Just a Little Luck
11
Ray's white-blond hair was illuminated by the flashing police lights, blue and red and back again, but all Amanda could think was the last time they spoke, the whisper drenching his lips, his ocean eyes drowning her in the waves they created.
She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders and then she walked slowly and purposefully towards him. His eyes watched her like a predator, trailing from her bare toes, wet from the early morning's rain, up her legs, and then her face. She was certain she was white-faced with terror, and it didn't help that her voice shook when she spoke to him.
"Come to gawk?" she asked, trying hard to sound strong and cool, but the high pitch of her voice ruined it. Her lips quivered.
Ray didn't respond, only stepped closer with the liquid slink of a cat, and wrapped his long, ropey arms around her, pulling her tight against him.
A few tears escaped her eyes, and that was all it took for her composure to fissure and crack. She could feel the man's hands on her, wet, hot breath on her neck, and she clung even tighter to Ray. He smelled like BO and men's body soap, a scent that chased away the man's stench, and her legs gave way.
He folded with her, holding her just as tight, murmuring her name over and over, a prayer, reverently. "Amanda, oh, Amanda," he whispered, his cool cheek pressed against her temple.
She shook her head and shivered as the wet grass began to bleed into the fabric of her shorts and dot her leads with beads of water. Through the fabric of her sweatshirt, she felt his cold hands rub up and down her back, trailing, sensual almost.
"Amanda!" her dad called in alarm.
"Now they notice," she muttered, unable to keep her bitterness from spilling out like a toxin, and pulled away, only to find herself trapped against Ray's chest. Her stomach plunged as she tilted her face up to ask him what he thought he was doing and found a soft, gentle expression.
He didn't say a word to her as he slowly pushed himself to his feet—taking her with him—and wrapped an arm around her back and front, just below her breasts. She hunched a little, uneasy as her mom and dad hurried over.
"I think the reality just hit her," Ray said quietly, his voice low and even.
"Amanda, do you know how worried we were when we couldn't find you?" Mr. Benson said. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest.
Amanda felt her heart stutter and a bitter taste fill her mouth like bile. "Josh is over there," she argued, feeling her temper flare, "but why aren't you yelling at him?"
"Because he was smart enough to tell us he was going over there, or, at the least, stay in sight," Mr. Benson explained quietly.
Because he was smart enough. She felt a bone-deep sadness well up inside of her and crash. It wasn't the first time she'd been compared to her smarter younger brother, but with the events of tonight, she thought maybe they wouldn't bring it up. Her hands shook as she pressed her fingers into her legs, grinding the nails into the skin past the fabric of her pajama pants.
All her life, nothing was ever enough. Josh was smarter, stronger, friendlier; she was dumb as a brick, weak as a noddle, hated social interaction. He was the sun, as far as her parents were considered; their golden boy could never do anything wrong, even if he was acting like a little kid.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, her voice dry and monotone to her own ears, which made her wonder if anyone else heard how uncaring she sounded.
Mr. Benson relaxed slightly and said, "Just be careful, Amanda. We don't want a repeat of what happened tonight."
Anger rose inside of her and she clenched her fists. Of course this was her fault; anything bad that happened to her always was. She was asking for that creepy man to break into her room and whisper in her ear and trail his icy hand across her shoulder. She wanted to see the light glinting off his hunting knife, feel the terror that had coursed through her with the strength of a typhoon.
"Yes, Dad." The words tasted bitter on her tongue and it made her want to dry heave.
"Is everyone alright?" It was Mr. Dawes jogging over, wearing a pair of lounge pants and a sweater; his hair was in curlers.
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Benson responded, wrapping an arm around Mr. Benson. "We just had a break-in." She nodded once. "We were fortunate that no one was hurt."
Mr. Dawes paused, his eyes sweeping the crowd, and then they landed on Amanda, shivering and shaking against Ray. "Was he in your room?" he asked softly.
Amanda nodded despite her anger; the way her mom had spoken about the break-in made it seem like it wasn't a big deal. Maybe, to them, it was. If it was Josh, would they smother him or leave him alone?
"I know a locksmith who could change the locks and install a security system for you," Mr. Dawes said, addressing her parents but he kept glancing at her and then at Ray.
Ray's arms tightened around her as the paramedics arrived. Everyone started filing away, seeing as it was too cold, but her family, Ray, and Mr. Dawes stayed once everyone had shuffled back home. Her head was pounding and her face felt tight and tacky from crying.
A police officer holding a flashlight escorted two paramedics into the backyard and another one headed up to Amanda. "Amanda, is it? I'd like to ask you a few questions. About tonight."
She nodded.
"Did you know this man?"
"No."
"Did he...touch you anywhere?"
She hesitated. "My hair and my back."
A flash in the darkness of the shadows made her look away, spotting the officer with the flashlight scratching his head while the paramedics carried away the man, who had an oxygen mask over his face.
One of his eyes was open and stared straight at Amanda.
