino's face burned as she felt jealousy rush through her, making her weak and shaky. "Well," Ino said in a taut, low voice, "There's no way I'm getting his attention now." She took a bite of the cupcake in her hand. "Nice costume," she said to Kankurou.
"Thanks, you too," he said automatically.
"You barely looked at it."
"What's to look at?" Kankurou responded without thinking. Ino's eyes narrowed. She
shoved the half-eaten cupcake at him, adjusted her bra, and stalked over to the squirming couple.
"Happy Halloween, Sasuke!" she cooed. Sasuke looked up at her with glazed eyes and
annoyance. Sakura ignored her and nibbled Sasuke's ear. "What do you think of my costume,
hmm?" She struck a pose.
Sakura looked at Ino and snorted. "Put some clothes on, Ino-pig. We can see your fat
rolls."
Ino's eyes widened as if she'd been slapped. Sasuke turned Sakura back toward him to
resume kissing. Ino walked away, red-faced and shaking with rage.
Kankurou shook his head knowingly and handed back the half cupcake. Ino slapped it
from his hand. With a growl, Kankurou seized a handful of flimsy fabric. "Listen," he hissed
over the music, "don't get bitchy with me. I didn't fucking do anything."
"Let go! You're going to rip it!" Ino shrieked, turning her rage on him. "Do you now how much this cost?"
"Way too much, probably," Kankurou replied, releasing her. "You should've worn something with a mask."
Ino gasped. "What, are you saying I'm ugly?"
Kankurou boggled. "What—no! Christ, women are nuts. Haven't you read books? Show up at the masquerade as the beautiful mysterious woman under the mask, who no one recognizes? The main dude is amazed but you refuse to dance with him until the end of the night, then you take off your mask at midnight and he falls madly in love with you? Any of this ringing a bell?"
"Why were you reading a book like that?" Ino asked.
Kankurou shrugged. "It was for a class or something, I don't know." He shot a glare over to the other side of the room. "I don't know what you see in that prick anyway. He's
just some whiny little mopey asshole. What would it be like hanging around with him?"
"That," Ino replied, jerking a thumb toward the couple.
"Yeah but aside from that, what would you do, spend the day talking about how much everything sucks? Listen to his stories about how he got each scar?" Kankurou stuck out an
arm and pointed to imaginary cuts. "'This one was when my mom told me to do my homework or no dessert. This one was from the time I had to vacuum the living room. This one was when they ran out of nachos at lunch.' Come on!"
"He's an orphan, Kankurou!" Ino protested. "His parents are dead and his brother killed them and now he's all alone. I'd be depressed too!"
"Why do you want to be around that? Why get involved in all that bullshit baggage?"
"I can help him. I can help… heal his pain…" Ino trailed off. It sounded stupid when she said it to Kankurou. Stupid and childish. "So, why are you into Sakura, then?" she snapped.
Kankurou shrugged. "She's pretty. And she was nice to me, once."
"Is she the only one, or do you have several other Halloween parties to go and glower at?"
"No, she's pretty much it," Kankurou said. "And that was a long time ago." He tore his eyes away from the couple and stared at the gobs of slowly melting orange sherbet floating in the punch bowl.
"Sorry," Ino said in a tiny voice. "Hey, we could, yknow…" she trailed off.
"Could what?"
"Um, make out. Try to make them jealous."
"One, that stupid shit only works in movies. Two, it only works if the people in question have any small speck of interest in you in the first place," Kankurou grumbled. Three, he was about to add, was that he'd rather make out with the jack o' lantern than with Ino. Which wasn't exactly true because, he had to admit, Ino was pretty fucking hot.
"I guess you're right," Ino said, pressing her hand to her forehead and looking about to be sick or cry or both. "I'm an idiot."
"You and me both," Kankurou sighed. He set his mouth. "Want to check out my puppets?"
Ino paused in the doorway, her eyes scanning the walls, the countless effigies of people she knew (just about everyone she knew), and people she never met and never would, in various stages of mutilation. Some had obviously been made for a single frustration: a nearly featureless, generic girl with an apron and a nail through her head; a man with a mall security guard's uniform drawn on in marker, his eyes scratched out. These were hastily made, attacked once, and hung to be forgotten.
