Chapter 5: Pamelynne, Taylor and Treavor

A few moments after Allen went to the front door to pay for their pizza delivery, Lenore heard shouting and banging. Fearing the worse, she ran to the living room, and was at once alarmed and relived to see that it was not the police - with orderlies from Westin Hills - at the door, though who was there posed problems of their own.

Lenore got there in time to see her cousin Allen being chased around the room by a powerfully built eighteen-year-old named Treavor McClardle wearing nothing but a leopard skin loincloth! Standing at the open door was Treavor's girlfriend (and Lenore's next-door neighbor, and former BFF,) Pamelynne Conroy, an aspiring fashion model whose curvy figure was strategically covered with the tiniest possible patches of similar material.

"Leave my cousin alone, Treavor!" Lenore said firmly. "And what are you two doing here, anyway?"

"Why don't you ask your little Peeping Tom cousin?" said Pamelynne as she stepped into the living room. "We wouldn't be here if he hadn't been spying on us from the window of your mom's upstairs office while we were . . . swimming . . . ."

Lenore and Pamelynne used to be best friends as well as neighbors. But that had been in another era. Now they barely (or, more honestly, never,) spoke. They started drifting apart as Pamelynne's figure began developing when she and Lenore were about Allen's age, and by the time they started Middle-School, the gulf between them could be measured in lightyears.

At first, Lenore envied Pamelynne's newfound popularity. But after 'they' took Chris from her because her older brother asked the 'wrong' questions; Lenore had bigger things to worry about, and thought about Pamelynne less and less, if at all.

That said, Middle-School had been anything but easy for Pamelynne Conroy, as her stunning looks brought her a LOT of unwanted attention – not just from the boys (and even some of the girls) but also from the adult male faculty. If Pamelynne had a dollar for every time a boy had 'accidentally' bumped into her in the hallway . . . .

But that all changed when she and Treavor McClardle began 'dating' in Eighth Grade. Then, the worst of the unwanted attention came to an almost abrupt stop. Any boy who dared to so much as look at Pamelynne for more than one second – much less 'accidentally' bump into her - would have to answer to Treavor. Then, even the male faculty members would avert their eyes. With Treavor at her side (even when he wasn't with her) Pamelynne finally felt safe.

Though Pamelynne and Treavor had been a 'couple' for more than three years and were even elected as Homecoming and Junior Prom King and Queen, they were not in love with each other. Though there were definitely 'benefits' of the physical kind to their relationship; they really were just friends. More to the point, they were 'placeholders' for each other until they graduated high school and could begin their chosen careers in earnest.

Pamelynne had plans to be a fashion model, and had already done shoots for magazines like "Seventeen" and "Teen Vogue," with a contract in the works to do a spread (which included pictures in body paint) for the "Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition," once she was legally an adult.

As for Treavor, he planned to follow in his family's tradition of enlisting in the Marine Corps after he graduated this year, and even had plans to become a Navy SEAL.

They both knew that what they had was only temporary; a mutually beneficial friendship on several levels. But while they were together, they stood up for each other.

"So how about it, you little perv?" Pamelynne insisted, looking directly at Allen. "Did you like what you saw?"

Lenore shook her head. "What are you talking about, Pamelynne? My mom's away on business, and whenever she goes anywhere, she locks up her office! Nobody could have been watching you two from there!"

Allen added, "A-and I was in the dining room for the past few hours, working on-" Lenore shot him a firm look, and Allen immediately went silent.

But Treavor and Pamelynne were not satisfied. Though Treavor was no longer chasing Allen around the room, he glared accusingly at the boy, who had moved close enough to his older cousin that she could put a protective arm around him.

Treavor said, "We saw the curtain in your mom's office window moving; like someone was looking out at us, but then let it go when they saw us looking back!"

"And you just know," added Pamelynne. "That this isn't the first time he was watching us!"

Both Lenore's mom and Pamelynne's parents had been away for several days, now; Lenore's mom on business and Pamelynne's parents on vacation. And no sooner did they leave, Treavor came over; though Lenore didn't know if Pamelynne's parents knew, or not. Or even cared.

