Lucian Ch. 03

Life outside Norton's would be more dangerous than inside. He had no one to run to. He didn't have money; he didn't even have proper clothes. And when he looked into a mirror he doubted if he'd make a convincing man in any outfit -- not even an eighteen-year old boy. At the very best he'd be taken for a child.

And where would he go? Home?

Parker had been clear that his mother would at once send him back. He believed her. But what if he got home when she wasn't in? There would be clothes and food and maybe even money.

One night in the first week of November Lucian convinced himself that he had a plan.

The idea was simple, really, but to him it came like a revelation: if he couldn't be a boy, he'd be a girl. Girls had closets full of clothes at Norton's. He could wear his running shoes. He wouldn't have to cut his hair, try to look tough and lower his voice.

He knew how to be a woman, didn't he?

So at daybreak of the next morning he put on two layers of running gear, a wool skirt, his running shoes, thin gloves, a shirt and a pink angora sweater he'd found at Fashion Class.

Norton's management must be very confident, he thought, when he pushed open the little iron gate at a corner of the surrounding wall. As he'd noticed before, there was no lock, no guard, no alarm even.

Mamselle had been right, escaping was easy.

"So you can run," she'd said. "That's a choice too, I guess. Nobody will stop you. It's easy, you know, leaving here. The gate isn't really locked."

He refused to remember what she then said about a truck driver picking him up.

He was out on the street by the first gray light of a new dawn. He started jogging, but soon the sweater was too hot. He tied it around his waist, making it float behind him like a pink flag.

Soon the first car slowed down, an old dented pick up truck.

"Wow, we're up early today, honey," the driver yelled through the window he opened at Lucian's side. "What's the hurry?"

He sounded like an old man. Lucian didn't look. He ignored him and the car, hating the stinking fumes. He tried to side step and run on the soft shoulder of the road, but it almost tripped him.

"Where are you heading, girl?" the man went on. "Next town is over twenty miles, you know, and there'll be rain."

Lucian hadn't thought about rain.

Then of course the question came.

"Where are you from? The girls' school?"

Lucian kept running, even picking up speed.

The old man laughed with a lot of phlegm; he must be a smoker.

"Been a naughty girl?" he asked.

At last Lucian turned his head. Yes, the man was old, he had bad teeth and was poorly shaven.

"Leave me alone!" he cried. Then he stopped running.

The car stopped too.

"No need to bite my head off, young lady," the man said, sounding offended. "I just try to be helpful, you know."

Lucian panted.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "But I need no help."

The man didn't seem to be convinced.

"How old are you, girl?" he asked, leaning into the open window, letting his eyes go over Lucian.

Lucian turned around and started jogging back to where he came from. After fifty yards he looked over his shoulder. The car drove away in a plume of exhaust.

He sighed and stopped.

The walls and the trees of Norton's were still visible, just like the rooftop of the gatehouse. 'Twenty miles to the nearest town,' he recalled. He doubted if running off was still the right thing to do, but he turned around yet again and started walking.

The next car stopping had a female driver.

"Want a lift?" she asked through the opened window.

Lucian had never considered a female driver. It would be save going with her, wouldn't it? But what if she learned he wasn't a girl? What if, what when...

"Please," he said, bending to look into the car.

The woman was maybe fifty, blond and wearing designer glasses. There was a load of things in the back of her station car. She smiled; it made her look sweet.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

He had no idea; he never thought of any destiny but home. Where was Washington anyway; how far was it? He tried to remember -- they'd driven hours to get here.

"I'm going to Philadelphia," the woman offered.

"DC," he said. "Arlington."

"Pity."

The woman beamed sympathy. Then she looked up to the darkening sky where clouds gathered.

"Hope you get a lift soon."

She gave gas and took off.

***

The rain wasn't spectacular, but very persistent.

The continuous drizzle soaked him to the bone in minutes. The pink angora hung off his chest and arms like a colorful but very dead cat. The skirt stuck to his legs and the tight fabric of his running gear turned chilly, making his teeth chatter as he walked on to an invisible horizon.

The loud honk right next to him reverberated in his bones.

He had to look straight up to see the high window of the truck's cabin. The rain chilled the skin of his face.

The man looking down had a big round head with no hair, but he did have a ring through a nostril and a stud in his eyebrow. Damn, what kind of people drove around on these roads? Lucian shook his head 'no' and walked on. He couldn't help shivering.