Then there were the others, mostly faces she recognized, actually carved out of wood instead of painted on. Their clothes were actual cloth, pasted onto their wooden bodies. Some were only faintly marred, others much-patched, and some so new that they must have been fresh copies.
Kankurou sat on his bed and said nothing as Ino padded into the room, as if afraid they would come to life around her. On the desk lay three puppets. Neji was one, to judge by the long hair and gray eyes. She reached for the puppet, and hesitated. "Go ahead," Kankurou said. Ino jumped at the break in the silence. "You can touch them."
She took up the puppet. The mouth was sealed with a gob of wax, the strings to the wrists cut, leaving the hands limp and useless. "For Temari," Kankurou said. Ino was touched. Creeped out, but touched. "She doesn't know about it, but it made me feel a little better, anyway," he went on, then lapsed into silence, afraid of telling too much.
Ino set the Neji puppet down, moved to the next two. There was a Sakura puppet, on its back, unharmed except for a hole gouged into the chest to the left of where a breastbone would be. Atop it was a puppet so often and deeply cut that the limbs looked ready to snap in any number of places. The flipped-up spikes of black hair identified it as Sasuke.
Unnerved by this unexpected peek into Kankurou's warped psyche, Ino backed away from the desk. She looked at Kankurou. He was staring at the floor. She swept her gaze over the walls again, searching. "When I was little," she said, licking her dry lips, "I had this doll, one of those dolls with makeup that shows up when you run an ice cube over the face? She had these huge eyes, I mean plastic, huge, shiny, manga eyes, and long nylon eyelashes. I thought it was the coolest thing, so I begged for it for Christmas.
"I put her on one of my shelves, and sometimes at night I'd wake up and she'd be staring at me. I know it's stupid, that's what dolls and stuffed animals do. There isn't an intent behind it or anything. But it creeped me out. I'd imagine she'd come to life and at any minute she would move, and come, I dunno, attack me or something." Ino shuddered. "I guess my point is, don't these things freak you out? Don't you have nightmares that all these things you've tortured will want payback?"
"No," Kankurou said, getting to his feet. He wandered over to the wall, lifted a puppet in his palm. "They're just puppets. I control them," he added, letting the puppet swing back against the wall with a clack. "They wouldn't come alive. Even as voodoo dolls they're useless."
"Why do you make them, then?" Ino had to ask. Her eyes still traveled as she searched for a topknot blonde ponytail.
"Some people scream and punch holes in walls. Uchiha cuts himself. I take it out on these things." He moved to another puppet and lifted an arm delicately with the tip of his finger. "It's amazing how focusing on getting a tiny detail right makes you forget… and after taking all that time and work, destroying it. It's the same feeling people get when they hold a pet hamster and feel how delicate the ribs are, how easy it would be to squeeze…" Ino's upper lip curled. Kankurou went on, "How you can hold something fragile, so thin you can flex it and feel it bend, and know you shouldn't do it, because you'll break it, and the temptation to is just so—" he broke off.
"So where's mine?" Ino asked. "I can't find it."
Kankurou snapped out of his reverie. "There isn't one," he said. "You never gave me reason."
Ino blinked. She found Shikamaru, even Gaara and Temari, but not her.
"So," she said after a space, "does that make two girls who were nice to you, once?"
"No. You just weren't ever mean enough for me to care to spend the time."
Ino went cold, strangely insulted by his indifference.
Kankurou crossed to the desk and took up one of his X-acto knives. He held it out to Ino. She narrowed her eyes, confused. He nodded to the Sasuke puppet on the desk. "Go ahead. You'd be amazed how therapeutic it is," he offered.
Ino took the knife and picked up the Sasuke puppet. Kankurou had gotten the expression of arrogant disregard perfect.
With a little growl, Ino stabbed the knife into the wood.
"Drink! Drink! Drink!" the crowd chanted as Naruto upended the last of a bottle of beer into Gaara's mouth. Gaara swallowed hard and winced, his usually placid face tensing against the sickness in his stomach. Hinata twisted her fingers around each other, hunching her shoulders as the crowd around her hooted and applauded. Naruto threw an arm around Gaara and laughed. Gaara forced a smile and swallowed again.
