Date: Thu, 20 May 2004 00:56:57 -0700
From: RC in Sacramento <sacwriter@hotmail.com>
Subject: Chapter 3 of 'Munchkin'

This is a work of fiction. It depicts the often sexual relationship between
two young girls. If this offends you or if you're not old enough to be
reading this stuff, then get out NOW. If, however, you're where you want to
be, then enjoy.

			 MUNCHKIN
			 Chapter 3
			by Sacwriter


	Becka finished searching the second floor of the school and found nothing,
no sight of Joe Munson and worse, no sight of Gary Harper and his two thugs.
She knew Joe had been dodging her all day, had caught sight of him several
times in the halls between classes, but he had slipped away in the crowds
each time she had tried to talk to him. She had seen Harper, Ingles and
Hooker as well, also searching the crowds. It didn't take much imagination
to realize that they were all after the same thing.
	Becka knew about bullies. She knew how they thought and she knew how they
operated, and she knew why they did the things that they did. She had been
one for years, and considered herself an expert on the breed. For instance
she knew that they were all abusers, but some of them, like her, were also
abused. Victims of violence, kids from broken homes, they couldn't strike
back at those who had hurt them so they struck back at whoever they could.
That wasn't an excuse, but it was a reason, and it was one she could
understand.
	But then there were the bullies like Gary Harper, the petty and vicious
with the small souls, who usually ran in packs. There was no excuse for them
either, but also no reason for what they did. They simply liked doing it.
They liked to humiliate and to cause pain, because the degradation of others
made them feel like gods. The smell of blood excited them, and they could
sense fear a mile away. No, Becka couldn't really understand people like
that, she just wasn't wired the same way. But she knew what made them tick,
and she could predict what they would do. Which was why she was particularly
anxious to find Joe Munson before Harper did.
	She got to the bottom of the stairs and started through the long main
hallway of the ground floor, being careful to check al the side hallways as
she did. She reached into her oversized purse and pulled out her cell phone,
then speed dialed Gia who was out in the parking lot checking the last of
the departing school buses.
	"G, I've just finished with the top two floors and haven't found Joe yet.
I'm starting on the first floor now. Any sign of him outside?"
	"No, nothing. The last bus left about five minutes ago, and the student
parking lot is almost empty. But I haven't seen Harper either, and his car
is still here."
	"Damn. This could be bad. Look, wait there for another ten minutes, then
meet me over at the athletic field, by the bleachers. It's pretty private
out there, if they want to work somebody over that would be a good---shit!"
	"Becka, what happened? What's wrong?"
	"It's Ronnie Hooker. He's at the end of the hall, standing outside the
boy's restroom. Harper and Ingles must be inside, and I bet they've got Joe
in there, too."
	"Becka, wait for me, I'll be there in two minutes!"
	"Gia, there's no time, I gotta get in there now. Hurry!"
	Becka closed her cell and shoved it into her purse, even as she was running
down the hall. Her footsteps echoed ahead of her, warning Hooker, who spun
around when he saw her and burst through the doors behind him. Becka was
right behind him a few seconds later, her right hand fisting around another
object inside her shoulder bag.
	Inside the lavatory she stopped, taking in the tableau at the end of the
tile covered room. The four figures had frozen, as if in a snap shot
photograph, and it took her only a second to put all the little pieces
together. Matt Ingles by the back wall, holding Joe bent over the sink with
one hand on the back of his neck and his other holding the boy's arm up
between his shoulders. Joe's pants and underwear down around his ankles, his
bare buttocks exposed. And Gary Harper with his pants unzipped and his cock
in his hand, covered with what looked like liquid pink soap from one of the
dispensers.
	Rage, as hot and bright as molten lava, yet at the same time dark and cold
as a grave. It burst up from Becka's heart, from the depths of a ravaged
soul that still bore scars. It tightened her chest in a vise and burned the
back of her throat, and when she spoke the sound should have made the earth
open up and swallow Gary Harper whole. "Get away from him!"
	But Harper was too wrought up, or maybe just too stupid to know better. He
fell back on his old tricks and tried to bluster his way out.
	"You crazy bitch, I've told you before this is none of your damned
business---"
	"GET AWAY FROM HIM!!!"
	Quick as a snake Becka's hand emerged from her bag, and shot out to point
at the cause of her outrage, her arm extended and stiff. In her hand was a
black plastic box, the size of a pack of extra long cigarettes. The two
poles at the end of the box arced with blue electricity, a 500 volt charge
that snapped with it's own evil sound and echoed in the tiled room.
The stun gun and Becka's obvious will to use it deflated any urge the trio
might have had to stay, and with panicky haste they scrambled out of the
restroom like rats out of a burning building, with Harper trying to stuff
himself back into his pants. The urge to give chase, to hunt them down and
hurt them, was almost overwhelming. But revenge was second to her concern
for their victim, so Becka let the trio get away...for now.

