Chapter XXVI- The Homecoming Game: II

"Hey, Sharon," Lisa Doyle called out as she spotted her favourite nemesis in the stands, "Come on over! Come sit with us!"

Sharon Hunter just turned, glared, and went back to staring resolutely down at the field, her arms folded up inside her dark blue sweater. Briefly, Lisa couldn't figure out why Sharon was even here. But then she noticed Scott Shepard, that self-righteous prick, sitting nearby.

"I wonder if he even knows Sharon doesn't give it up," Brittany Jorgensen said with a laugh.

Smirking, Lisa shrugged. "Maybe he's, you know, going fag. Sharon's probably a les-bi, so they'd be a great pair."

"Definitely," Courtney said.

"How about Amy?" Nicole asked curiously. "Which way does she go?"

"I'm not sure," Lisa said, a little annoyed that this talk was distracting her from following her beloved Henry's destruction of the lesser boys on the field. It looked like he was doing his damndest to put them all in an ambulance before the end of the night, and Lisa could have cared less if he did. So what? It wasn't her problem, and those pencil-dicked little children should have known better than to get in Henry's way in the first place. A boy with a cock that big and muscles that huge got what he wanted- plain and simple.

"I think she might be a frigid bitch, too," Courtney said. "I mean, how do you even, like, get on the cheerleading squad if you don't even go to parties or anything?"

"At least she's not fucking ugly," Nicole said. "I think I'd puke if they let anybody but the hottest girls in school on the team."

"I'm not on the goddamn cheerleading squad," Lisa said, irritated. "None of us are."

"Well, yeah, but I-" Nicole began, but her words were lost as Lisa, and then a whole crowd of girls around her, stood up and cheered just as loud as she could.

Henry had just scored a touchdown.

XX

"C-can you tell me about something?"

Amy could hardly believe the nervousness in the words she'd blurted out, but it was understandable when you considered she'd just gotten up and made her way through the stands to go talk to Lisa Doyle. And she wasn't asking about the weather tomorrow, either- she was going to ask about something else.

Turning around, Lisa looked like she wanted to burst out laughing. Dressed warmly in gray winter pants, a cashmere sweater and a blue jean-jacket with an emerald scarf about her neck, Lisa looked like the model she was probably going to be in a year or two. Her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back, and right away, Amy could tell why Henry was so interested in her more physical qualities. Lisa had a lot of them to talk about.

"What?" Lisa asked, and with the noise of the game and the shouting from the bleachers, it was possible she hadn't heard. Except for the fact that Lisa had a big, shit-eating grin on her pretty, smooth, pale face. She knew Amy had said something, but was going to make her say it again. For the benefit of Lisa's whole entourage of friends.

"I-" Amy faltered again, but made herself continue. "I just wanna talk to you."

Brittany Jorgensen started to laugh out loud, and Nicole Turner and Courtney LaBlanc looked like they wanted to. But Lisa held up a hand, silencing them all. "What?" she said, sharper and colder this time, like the chilly air around them. "Is this some bullshit about the cheerleading squad? If they want me to try out, I'm not interested."

Amy's cheeks flushed a little, and she damn near turned around and gave up. Why did this have to be so damn difficult? Lisa knew the situation was a difficult one for Amy, and for no particular reason had decided to go ahead and enjoy it. Why was she like that?

"It's not about the cheerleading squad," Amy said firmly.

"Then what is it?" Lisa asked.

"I wanna ask you about Henry," Amy said, hoping her eyes would give the needed hint as to just what it was she wanted to learn.

For a few moments, Lisa and Amy locked eyes with each other, Lisa's entourage so intrigued they all shut up. Amy briefly noted this was quite an accomplishment, given that this whole group was either talking, shopping, driving, fucking their boyfriends or purging to "maintain my figure" on an almost literally-nonstop basis.

Lisa's eyes danced with amusement for a while, and at one point she looked like she was close to laughing in Amy's face and ignoring her for the rest of the game.