A tall, broad young man in a hockey goalie's uniform, complete with mask, dug his elbows into the ribs of the friends on either side of him: one was dressed in torn thrift-store clothing, his face a mess of chunky zombie paint; the other wore a rubber skull mask that fit over his head, and a nylon jumpsuit with a skeleton painted on it. They slipped out of the room, down the hall toward the front door as if they were leaving.
"I saw her car in the garage, Jiroubou," said the zombie. "It has her name on the vanity plate."
The hockey masked faced whirled around. "Don't say my name, idiot. We're wearing masks for a reason." He turned to go up the stairwell.
"It should be to the right, at the end of the hall. She said she was here for a slumber party once," the skull said.
"That would've been years ago, wouldn't it?" the zombie asked.
"Best first place to look," said the skull. "You ready?" he asked the hockey player, slapping him on the back.
Neither of his companions could see his grin, but the tone of voice was undeniable. "Oh, you bet I am. Stuck up bitch is going to get a lesson tonight." He advanced.
Temari lay back on her pillows and waited for Shikamaru to come back from the bathroom. She had been there herself not long before, and as she passed Kankurou's door she saw Ino in there with him, stabbing one of those creepy puppets of his. She had shaken her head and kept on walking; Temari expected Kankurou to still be downstairs moping, and never thought Ino of all people would be hanging out with him.
She turned her head as the door swung open, but it wasn't Shikamaru, but a trio of guys in costume. Temari yanked the sheets up over herself. "Get the fuck out of here!" she shouted. "The party's downstairs, man, my room's off-limits."
"You're not off-limits, bitch," the guy in the hockey mask said. "You like to think you are, but you ain't. Heh." One of the others, wearing a skull mask and a jumpsuit painted with a skeleton, slid the deadbolt in place.
Temari's hand closed around the neck of a liquor bottle. She swung it up, but the hockey player caught her wrist and twisted. The bottle landed on the floor with a loud crack.
"Shikamaru!" Temari hollered. She tried to wrench her wrist away, but her muscles wouldn't respond right, like the signal was cutting out. "Who the fuck are you?" she demanded. "What the fuck are you doing in here?" She got a cuff across the face for her trouble. It felt as if her head spun one way and her brain another. Through the concussion and the haze of alcohol she saw the hockey player undoing his belt. It clicked. Cold panic ran through Temari, sobering her up with adrenaline. She jammed her heel up against his crotch and he fell back, cursing.
"Bitch!" he hissed, cupping his junk. "Hold her down," he ordered the guy with zombie makeup all over his face. There was the sound of duct tape tearing. Temari screamed again as the zombie flipped her over on her front and his weight fell across her upper back, pinning her body and her arms as he wrapped the tape around her wrists.
"Fuck! FUCK!" she screamed.
"In a minute, jeez," the hockey player said, his voice mocking and cruel. "Eager, are we?" he said.
"Get off me!" Temari screamed. She tried to buck the zombie off, but he was too heavy. Weak and cold with terror, she kicked blindly. Huge hands wrenched her knees apart. Temari howled wordlessly.
"Shut up!" the hockey player yelled. The zombie cuffed her in the back of the head. "This is 'cause you didn't know your goddamned place! Whore!"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Temari shrieked.
"Looks like she knocked the fight outta you. What are you gonna do now?" she heard the zombie say.
"There's gotta be something," the hockey player muttered. His eyes found the decorative candles on the bedside table, thick cylinders about two inches across. "If I can't have my fun," he said, and grabbed the longest one.
Temari felt like he was ripping her apart. Tears leaked from her eyes as she screamed, her face held down into her comforter so she could hardly breathe. "Someone help me! Please!" she screamed, over and over, until her voice gave out.
Shikamaru heard screaming. Somehow he knew it wasn't from a movie downstairs but from Temari's room at the end of the hall. Yanking his shorts back up, he ran unsteadily to her door and wrenched the handle. The deadbolt stopped him. "Goddamn it!" he grunted.
"Shikamaru!" Temari howled from the other side.
"Temari!" he cried hoarsely. He beat his fists on the door, kicked it, doing more damage to his hands and bare feet than to the door.
"Looks like you got her pretty sloppy already, she should be all right," a man's voice jeered from inside the room.