	When Matt Ingles had let go of him Joe had slid to the floor and
frantically scrabbled underneath the sink, where he rolled himself into a
tiny ball and tried to squeeze into a corner. He wrapped one arm over his
head to protect himself, and used the other hand to tug and pull at his
pants to cover his nakedness. He was so desperate to shield his body that he
didn't even think to remove the half sodden lump of paper towels from his
mouth, until his difficulty breathing made him almost pass out.  He had just
finished clawing it out when he saw movement, a figure that crouched down in
front of him. Joe jumped and gave a strangled cry, frantically tried to
squeeze himself even further into the corner. Back they're back going to
hurt me again finish what they started split me open make me scream like a
bitch makemescream-
	"Joe! Joe, listen to me! They're gone, they're gone and they're not coming
back. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you, I won't let them, okay?"
	Girl. Not them, a girl. Not going to hurt him. Who?
	Becka Jackson.
	It came back in disjointed pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle thrown up into the
air. Becka saved him. But she hurt him, beat him in front of everybody,
ruined his life. Gary Harper beating him up in the hallway, and Becka saved
him then. Harper trying to... to...
	He couldn't finish the thought, couldn't... touch it. The only thing that
he could get his mind around right now was this girl. She had helped him,
had kept them from hurting him, said she wouldn't let him be hurt again.
	"Becka!" The sound of the restroom door bursting open, and another girls'
voice. Joe jumped again, but not as badly. He wasn't afraid of females. Just
them.

	Gia stopped her headlong rush when she found Becka kneeling on the floor,
talking to the huddled form underneath the sink. She started to say
something, she wasn't sure what, but her sisters' raised hand stopped her.
Instead she approached slowly and crouched down next to the other girl,
where she finally got her first close look at Joe Munson. The pants still
half down and the shattered look told her a story that made her draw in a
sudden breath.
	"Becka! Did, did they...?"
	"No, I don't think so. I think I chased them off before it could happen.
But it was close."
	"That can be pretty bad too," Gia said, speaking softly. "Is he hurt? Does
he need to go to the hospital? Or should we call the police?"
	"No!" The sudden shout from Joe made the girls start. "No, n-no police. I
don't want to talk to them. And I, I don't want to go to the hospital,
either."
	The sisters looked at each other and shared the same thought; he didn't
want anybody to know what had happened to him.
	"Okay," Becka said quietly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want
to, alright? But you do have to get out from under this sink. You have to go
home. Look, we'll give you a ride, okay? But we have to go now, Joe." She
held her hand out, not too close, and after a hesitant moment he took it and
let her help him up. They spent a few minutes getting him cleaned up. When
they led him down the hallway and out to the parking lot, he stayed very
close. And surprisingly, when they got into the car he climbed into the back
with Becka and sat as close to her as possible without actually touching.