And while Lenore initially considered her mom's absence a blessing since it allowed her and Allen to make full use of the dining room table to spread out their work, Lenore sure wished that her mom was here now to help deal with Treavor and Pamelynne.

But while Lenore's mom wasn't around; another person did just arrive, and said, "Uh, hey, did somebody here order a pizza?"

Taylor Albert Swift came through the still opened door, taking the unusual scene in with professional aplomb. He had been delivering pizzas almost as soon as he got his driver license, and had come into some pretty unusual situations during that time. As unusual situations go, this one barely rated a three on a scale of one to ten; thought he had to admit that seeing THE Pamelynne Conroy, the Queen Hottie of Springwood High, almost naked was something that he didn't expect.

Doing all he could to ostentatiously keep his eyes off of Pamelynne, (all the more so since Treavor McClardle was there, too,) he went straight over to Lenore, handed her the box, and said, "That'll be $26.17."

"T-that was quick," said Lenore absentmindedly.

"Well, that's me, you know," said Taylor forcing a smile. "Swift by name, swift by nature . . . ."

Allen said, "And not a moment too soon! Treavor was about to kill me!"

Seriously, Taylor turned to Treavor and said, "Why?"

As with Lenore and Pamelynne, Treavor and Taylor had been friends in Grade School the way kids growing up on the same street will be. Taylor was counting on this fact when he addressed the larger, more muscular boy, who was used to being the one "in-charge," in every situation, and did not respond well to questions; especially those asked by someone who was not his equal, and that included most - if not all - the other boys at Springwood High.

Treavor replied, "You want to know why, Tay-Tay? Lenore's cousin is a Peeping Tom, that's why! He was watching Pamelynne and me swimming from Ms. Browning's upstairs office window."

Lenore quickly cut in and brought Taylor up to speed. When she was finished, Pamelynne repeated what she said about seeing the curtains in the upstairs room window moving like someone was there, watching them.

Taylor nodded to the curtains in front of the living room window that were swaying in the breeze from the air conditioner vent, and said, "You mean like that . . . ?"

Pamelynne and Treavor glanced at the moving curtains and Pamelynne said, "No. Not like that.

"More like, whoever was spying on us held back the curtain and then let it go, when we realized that we were being watched!"

As if on cue, the air conditioner shut off and the fan stopped blowing the curtains around, making them come to an almost immediate stop.

Thankful for his stroke of luck, Taylor said, "So, you mean . . . like that?"

"I-I . . . ." Pamelynne was at a loss for words.

But Treavor – charged on testosterone mixed with righteous indignation - was not mollified. "That doesn't mean that the little perv wasn't spying on us from that room! We were . . . swimming . . . a-and he saw us!" Treavor took a threatening step towards Allen and Lenore, but Taylor stepped in front of him.

Taylor warned, "Don't do anything you'll regret later, Treavor."

At that, Treavor immediately felt himself go into what his family called, "McClardle Survival Mode," at what he could only see as a challenge. Treavor had a reputation as someone who heard almost everything he didn't agree with as, "fighting words." But the truth was, he was only involved in two fights (which he won) during his entire public-school career, and both of those were before Sixth Grade. His athletic prowess and reputation as someone who didn't suffer fools usually did the rest.

Usually, but not always. And Treavor also knew that Taylor had an unrequited crush on Lenore, so he'd probably wanted to 'impress' her by standing up for her little cousin against the larger, stronger boy. This could mean trouble.

Normally, Treavor would pal around with his friends, (or more accurately, entourage,) from the Springwood High School Swim Team and Wrestling Team to prevent any potential 'trouble' from happening.

But it was these occasional, one-on-one 'situations' that Treavor knew could be the most unpredictable, and therefore the ones most likely to end in violence. And the stories that he heard from his grandfather, father, older brothers and uncles – who were all USMC combat veterans - had always stressed that under no circumstances should a McClardle ever "lose control" of any potentially dangerous 'situation.'

Keeping his expression blank; Treavor tried to defuse the situation with a verbal put-down; what his dad liked to call, "Escalating to de-escalate." Fortunately for him, circumstances made his current 'opponent' an especially easy target for this tactic . . . .

"You tryin' to play the hero for Lenore, Tay-Tay?