"You're catching a cold, sweetie," the man yelled over the sound of the car that kept pace with him.

Lucian tightened the useless sweater around him, only squeezing more cold water out of it. The man was right: he would catch a cold.

He stopped and looked up again. His jaws were too stiff to shape words; his teeth rattled.

"W-where a-are you going?"

He had to repeat his words to be heard.

"Raleigh," the man bellowed. "Where are you heading?"

Raleigh was in North Carolina. They'd have to go through Virginia; it might be the right direction. Lucian knew he shouldn't do this. But he also felt the icy water leak down his back, making him tremble.

"Arlington!" he yelled over the deep rumble of the truck.

The door opened and a gnarled claw swung down to pull him up on the high step and into the cabin. He must be weighing nothing for the man, even in his soaked clothes.

The stale, smoke-stained air inside hit him as he followed the arm and crawled over the man's lap to sit on the narrow seat between him and the driver.

The bald man had the physique of a body builder, a thick, short neck and a low, menacing brow. The driver was just plain fat, his belly touching the wheel. He wore a tent-sized checkered shirt. A thick gray beard made him look like an angry biker, even when he smiled.

The bald man only wore a black leather vest over his tanned chest, his heavily tattooed shoulders and biceps billowing out.

They both looked at him, chuckling.

Then the driver put the truck into gear and they were back on the road -- the wiper blades squeaking on the windshield.

"You should get out of those clothes, sweetie," the bald man said, touching the dripping sweater.

"What? Here?" Lucian asked.

His scared face must've been funny, as both men chuckled. The bald body builder grabbed the curtain that covered the back of the cabin and pulled it aside. Behind it was a closet-sized bedroom with a mattress that covered the floor, and pictures of big-breasted, naked women on every wall and even the ceiling.

"What do I wear?" Lucian asked.

The bald man shrugged; it made his muscles roll.

"There's a blanket somewhere," he said. "It might even be clean."

Both men laughed.

Lucian climbed into the tiny bedroom, closing the curtain behind him. A small, yellowish light made the abundant tit-flesh shine around him.

He peeled the drenched sweater off and got out of his sneakers and skirt. Then he started to roll down the double layer of running tights, feeling cramped in the small space.

He never took his eyes off the closed curtain.

Country music struggled to be heard over the droning engine as he finally got the lycra top off his damp body and over his head.

Shivering, he looked for the blanket, finding it stowed away between the mattress and the wall. It smelled moldy, but it was dry -- and warm. Wrapping it all around him, he sat down against the back wall, arms holding his knees.

"Ready?" a voice yelled, and a hand split the curtain. It held a mug of coffee.

He mumbled thanks and wrapped both hands around the hot plastic, blowing on the steaming liquid. It tasted awful, but it might be the best drink he ever had. Its glow spread through his numb body, relaxing nerve ends and reaching every muscle.

"What's your name, sweetie?"

What indeed.

"Lucy," he said.

"Why don't you come out and sit with us?"

It was always the same voice, the bald man. Big beard didn't talk, it seemed. Lucian felt his heart race; he pulled the blanket closer.

"Are you afraid of us, sweetie?" the bald man asked. "No need, we only look dangerous."

They laughed. A woman wailed a country love song.

"Come on," the voice insisted.

A hand opened the curtain. The bald man's ugly face appeared. It grinned.

"You know, I have a daughter your age, sweetie," he said. "I would never harm you."

His claw begged. Lucian crawled back against the wall and the pin up pictures.

"Here, see," the man went on, showing his wallet. There was a picture of a young, blond girl. "Gabby," he said. "She'll be 15 next month. Thank God she takes after my wife."

Both men laughed again.

Lucian swallowed and took a decision.

Handing the man his mug, he crawled out of the closet, onto the seat, holding on to the blanket. The place was so narrow that he almost touched both men. The engine droned on. Lucian saw the rain sparkle on the windscreen as the lights of the oncoming traffic swept across it.

Daylight seemed to have gone only one hour after sun up.

He sipped some more coffee, but the magic had worn off. It just tasted awful now.

"So why are you on the road, hitch hiking?" the bald man asked. "Call me John, by the way. The beard is Gus."