But that didn't happen. Instead, Lisa relaxed a little. "Nicole," she said calmly, "I think we need some refreshments for everybody. Hot chocolate for all of us, and Amy too. Take as long as you like." By that she meant, Don't come back for at least ten minutes.

Nicole, Courtney, and Brittany all got up and left without objection. They had other friends to go talk to, the game to watch, and of course, speculation amongst themselves to do, wondering what on earth had possessed Amy Philips, the quiet, pretty redhead on the cheerleaders, to come up and talk to Lisa Doyle like this.

Once they were by themselves, Amy sat down near Lisa, who looked ready to laugh again. "You really ought to consider letting Mark bone you sometime," Lisa said calmly. "Does wonders for your nerves."

"That's what I wanted to ask you about," Amy said, and Lisa actually spat out the water she'd been drinking. A freshman beneath her turned around and started to complain, but Lisa unleashed a torrent of verbal abuse that made him fall silent in shock. Glancing over at Amy without hesitation, Lisa said, "I'm positive I didn't hear that right."

"Look," Amy said with real effort, "I love Mark. A lot."

"Okay," Lisa said, smirking as she started to guess where this was going. The little girl's finally thinking of giving Mark some love, she thought, and wanted to high-five herself for being so damn awesome. Everybody in this stupid school needed to start paying some fucking attention to how often Lisa Doyle was right.

"It's not what you think," Amy said, blushing furiously. "I meant what I told you before."

"So what the fuck do you want?" Lisa asked, steel creeping into her voice as she began sensing her time was being wasted.

"I wanna- I want to know about other things. Mark's used to a lot I can't give him, but maybe I can do something. I'd rather do that than lose him."

"So you want to know how to jerk him off, blow him? What?" Lisa asked.

Amy blushed as red as her hair, but answered the only way she could.

"Both."

And Lisa Doyle smiled.

XX

About ten minutes into the game, #11 trotted his way out of the locker room and towards Chamberlain High's bench, doing his best to keep upright and going in the same direction. As he got close to the bench, a few of the juniors looked at him curiously, quickly looking away when they saw the familiar look in John LaFleur's eyes. He was so fucked up it was a wonder he hadn't fallen over. What was he doing here? Was he crazy? Henry and Mark had all but literally promised death to anyone on their team- and it was their team- who dared show up to a game drunk or high.

It wasn't so much that they gave a shit about any of the guys doing drugs or drinking. More than a few of the Varsity football and hockey team members had picked up the habit, using their rock-star status at Chamberlain to bully, bribe or charm a fellow student or two into making sure they got all the stuff they wanted. Jason Morgan was known to be quite adept at bribing doctors and otherwise cheating his way out of urine tests, and could sometimes arrange favors to that effect for teammates. Henry and Mark could have probably done a lot more than that, but nobody on the team knew for sure.

They'd never dared to ask.

John tried casually going around the water cooler and making his way to the bench, but instead walked into it and knocked it on its side. The jumpy, nerve-wracked juniors sitting near it all cried out in surprise as ice and freezing water went everywhere, and John gracefully slipped on some of the ice and fell on his ass, giggling helplessly.

"What in the hell is this?" Coach Cressner bellowed, turning his attention from the game to the cluster of agitated teenagers all gathered around the ice cooler. That was now on its side, empty. On the grass. "LaFleur!" Cressner barked, spotting the only senior in the middle of the whole mess, and the only boy on the team to be late tonight. "You better have a good excuse to give me, boy."

"Uh," John giggled, unable to help himself, "Um, well, you see, Coach, I-"

Just then the whistle blew as LeBay High's lead quarterback went down with a fractured kneecap, his eyes closed and his teeth gritted against the pain. As the teams withdrew while a stretcher was summoned, Andrew Cadiz jumped up and bolted towards Henry and Mark, who were sweaty, breathing hard, but grinning ear-to-ear all the way. Jason Morgan exchanged high-fives with each of them, and bets were being made amongst the seniors as to which LeBay player would have an "accident" next.