"No!" Shikamaru cried, realizing what was going on. "No! Stop it! Leave her alone!" He began shoving against the door with his shoulder, jumping against it, trying in vain to break it down. Temari's screams quieted to sobs.
Kankurou's head snapped up. "Did you hear that?" he asked Ino.
"What?" she said. Then she heard it too, a shout over the pulsing of the music. She had thought the screaming was from a movie on downstairs, but she heard Temari's name, and the harder she listened, it sounded more and more like Shikamaru screaming himself hoarse.
Kankurou was already tearing down the hall toward Temari's room. "Temari!" he shouted. "What's going on?" he demanded of Shikamaru. The young man's face was red, his eyes streaming as he battered the door.
"Someone's in there with her," he said. "They're—" he couldn't finish. Kankurou got the idea. Ino stood in the hallway behind him, frozen in fear.
"Stand back," Kankurou ordered. He ran back down the hall, then turned and ran toward the door, hurling himself against it. It shuddered but wouldn't budge. He backed up a few feet and threw himself at the door again, again, again, roaring, driving his shoulder into the unyielding wood. He staggered back with a grunt and gave the door a kick. The wood splintered around his boot but didn't give. "Ino, call the cops," Kankurou rasped.
Her cell phone was already open. "I'm at a party, my friend is locked in her room with some guys, they're hurting her!"
Shikamaru joined Kankurou in his efforts. "One, two, NOW!" Kankurou commanded. The door shuddered under their weight.
Sirens sounded as if from far off. "We gotta get out of here, man, let's go!" the skeleton urged. The hockey player straightened up, breathing hard, and pulled the candle out of Temari. She moaned. He let it fall to the floor with a dull thunk. It rolled a stripe of sticky red on the blue carpet.
The zombie scrambled off of her and wrenched the screen out of the window. "Down the roof, c'mon," he said, and climbed out of the window.
The hockey player was the last to go. "Remember this next time you feel like starting shit with your betters, bitch," he spat.
Temari lay like a dead thing, feeling herself withdraw into her head, away from the pain. She watched it with detached interest, like an observer in her head. It hurt. Oh. She heard pounding on the door. Someone was trying to get in. Oh. Someone was crying, not her. Crying was something she'd forgotten how to do all of a sudden. Unconsciousness was tugging at her, the way it always did when she got so drunk she couldn't stay awake, when she'd pool on the couch or the bed like someone had taken her bones. She felt numb around the edges, with a core of pulsating pain. She pulled back away from it.
Finally, something gave, and the door ripped away from its hinges. Kankurou and Shikamaru fell into the room, scrambling to their feet and tripping over themselves to get to Temari. Shikamaru got there first. "Temari," he whimpered, clutching her to him. She fell against him limply, not embracing him back. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!"
"They went out the window," she whispered as he tore the duct tape off her wrists.
Kankurou was already there. The screen had been kicked aside. Ino ran in, saw the candle on the floor, Temari in Shikamaru's arms. Ino let out a horrified moan.
Shikamaru's eyes met Kankurou's. They didn't have to speak. Kankurou scrambled out the window, rolled onto the roof and leapt to the lawn. He could see shapes at the back edge of where the expansive lawn met the woods, three shapes splitting up. His feet pounded the ground as he took off after the biggest one, the one heading straight in the direction that would eventually bring him to the far end of the Nara's back forty. "Perfect," Kankurou growled.
Shikamaru turned to Ino. She was wringing her hands, her eyes red. "Stay with her, Ino."
"Where are you going?"
"After them," Shikamaru replied, pulling on jeans and his sneakers.
"Shouldn't we wait for the police?"
"The police?" Shikamaru shouted, more harsh than he intended. Ino jumped. "The fucking Uchiha couldn't even find one of their own kids after he gunned down his family! No, I'm doing this myself. Maybe they can have him when I'm done, if there's anything left." Then he was out the window too.
Ino sat down carefully and took Temari in her arms. The girl was eerily silent. The sirens got louder. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. "We're in here!" Ino called.
Black-uniformed men and women, the fan-shaped crest of the Uchiha family on their sleeves, burst in with guns drawn, aiming around the room. One officer aimed straight at Ino's face for an instant before taking in the situation. "They went out the window," Ino said. "Two of our friends went after them." A female officer moved closer, bent to see to Temari, who stared dully at nothing.