Lucian nodded. He decided to keep close to the truth.

"I ran away from school," he said. "My parents live in Arlington."

"I see," the man called John said. "I hated school too."

They laughed. There was another pause, filled with a humming engine, squeaking wipers and a howling guitar. Then he heard another sound -- it took him a while to realize it was Gus, humming along.

The atmosphere inside the truck still made him gasp -- the sweat and the nicotine and the unwashed bodies. Obviously cleanliness and soap had been so omnipresent at Norton's that he'd forgotten it wasn't everywhere else.

Something touched his leg.

He looked down and saw a brown, gnarled hand resting on his thigh, over the thin blanket. How long had it been there? It started moving, rubbing softly.

"Sir...," he said.

The man smiled his stained teeth bare.

"I'd rather not...," Lucian went on, pushing the words through a choking throat.

Panic returned. He jerked his leg away, moving left, only to feel another hand on his left thigh. The driver grinned while humming louder. A lover had betrayed the nasal singer on the radio.

Two hands tugged at his blanket, moving it up.

"You are a beautiful girl," the bald-headed bodybuilder said as his fingers moved to the inside of Lucian's thigh. "Great legs."

He couldn't utter a word anymore; he could hardly breath.

"No!" he at last got out. "No."

He tried to climb back up into the sleeping closet, but the hands held him down.

"Beautiful," the voice said.

A claw went up and found his thong. Lucian let go of the blanket and grabbed the groping hand, trying to pull it away. He meowed like a scared kitten, squirming to get away from the touching. The laughing face of the driver blended with sweeping headlights as he turned to watch the bald man's face.

He was caught and doomed.

Suddenly the claw stiffened as it cupped his crotch.

"Fuck you!" the man yelled, jerking away his hand as if bitten.

His other paw removed the blanket, baring Lucian's body. Pulling down the thong, he exposed the small, pale penis; it retracted even more from panic and shame.

"A boy!" the man cried out. "A fucking faggot!"

His mouth with the ugly teeth hung wide open -- fear and disgust struggled in his eyes to get to the forefront.

"Goddammit, Gus!" he yelled. "Get off the road. Let's dump the queer. Yeagggh... oh God, awful!"

He shook his hand to clean it from contaminating filth.

As the bearded driver forced the truck onto the road's shoulder, Lucian pulled the blanket back over his body. Two strong hands grabbed him and pushed him out of the open door, making him drop five feet down to the wet ground. He lay sprawled on his face, feeling his still damp clothes and shoes fall on top of him.

"Damn faggot!" he heard as the truck pulled away with a roar.

***

The hand was warm, rubbing a blissful glow into his skin. It was a lotion, soothing the bruises and numbing the pain.

"Stupid boy," a voice scolded softly. "You could have been dead."

The words didn't really register, but the caring tone did. Would he ever have believed that this paper covered table might feel so welcome, relaxing -- save?

And that Kurtz's voice would sound comforting?

She was right, of course; he'd been stupid running off on his own like this. He could have been raped, beaten up or worse. Lying on the examination table, feeling the heat relaxing his cramped body, Lucian wondered what made him do it. What had made him feel so certain that he'd had to run off with no food, no money and hardly any clothes, looking like a lost, 15 year old girl?

Hitch hiking in the pouring rain, goddammit.

Lying facedown on the road shoulder, he'd cried. But the cold seeped in again, so he tried to pull on the damp top and running tights. He found his shoes and started walking, wrapped in the dirty blanket.

He left his sweater behind, a pink smudge in the mud.

Stumbling and stepping into puddles he made slow progress, wondering if it was progress at all. He had no idea where he was going. Maybe there would be a gas station ahead, or even a restaurant.

The rain stopped, and a wintery sun came out, making it easier to walk.

An electronically enhanced voice tore through his musings.

It was distorted by static, so he didn't hear what it said. But he knew it was meant for him.

Looking left he saw a police patrol car crawling at walking pace, lights flashing. He stopped. So did the car. A window was lowered.

Through the crackling he understood words like "doing here...lost...alone...boy." He just stood and stared.

"Show...hands," the electronic device went on.

He did.

"Come over... slowly."

He slowly walked over to the waiting car, hands out. Behind the open window was a face -- lean, fortyish, and with a moustache.