"Have you ever considered being an enforcer for the mafia?" Mark asked, looking at Jason. "They could use you. You'd get to collect bags of money, break people's legs- fun stuff like that."

Jason thought about that for a moment, and shrugged. "If they ask me, can't see why not. Good line of work."

"You fuckin' asshole," Matt Shea laughed, and so did the other seniors. The juniors chosen as starters were mostly quiet, smiling and laughing at appropriate moments but letting the seniors do the talking. Henry and Mark liked to do most of it, and swiftly became violent if interrupted.

"Henry, Mark!" Andrew Cadiz called, jogging up to them. "John LaFleur just got he-"

"Talk when someone speaks to you, kid," Jason Morgan said flatly, shoving Andrew aside. The force of the push was enough that Andrew slipped on the cold grass and fell hard, wincing as he landed flat on his ass. Some of the seniors sniggered, but Andrew dared not glare at them. Instead, he forced himself to get up, knowing that strength, nerves of steel and iron will, were the things Henry and Mark most respected. They were the ones he had to impress.

But no sooner did the sixteen-year-old boy with the flaming red hair begin getting back up than he was forcibly jerked to his feet- literally picked up off the ground like a rag-doll. Abruptly, he found Mark Evans staring into his face, holding him barely a few inches away.

"Who just got here, Cadiz?" Mark asked, in a tone that said he wasn't going to wait long.

"John LaFleur," Andrew breathed, and Mark just dropped him again, letting him stand up a second time. Striding swiftly towards the bench now, surrounded by the rest of the starting team, Henry and Mark exchanged just a couple of words, apparently about who was going to "Handle it".

Andrew got up, ignoring the pain in his ass from landing on the hard, cold ground twice. He made his way back towards the bench, watching as Henry and Mark calmly intervened as Coach Cressner was busy yelling at John for being late. They talked him down, said the things Cressner wanted to hear, and Mark soon was working with the Coach as they took the brief time-out to plan their next assault on LeBay High's lines.

Henry, meanwhile, was carrying the now-empty ice cooler back towards the locker room, John LaFleur following him without worry. But he stumbled now and then, and just once, Henry turned back and glared at him. Andrew, near the bench by then, was sure John didn't see it. But Andrew had, and it chilled him even at this distance. John LaFleur might have been one of Henry and Mark's oldest friends. He might even have been one of the coolest, strongest and richest boys at Chamberlain besides the Evans brothers themselves.

But if Henry wasn't happy with him, John LaFleur might as well have been a freshman in the band. Some boys and girls were more popular and privileged than others, but at Chamberlain, no matter who you were, the buck stopped with Henry and Mark. They didn't seem likely to play favourites when you came to a game high, or drunk- that was something that could get the whole team in serious trouble.

This was so not good. Steeling himself against the cold of the coming night, Andrew sat back down on the bench, praying that he'd get some field time tonight so that one, his soul-crushing, torturous efforts to get on the Varsity team would pay off a little more, and two, so that his teeth would stop chattering.

But it was still better than being John LaFleur right now. Andrew Cadiz was a good student, a boy who understood perfectly the way things were at Chamberlain High. He had learned his lessons well, laughing at the nerds, extorting money from the weaklings, and treating hot girls like he did a good box of Kleenex- soft, pretty, damn good to feel up, and absolutely disposable.

And one more lesson he was applying now, was that you never, ever asked questions. You never spoke up in dissent, not against Henry and Mark. If Henry just wanted to have a talk with John tonight and let it go this time, that was fine with Andrew. If Henry wanted to beat John up and punish him, that was fine too. In fact, Henry and Mark could have been running a crematorium in their backyard, murdering a freshman a week and burning the bodies, asking Andrew to drive by once a week with coal… and Andrew, a boy who knew which side his bread was buttered on, wouldn't have said a thing against it. Not a word.

XX

"Come on, John," Henry said in that calm, dispassionate voice of his, "Let's get in here. I wanna talk with you."