Another officer appeared. "Looks like most of the kids took off into the woods. Probably they didn't know what was going on and just thought the party was getting busted. I killed the sound system."
"Did you use a bullet or just the power button this time?" another officer snarked.
"Can the jokes, you insensitive pricks," the female officer barked. "Where's the ambulance?"
"On it's way," the officer at the door answered.
"Good," the woman said. Her face softened as she turned back to Temari. "You'll be all right," she said. Temari just stared at her, then closed her eyes as if she was sick of staring at nothing. "Here, let's get some clothes on you," the officer said.
"There's a bathrobe hanging on the closet door," Ino said. The officer handed it over and Ino wrapped Temari in it, lifting the girl's arms through the sleeves.
A new siren squealed outside, then cut out. Flashing red lights painted the walls. Gaara appeared in the doorway and stopped short, eyes darting from Temari to the liquor bottles and the candle on the floor. His jaw clenched, eyes bugging. His breathing was ragged.
"Are there any adults here? Where are your parents?" the female officer asked Temari.
Ino answered for her, "Their dad's away on a business trip. Their mother died years ago."
"It's my fault," Gaara said, his voice uncharacteristically strained. Ino wondered for a wild second if Gaara meant his mother's demise.
"What?" the officer asked.
"It's my fault!" Gaara screamed. "Arrest me! Fucking arrest me!" He charged into the room and the officer hooked him by the arms, restraining him.
"Calm down," the officer demanded.
Gaara was bawling now, thrashing. "I'm sorry, Temari!" he howled. "You were right, you were right… and now…" he couldn't go on.
Ino explained, "The party was his idea. It got out of control. We didn't know who half the people here were. Those guys must've come in with everyone else."
Feet thundered up the stairs. Temari opened her eyes as the paramedics entered the room.
"I'm going with her," Ino declared.
"Are you her sister?" one of the paramedics asked.
"Just about," Ino replied. "She needs me."
One of the other officers sighed. "Let her. We need to clear the scene, collect evidence. And find those kids." Ino released Temari from her embrace and let the paramedics prep her for departure.
By the time Shikamaru got to his parents' back fields, Kankurou had already managed to knock the guy out. He sat on him now, contemplating his plastic sword with cool malice.
"Who is he?" Shikamaru gasped, voice ragged as he caught his breath.
Kankurou spat. "I didn't think to ask first. He'll probably come around in a minute." He got up and bent down to yank the guy's pants down.
"What are you doing?"
Kankurou looked at Shikamaru as if he was stupid. "Gonna see how he likes it." He drew the plastic sword, nudged the tip between the buttocks of Temari's attacker, and shoved. The man awoke howling. Kankurou stepped on the back of his neck, driving his face into the dirt. "What's your name, fucker?"
"Jiroubou," the man sobbed. "Please don't—"
"You didn't listen to her pleading, now did you?" Shikamaru cut in. He felt like his blood was on fire, and he took a vicious pleasure in seeing this man in pain, sobbing in fear. He nodded at Kankurou, who gave the sword another short shove. Jiroubou yelped.
"It hurts!"
"No shit." Shikamaru forced himself to be cool, calculating, though he'd like nothing better than to rip apart this bastard who had ravaged Temari in the few minutes Shikamaru had left her unguarded. "Better get used to it. Your new boyfriend in prison won't be so gentle. Now you tell me why."
Jiroubou hesitated. Kankurou twisted the sword ever so slightly. "Stop trying to think up a story and tell us the truth!"
"She told me to. She gave me fuckin' two-hundred bucks to—"
"'She'?" Shikamaru repeated. "Who is this 'she'?"
Jiroubou hesitated again. Kankurou gave the sword a thrust. "Tenten! Some bitch called Tenten. I don't even know her, she's friends with my cousin or some shit. Augh! Lay off, man!" he pleaded. Kankurou didn't even notice. He and Shikamaru gaped at each other.
"Tenten," Shikamaru breathed.
"Cunt!" Kankurou spat. "Why? Because of that fight?"
"She—she said something about avenging Neji," Jiroubou babbled. He would spill anything and everything at this point, Shikamaru knew, for fear that Kankurou would bury the cheap plastic up to the hilt through the dude's insides. "Said the Nosubaku bitch needed knocking down a peg or two."
