The Altar Girl: A Prequel

CHAPTER 7

Donnie lifted my hand, the one that held the mouth guard, and guided it toward my face. I opened my mouth and he stuffed it inside. I could have resisted, but there was no upside to that. Only downside. He pressed my nose and my chin together with his right hand to make sure my jaw was shut. Then he lifted my leg and placed it on the support brackets. His motions were firm but gentle, like those of a doctor. He touched my cheek with an open palm once the mouth guard was secure between my teeth. He held my leg with two hands and lifted it slowly so as not to strain any muscles before placing it onto the support.

All the while he kept babbling, also like a doctor, presumably to distract me from the sight of the mallet at his feet, and my immediate fate.

“You should be on your knees thanking me,” he said. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Okay, obviously you can’t be on your knees right now, but you know what I mean. That is how grateful you should be to me. I was told to handle this. Any way I sees fit. Anyone else, you would be dead. But not me. Why? Because that’s not how I want to live my life. And you and me, we understand each other. We’re both old-school. Our parents kept their mouths shut about all the shit that went down in World War II, all the shit they suffered, some of the lies some of them had to tell to get in this country. We know how to keep our mouths zip-locked. It’s in our genes, and because I’m a good guy and you’re a respectable woman — have I told you I have the highest respect for you? — I’m playing it this way. Giving you a chance to live. Yeah, you should be grateful. Just plain grateful.”

He finished adjusting the brackets. One held my ankle; the other gripped my leg below the knee. He was going to strike between the knee and the ankle. I could tell by the structure of the machine. My upper leg was supported, my lower leg wasn’t. The bone would cave right in.

I knew I had only seconds left. I could sense my panic. It was like an amorphous cloud hovering over me, waiting to wrap me up and render me incapable of thought. But it wasn’t upon me yet, and I knew to keep it at bay by insisting I didn’t care if it seized me, and focusing on a specific thing. In this case it was a specific task. The task was to buy some more time.

Donnie reached down for the mallet.

I pulled the mouth guard from between my teeth. He snapped to attention, mallet in hand, as soon as he saw what I’d done. The veins in his hand protruded as he tightened his grip on the hammer. He looked angry. Really angry.

“I changed my mind,” I said.

His eyes narrowed. “About what?”

“The Champagne. It might help me with my nerves. If not right now, then in a few minutes when I’m going to need the help. At least the alcohol will be in my bloodstream, you know what I mean?”

His expression turned stern and he shook his head.

My pulse quickened. The amorphous cloud of panic moved in and engulfed me like fog.

You’re a fraud, I thought. You’ve been lying to yourself to make the time pass. To keep from passing out from sheer fear, like the pathetic little girl you are and always have been. This is going to happen. A man is going to break your leg and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, you can do about it because you’re not that tough, and not as smart as you like to think you are.

There is no hope. There is no hope. There is no hope.

And then Donnie stopped shaking his head. Maybe he saw the terror in my eyes at that very moment. Maybe he just liked the idea of me having a glass of his Champagne before he clubbed me.

Whatever the reason, he loosened my brackets and told me to sit up. Then he walked over to the refrigerator and started babbling again. I didn’t pay any attention to what he was saying because by this time I’d remembered my brother telling me that he and I could put up with anything for three days. I recalled him asking what my name was on the Appalachian Trail, moments before leaving me to fend for myself.

As Donnie poured me a flute of bubbly, my mind unlocked the box where I kept the memory of that survival test stowed away to prevent myself from thinking about it. The locks were many and intricate, for this was not a memory that I wanted floating around my head. It loved to torture me so I’d had to design my own personal Fort Knox. Keys clicked in place and turned. Bolts slid open.

The memory escaped.

It overwhelmed my thoughts. Scene after scene flashed vividly before me.

One scene in particular resonated. A bolt of adrenaline rushed through me.

Donnie handed me the glass. He was still yapping about something.

I knocked back the entire flute. Exhaled loudly and with satisfaction.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” I said.

My lips and chin were dripping with liquid. I wiped them with the back of my hand, trying to make it look like as carnal an act as possible. I made my eyes go wild as though I was preparing myself for something that was going to hurt but feel good. I let out a guttural laugh to go with it.

“Do me again, Donnie,” I said, pushing the glass toward him. “One more glass and I’m ready for this.”

He took my glass, his expression a mix of shock and curiosity, and turned back to the refrigerator.

I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the brutality I was about to endure. The difference between my thoughts now and before was that this time I wasn’t preparing to suffer the pain.

I was preparing to inflict it.