"Oh, about that ice, man?" John said, still dazed and foggy. "S-sorry, man. I mean, Henry. I kinda slipped, and- yeah." He laughed, a little nervously- but only a little. After all, what was there to worry about? He was Henry's best friend, had been for years. This was nothing he and Henry couldn't work out between themselves.

Henry was holding open the door to the locker room, looking back at John with a calm, emotionless look on his face. He didn't look thrilled right now, but Henry rarely did, except when he was partying, raising hell at a game, or hanging out with Mark. He smiled now and then, when John or another of his friends did something he liked, but for the most part, Henry was just as cool as a cucumber. Henry the Cucumber, John thought ludicrously, and laughed before he could stop himself. As he headed into the locker room, though, Henry didn't say anything. He just let the door swing shut behind them.

Locating a large cooler filled with spare ice and a faucet that was set in a storage closet to refill the coolers during games, Henry and John refilled the empty cooler. Becoming apologetic and contrite- but still not worried, and if anything beginning to relax- John offered to carry the cooler back outside.

"Nah," Henry said coolly, "That's okay."

Then he picked up the cooler, hefting so many gallons of water and ice like it was nothing, swung it in a wide arc, and slammed it into John's face.

The blow caught John completely off-guard, and he crashed backward into a set of lockers behind him, his head banging loudly and painfully into a door. The cooler had slammed into the side of his head, thank God, but it still hurt like a bitch. As John struggled to stand, not even halfway comprehending what had just happened, Henry dropped the cooler, took a step forward, and with a cold, flat expression on his face, swung out his left leg and kicked John in the balls.

Pain exploded in the form of yellowish-white stars, damn near blotting out John's vision, and he collapsed to the tiled floor, clutching his privates and gasping as the pain rolled through him. "Dude," he gasped when he could speak again, "What the fuck? Henry, what the f-fuck?"

But Henry just kicked John again, this time in the stomach, and just as hard as before. Now fighting the terrible and rising urge to vomit, John groaned, curling up to protect himself. "What?" he cried out, "We're friends, man! Come on, stop it!"

"Who sold it to you?" Henry asked, as if he hadn't heard a thing John said. "Who the fuck sold you the pot?"

"What?" John asked, still bewildered beyond any words. He'd been the best friend of Henry and his brother Mark for years. Years upon years. What had happened? What had he done- even had a chance to do? "Look, man," John forced out, "I-I don't know what you're talking about, Henry."

Henry didn't say anything. He just sighed, shaking his head. They waited like that for a few minutes, John balled up in pain on the floor, and Henry staring down at him without a shred of pity in his eyes. Just once John looked up at them, those cold, ice-blue eyes, and quickly decided not to look back again. The cold, bottomless hate he saw there scared him beyond all description.

Finally, John felt strong enough to stand again, and he slowly- very slowly- got to his feet. But just as John started to speak, started to make his apologies and excuses, Henry stepped off to his left and did something John never could have imagined was possible. The tall, muscular boy whose physical strength and stamina was only rivaled by his brother's, reached out and ripped a locker door clean off.

Then he swung it in a wide arc, like a bat, and slammed it into John's face. This time, he didn't miss. Pain bloomed into a new level of agony, one John had never experienced in his life, and he screamed and clutched his nose as blood began gushing down his face. "Fucking hell!" John cried, stunned and frightened. "Henry, why? What the fuck-"

"You talk too much," Henry said calmly, and kneed John in the balls. That second blow to his testicles was more than the other teenager could take, and he collapsed, writhing in pain on the floor as he tried to both clutch his bleeding nose and protect his injured balls.

"Who sold you the pot?" Henry asked again, but John just made a few horrified choking sounds. There was a lot of blood on his face, in his nose, down his throat. He'd never seen this much of his own blood; never.

Henry sighed, as if he was dealing with a difficult child, and hauled John to his feet. Briefly, they locked eyes, John desperately telling himself that he was trembling because it had been cold outside. Not out of raw fear.

"It was Martin Brodinsky," John said quietly. "He sold me the pot."

Henry shrugged. "That saves time."