"What are you going to do to me? Break-up with me and write a whiny song about it . . . ?"

Pamelynne smirked at that, and added a very unladylike snort.

But by now, Taylor Albert Swift was used to hearing cracks like this one . . . .

Taylor's father had been a big fan of the old "Tom Swift" novels, and had read them all when he was a boy back in the 1970's. He liked them so much, that when he had a son, he wanted to name him "Tom" after his favorite fictional character.

Taylor's mom objected, arguing that it would expose their son to, "endless teasing and harassment," at the hands of his classmates. And Taylor's father had to grudgingly agree that his wife was probably right. So, in the end, they both agreed to name their son, "Taylor."

But the Springwood Swifts were unaware that another, unrelated family with the same last name, living on a Christmas Tree Farm in far off Pennsylvania, had had a daughter about four years earlier, and had given her the same, unisex name, that they had just given to their son.

And in 2006, the time bomb that the Swifts had inadvertently planted in their son's name went off, and at the worst possible time: Middle-School. Ever since then, the teasing had been unrelenting and merciless.

Meanwhile, the "Tom Swift" books sat on the shelf of the Springwood Middle-School Library, unread and largely forgotten . . . .

"Well, as a matter of fact," said Taylor evenly. "I guess that I am trying to play the hero." He saw Treavor tense up even more, were it possible, at his remark, and quickly added. "But I'm not here to save Allen. I'm actually here to save you."

Now Treavor let out a single laugh, flexing his muscles and cracking his knuckles for extra emphasis. "In case you haven't noticed, Tay-Tay, I don't need . . . 'saving.'"

"No, really, Treavor," said Taylor calmly. "If you so much as touch Allen, I'm calling the police, and then you can explain to them why you – an eighteen-year-old MAN wearing a leopard-skin loincloth – laid-hands on a ten-year-old boy for doing something that he couldn't possibly have done in the first place.

"The cops might also be interested to hear that Allen was allegedly watching while you were 'swimming' with your underage, seventeen-year-old girlfriend . . . .

"Like I said, I'm here to save you, and so long as you don't do anything that you're going to regret later; I can save you. But if you hurt Allen in any way, you'll be way beyond my help."

Before Treavor could reply, a newly worried Pamelynne came up to him, put her hand calmingly on his shoulder, and said, "OK, look, maybe I did just happen to look up at the window when the Browning's A/C turned off . . . .

"I mean, the office was dark, and I never actually saw anyone up there, spying on us."

Lenore added, "Dark and locked."

"Besides," added Allen. "Do you really think I want to look at some naked girl? Gross!" Fortunately for the boy, the four older kids ignored him.

But Treavor was still suspicious, and decided to turn his suspicion on another subject. "So, what's this "project" that the kid said you two are working on, anyway, Lenore?" And before anyone could stop him, Treavor went into the Browning's dining room where all the old newspapers were being organized, scanned and uploaded to Lenore's computer.

"Wait, STOP!" said Lenore. But all five kids were in the dining room before she even finished speaking the two words.

Pamelynne picked up a piece of old newspaper, gave it a quick read, and said, "Wait, y-your "project" is about some . . . serial killer of children?"

"Yeah!" said Allen. "And get this: He lived in the house directly behind Cousin Norie!"

As Lenore and her cousin Allen answered Treavor and Pamelynne's barrage of questions, a man arrived at the Springwood Police Station. He strode unnoticed by several officers and the Desk Sergeant, and went back directly to the office of the Chief of Police. The Chief similarly did not notice him, and did not realize that anyone else was there until the visitor said, "Good evening, Chief Williams. I have urgent questions that require immediate answers."

But the Chief didn't even look up. "You know, we have signs for a reason. Signs that say things like, "Do Not Enter," aren't there for decoration.

"Also, you have entered a restricted area, and unless you have a damned good reason-"

The Springwood Chief of Police looked up to confront the unauthorized visitor, and was immediately struck with a profound fear as he stared into the deepest, deadliest eyes he ever saw during all his years in the US Army, and as a Law Enforcement Officer.

"Silence," commanded the visitor. "I have questions for you. You will provide me with the answers I require. Then I shall leave, and you will forget that I was ever here . . . ."