Sirens were faint in the distance. "Not a lot of time," Shikamaru told Kankurou. "Let's knock this guy cold again and leave him for the cops to find."
"Leave his body, you mean."
"No," Shikamaru said. He was numb now, beyond rage, worried about Temari. He just wanted to get back and comfort her. Let someone else clean up this shit.
"It would be so easy." There was longing in Kankurou's voice, deep and mindless.
"Too easy. Come on, man. Killing him would be too easy on the fucker."
Kankurou reached into his pocket. Shikamaru wondered if he'd have to tackle him. Or try to; Kankurou wasn't a small guy. "One more thing first," he said, yanking up the back of Jiroubou's jersey. Shikamaru saw a glint of metal; Kankurou had one of his X-Acto knives in his hand. "I want to give his new boyfriend something to look at while he's pounding ass." He lowered the blade to Jiroubou's pale flesh and delicately sliced a vertical line. Jiroubou mewled. Shikamaru looked away to scan the woods for the sweep of flashlights, biting his lip to keep his nausea down.
"There." Kankurou drove his knuckles into Jiroubou's temple. His eyes crossed as his face hit the dirt again. Thin, livid slashes spelled "RAPIST" across his shoulders, where his name would be on a jersey. Kankurou wiped blood off the blade and stashed it away again. "Let's go."
Shikamaru satisfied himself with a hard kick to Jiroubou's ribs before following Kankurou back through the woods.
Shikamaru lay in his bed, on his back, his left hand palm-down where Temari would lay, were she there. She was staying in the hospital for observation, and Ino with her. He had a feeling Ino had bullied a few doctors and nurses to allow that.
Gaara had thrown up in the cop car on the way to the station, out of fear or guilt or too much alcohol. Shikamaru couldn't remember a time Gaara hadn't looked composed, eerily calm and blank. He barely recognized the sobbing, retching kid with eyeliner streaks down his cheeks, who wailed his guilt to anyone who would listen. He was the one who exposed his sister to this danger, by having the party, by letting anyone come to it, by letting people do whatever they wanted, even go upstairs and rape his sister, to use her deadbolt against her, and turn her panic room into a prison.
But Shikamaru blamed himself. If he hadn't been so drunk, he would have been able to defend her. If she hadn't been knocking it back alongside him, she would've been able to defend herself. He remembered how all her muscles seemed to turn to rubber, the last time they made love, how she barely seemed to have the strength to kiss him back, how yielding she was.
At the station he, Kankurou, and Gaara were ushered together into an "interview room." An officer brought them paper cups of water water, paint-stripper strength coffee and a couple of donuts, and waited for Shikamaru's parents to arrive. The donuts tasted like stale white bread, the powdered sugar like baby powder on his tongue. They sat heavy in his stomach. They had contacted Mr. Nosabaku, who was flying back the next day. Shikamaru had expected a lecture on underage drinking and sex, on unsupervised parties, but the Naras offered to let the boys stay at their house overnight, on cots next to Shikamaru's bed. "They shouldn't have to stay in that big, empty house by themselves, not after… that," Shikamaru's mother had said.
Two pairs of eyes stared at the glow-in-the-dark stickers that Shikamaru had stuck on the ceiling as a child and never bothered to scrape off. "Do we tell her?" Kankurou asked. He had waited until Gaara was asleep to speak; there was no telling what his psychotic little brother would do if he found out this wasn't some random party rape.
"No. Jiroubou will tell the cops everything; who his buddies are, who hired him. Let them deal with it."
"But she ought to know."
"Why?" Shikamaru asked. "So she can fucking kill Tenten? She's 18, understand?" Realization hit Kankurou. "You want her going to jail?" Shikamaru said. "She's too close to it, and if they catch her, she won't be heading to juvi."
"Fuck."
Shikamaru sighed. "I know, it sucks. Just be glad you got a crack at Jiroubou."
They fell silent. Before long, Kankurou was snoring lightly. Shikamaru shifted and settled into the mattress and let his sighs relax into deep breathing.
Gaara lay curled on his side, arms around himself, his eyes wide and staring into the darkness. His mother's voice screamed in his head, berating him for his weakness, for leaving his sister vulnerable. What are you going to do about it, Gaara? It asked him.