"So can you stop hitting me now?" John asked. "I-I'll never do this again, man. I'm sorry! I was just having all this fun with Cindy, and-"

"Yeah, I know," Henry said, cutting him off. "Cindy's hot. I know, I fucked her already."

"That's fine!" John blurted, not even daring to be indignant about it. "I'm sorry, Henry. I won't do this again."

"Sure," Henry said, and punched John in the mouth. Staggering back and tasting blood on his teeth, John cowered as Henry advanced, his eyes narrowed to slits. This wasn't good.

And it wasn't. For nearly twenty minutes, John begged, pleaded and apologized as Henry Evans beat the hell out of him. Never once did John fight back; not a single time did he try to defend himself. Having attended the same karate school as Henry for as long as the blond Evans boy did, and being on the same two teams and a frequent visitor to the gym, John was in excellent shape and a gifted fighter. But he dared not resist, or even block the blows to any real degree. The reason for this was simple. When Henry or Mark was pissed at you, fighting back- verbally or physically- only made things worse. No one had ever bested them in a fight, and the beating you got would be that much harder for however much you tried to stop it.

By the time Henry even paused, John was in truly horrible pain. His nose wasn't broken- it would have been a lot worse, the pain and the bleeding, if it had been- but he had enough bruises to make him limp like a cripple for days. It was a calculated, careful beating, John realised later- Henry wanted to do enough to hurt John, and hurt him bad, but not so much that he got sent to the hospital and everybody asked a lot of awkward questions.

Then Henry picked John up, slammed his back against a set of lockers, and dropped him on the bench. Crouching in front of him, Henry looked John in the eyes. John cowered, unashamed, but dared not look away.

"If this happens again," Henry said quietly, "Or if you tell anybody… no one will ever find your remains."

John LaFleur nodded. For a moment, the two teenagers looked at each other, one battered and bloodied, and the other not even having broken a sweat.

"Why did you do this?" John asked, almost whimpering it. He regretted even asking the moment he spoke, but the words were out. Deciding he had little to lose at this point, John added, "I thought we were friends."

Henry just laughed, a cold, harsh sound in the empty locker room. "I did it because I could. You gave me the chance, so I took it." The towering, muscular teenager paused for a moment, as if thinking John's words over. Then he leaned close, speaking in a low, deadly voice John didn't like at all.

"You look scared shitless right now, John, and that's good. You're fucking warned, man. Don't you ever pull this shit again. Just because you hang out with me and Mark doesn't mean you're as good as us."

John nodded, eager not to get hit anymore. "Nobody's better than you guys, Henry. Everybody knows that."

Henry was silent for a few more moments, then spoke once more. "The guys are gonna want to party this Friday, celebrate our big win tonight. You're sitting that out, because I decided to be nice and not kill you. Glancing at John, he asked in a clearly-rhetorical voice, "Wasn't that nice of me? Not killing you?"

"It was," John said, nodding with enthusiasm. He had been hit enough tonight. At this point, he would have gladly agreed to bury a body if that's what Henry wanted. All told, he was still getting off lucky.

Henry abruptly shot out a fist and punched John in the stomach again; caught off guard, the other teenager started gagging, gasping for breath. That, and fighting not to puke on Henry's shoes.

"We're gonna win tonight, John," Henry said calmly, as if nothing unusual had happened. "And I think we should have a party this weekend, to celebrate. How does your place on Friday sound?"

"Sounds great, Henry," John said, when he had enough air to talk- but Henry was already gone.

Briefly, John wondered how Henry even knew that the LaFleur elders were driving down to Connecticut this weekend, attending an alumni conference at Yale, where both of them had met. But questioning such things about Henry, and Mark, was stupid. Their ability to stay well-informed, ten steps ahead of everyone around them, was unnerving.

Ignoring the sounds of the game outside- which he knew Chamberlain was winning- John cleaned up his own blood, jammed the locker door Henry had ripped off its hinges back in place as best he could. Finally, John stripped, limped to the showers, and let the warm water wash the blood off his face and soothe the thousands of sores and aches in his body. His high was finally fading, but the joy of it had died long ago.