"Hello... boy?" the man said. Lucian noticed the small pause before 'boy.' And the question mark.

He shivered.

"Lift the blanket."

He did, showing his lycra-clad body, shivering harder.

"Get in."

The back door clicked open. Lucian slid in, feeling the warmth close around him. Two police officers turned their faces to him, the moustache and a younger woman behind the wheel. She was pretty in a tired way.

"How old are you?" the moustache asked.

"Eighteen," he answered, trying to keep the trembling out of his voice.

The police officers looked at each other.

"Eighteen?" the moustache repeated.

Lucian nodded.

"Got an ID?"

Lucian shook his head no.

While they drove on, the male officer started to interrogate him, obviously suspicious after having trouble believing his first answer.

Lucian decided to just tell the truth about leaving school and trying to hitch hike home. He told them about the truck, but hesitated to mention the attempted rape.

The humming car and the warmth made him feel sleepy.

"So why did they throw you out of the truck in the middle of nowhere?" the officer wanted to know. Of course he'd want to know.

So Lucian told him how they'd felt him up and how he'd wrestled to get free and jumped out of the driving truck. He didn't know why he lied. There was shame, maybe, for having been taken for a girl, or the need to seem courageous. He certainly was determined not to tell them how the men had dumped him after grabbing his crotch and finding out he had a penis.

He couldn't tell if the officers believed him.

"Are you hurt?" the woman asked.

"No," he said. "Just bruises -- and cold."

The patrol car turned into the parking lot of a roadside restaurant. They went in and sat in a booth. The moustache telephoned while the woman got them coffee and Danish rolls.

He wolfed one down; the woman grinned and gave him hers.

The moustache started asking him questions about the truck drivers, the truck and anything else he remembered. Lucian guessed he was a poor witness having no idea about license plates or even the brand of the car.

The woman took notes.

Next he asked him about home. He gave them the address and telephone number, landline and cell. He made calls, but got no response. Too early still, Lucian knew; his mother would be in bed.

He gave them the name of the school, but added that he had no idea where it was. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, he said, an estate. They wanted to know what kind of school it was. He just said it was kind of a college, a boarding school, and no, he didn't have a phone number.

The woman Googled it on her smartphone and made a call.

Lucian didn't remember what she said after making contact. He let his mind wander, overcome by a sense of fatalism. So he'd tried to run, but he now knew it was just that: running away from something, but having no idea whatsoever where to go.

He tried to imagine picking up his old life again, but no pictures came to mind. He knew his mother would not want him. He shuddered at the thought of seeing his father. All he saw was aggression and humiliation.

"School wants you back."

A hand touched him. He looked up into the pretty, friendly face.

They took him back to Norton's; it happened to be only a thirty miles drive. Thirty miles of freedom, he thought -- ugly, cold, wet and stinking freedom, peopled with salivating monsters and clawing rapists.

"Don't ever do this again," Dr. Kurtz said, checking an ugly bruise on his left shoulder, where he'd hit the ground beside the road.

***

"Why did you run off?" Drew asked.

"What is it to you?" Lucian countered.

She looked hurt; he didn't care. If she could dump him, so could he -- couldn't he? If she could make an indifferent fucking out of what he held dear, why would he even talk to her?

He'd seen her often, ever since he'd returned. Sometimes it seemed she wanted to talk. Just curious, like the others, he supposed.

All the Bobs wanted to know where he'd been. He shrugged until they lost interest. Barbies looked at him too, giggling their damned giggles. He just went about his duties, turning in as early as he could.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Drew said, standing closer.

"Whatever," he answered, by lack of other cool things to say.

"I really am. I was such a jerk."

Her hand touched him. He stepped back. She winced.

"Yes," he said. "You were. Why say it anyway?"

They were standing in a shielded corner of a corridor, both on their way to classes, he supposed. Drew had blocked his way. Harper and Kelly had been with him, but they'd walked on. He'd seen Harper's eyes roll at Drew.

Drew shrugged.

"I shouldn't have said it," she offered. "Not that way. But we really shouldn't... meet like that anymore. It got me in trouble, you know?"

Bullshit, Lucian thought. There was a lot of fooling around -- amongst Bobs, and amongst Barbs too, no doubt; even between Bobs and Barbs. Sure, school didn't like it, but he'd never heard of anyone getting in 'trouble' as she said.