Leaving just before halftime, John limped out to his car in his regular clothes again, wondering how in the hell he was going to explain this to his girlfriend, to his teachers tomorrow, or to his parents when he got home. Of all the stories John might tell, he knew which one he wouldn't: the truth.

John LaFleur was a boy whose parents had raised him to be honest, teaching him that it was always best to tell the truth, no matter what. It was in the motto of Yale, even- Lux et Veritas, or "Light and Truth".

But sometimes, the truth wasn't good enough. Sometimes it wasn't worth the trouble it would bring, the fury of two friends-turned-enemies named Henry and Mark Evans. As John patiently waited in his car, out there in the darkened parking lot while lights lit up the football field, he wondered how Cindy would take the story he'd make up for her when she asked what had happened, when she met him out here and he drove her home. John didn't worry about it too much, though. As bad as this had been, as horrible as he felt about what Henry had inflicted on him tonight, John knew he had little right to complain. His status was untouched, his girlfriend and family were unhurt, and he had- this time- been done no lasting harm.

Altogether, he'd gotten off lucky this time.

This time.

XX

The game progressed, and Henry and Mark were soon both out on the field once more. Lisa, watching eagerly up in the stands, was disappointed to see her boyfriend leave the field for a time, but rejoiced the moment he came back. She cheered him on with all she had, thrilling at the sight of it every time that muscular, blonde He-Man scored another touchdown, blocked another LeBay player's pass.

It was unbelievable; Henry never once seemed to tire. Not for even a minute did he slow down, or look like he needed a break. He just kept going, leading the others on his team alongside his brother, tearing through everything the LeBay boys had. Even from here, Lisa could see it was unnerving for them; they were obviously not used to this. Lisa smirked, smug at her first-hand knowledge of what a tireless, powerful teenager Henry was. If he had it in him to literally fuck all night, bowling through a bunch of children at a football game was nothing. Nothing at all.

XX

Amy had finally sat down to watch the game at the edge of Lisa's group, having been offered the chance to sit with them but not really comfortable with it just yet.

Lisa had talked with her for about ten minutes, and Amy had… learned a lot. It was shameful to even think about, but she had needed to know. Mark was a good boy, a kind and caring boy, but he had a penis like all the rest of them. And Amy was no fool; she knew very well that Mark was used to getting to use his. She couldn't offer him that. Not unless they got married, she couldn't. But maybe she could do some of those other things, keep that side of Mark happy and prevent him from leaving her for that reason.

The redhead cheerleader watched Mark all through the game, studying his swift sprints, his quick advances and rare, grudging retreats. She waved to him any time he glanced her way, and Amy's heart leaped with joy when- not once, but twice- he saw her and waved back.

He loves me, Amy thought, getting butterflies just thinking about it. Mark could have chosen anybody in this school. He could have been sleeping with another of those girls who'd be all too ready to give him whatever he wants, but he chose me instead.

And why?

He loves me.

XX

As the game drew to a close, the Chamberlain team's win a total shutout, Julie found herself absolutely entranced by Mark's performance, out there on the field. He was gorgeous, he was hot. Mark was the best damn man Julie had ever seen. She spent half the game watching Mark, half of it undressing him with her eyes, fantasizing about him- and unashamed to do it. She thought of this afternoon, blissful and romantic as it had been, and more than once replayed the memories of Monday- that first, wonderful night when Mark had made love to Julie, upstairs in the bedroom of her house.

Reminding herself to ask Mark for his football game schedule for the remaining season, Julie also recalled hearing that he and his brother Henry were leading players on the hockey team as well. That was good; Julie's first year at this school would go all the better if she appeared interested in school athletics and school spirit in general. It was the perfect way of both showing support for the school that had given her a job, and for the young man who had noticed Julie, singled her out, and given her his love. Julie went to sleep that night without trouble or effort, telling herself those warm, comforting words as she conjured up Mark's handsome face in her mind.

He loves me.