Gia drove at random for 15 minutes before Joe pulled himself together enough
to give her directions. The drive to Mattie's small tract house gave him
additional time to put up walls, and to get himself functioning again. When
they finally pulled into the cracked driveway at his home, he had even
managed to sit up straight and pull away from Becka.
	"Um, thanks. Thank you. I'm okay now, really."
	Joe was standing by the front door, fumbling the key out of his pocket and
opening the lock with difficulty. He knew that he had been clinging to the
two girls, especially to Becka, like a drowning man clings to a piece of
drift wood. But now he was home, and he found that the only thing he wanted
was to get inside and be alone.
	"You sure you're gonna be alright?" Becka asked. "We can stay for a while.
I mean, in case you don't want to be alone or something."
	"No, um, that's alright. My Aunt Mattie, she'll be home from work soon, so
I'm okay. Really."
	The two girls looked at each other, still reluctant to go, but knowing that
there wasn't much they could do. The smaller one, Gia, reached into her
purse and pulled out a pen and some scrap paper, and then quickly wrote
something on the back. She handed it to Joe.
	"Here, here's our phone number. If you need anything, or if you just want
somebody to talk too, call us, okay?"
	Joe took it without saying anything, just nodding his reply. He opened the
door behind him and then slipped inside, shutting it and locking both locks,
and putting on the chain. He peaked through the spy hole and watched while
his two rescuers went back to their car and drove off. He turned around and
leaned against the door, taking in the silence of the small, empty house,
thinking that Mattie was already up at Lake Tahoe by now. He would be all
alone here for at least a week, maybe more.
	Joe Munson wrapped his arms around himself to keep from shaking, and felt
very, very small.
* * *
	For the first couple of miles the girls drove in silence, each enwrapped in
their own thoughts and memories, reminded of experiences that they both
usually tried not to think about. It was Gia who finally broke the silence,
by asking the question that was on both of their minds.
	"Do you think he'll tell her what happened? His aunt, I mean."
	Becka shook her head. "No, he won't. Not a chance. Do you remember what Dr.
Weiss called us, the kids who had been abused?"
	"Um, the secret children, or something like that."
	" 'The children of the secret'. Kids never talk, that's the problem, that's
how people like Ralph and Gary Harper get away with this kind of shit.
Harper's probably been picking on Joe for years, but I'll bet you anything
he's never told his aunt about it. So he'll keep this to himself too."
	"Which means we're the only ones he has that he can talk to about it."
	"Yeah, giving him our number was a smart move. I don't know if he'll use
it, though. Hey, did you give him your cell phone, or the house phone?"
	"Nuts, I gave him the house number! What will he do if he calls, and
neither of us is there?"
	"I dunno, he might lose his nerve and never call back. Maybe for the next
couple of days, we should make sure at least one of us is home."
	"Good thing we didn't have any plans for the weekend! I've got a class to
teach tonight, what about you?"
	"I'll be home, but tomorrow I've got to go to the shop to do the motif on a
van. It might take me all day." In order to earn extra money and to pay for
gas and car insurance, the girls both worked part time in the family
businesses. Gia taught karate and aikido to the junior classes at the
Cameron Martial Arts Academy, while Becka painted airbrush murals and signs
at the auto detailers their father had founded.
	As the girls discussed their plans for the weekend and rearranged their
schedules to make sure one of them was always available, they pulled through
the open gates that led to the circular driveway of their home. The house
itself was a rambling, three story structure of Spanish Colonial design,
with white plastered walls and a red tile roof. It sat square in the middle
of a half acre lot of old growth oak trees, shaded under their heavy
branches and secure behind a six-foot tall adobe wall. To the right stood an
unattached garage, big enough to hold four cars, and a paved parking area
large enough to hold several more. The second garage door from the left was
open, and with just the slightest squeal of brakes on cement Gia pulled into
the space provided. The big-cat rumble of the six cylinder echoed in the
confines for a few seconds before she turned the engine off.
	"The Indian's here, one of the boys must be home. Whose turn was it today?"
Gia asked. Becka looked past her sister to the space to their left, and saw
the classic motorcycle that belonged to their three brothers. It was a fully
restored 1953 Blackhawk Chief, the very last model ever produced by the
Indian Motorcycle Company. The restoration had been expertly done by young
men who had grown up in the business and loved what they were doing, and had
resulted in a true piece of automotive art.
	"George had it this morning, but I think he's letting Bobby have it tonight
'cause he's got a date with Jessie," Becka replied, as they both climbed out
of the Mustang. Before closing the garage door, they stopped as they had
every day for the past week to admire their brothers' handiwork.
	The boys had chosen to stay with the original color scheme, and the bike
was now a robin's egg blue with white panels on the gas tank and the fully
skirted fenders, and wide stripe white wall tires. The 80 cubic inch V-twin
engine had been rechromed and polished, as had the classic Indian head
symbol on the front. The tree now sported triple headlights and the bicycle
style saddle had been replaced with a double seat. The final addition to the
bike had been added just the day before, a set of black leather saddle bag
panniers decorated with silver studs.
	"You know," Gia said, a wicked smile tugging at her lips. "I saw this
bumper sticker at the mall the other day that says 'I Brake for Harleys'. We
could-"
	"No!" Becka said firmly, shaking her head. "Get that out of your pointy
little head right now, Gia Cameron. We are not going to start a practical
joke war with the Indian, the boys would just retaliate and do something
evil to the ragtop. Besides, Johnny's still pissed at you about the
pinwheels."
	The three Cameron brothers had worked all winter on the bike's restoration,
and the official unveiling had been that weekend. The night before Gia had
gone to Toys 'R Us and purchased a set of handlebar pinwheels, the type that
usually go on a child's bicycle. They were pink and purple with sparkles and
plastic tassels hanging down, and Gia had snuck into the garage and mounted
them on the Indian. Her brothers had not been amused.
	They closed the garage behind them and headed to the main house. The smell
of cooking greeted them as they entered the front door, telling them that
there father was already preparing dinner and reminding them of how late it
was. Gia would have to hurry in order to get ready for her class tonight and
also eat before she left.
	As the younger girl was changing into her karate uniform, they discussed
the possibility of telling their father about the situation with Joe Munson.
They decided that it wouldn't be a good idea. Gia had learned the hard way
about the importance of trust when trying to help a victim of abuse. She had
betrayed that trust with Becka the year before, when she had tried to rescue
the other girl from her abusive stepfather. The incident had almost ended
their relationship, and come perilously close to driving her lover away
forever. Neither of them was anxious to make the same mistake with Joe.
* * *
	Joe rose the next day at eight o'clock, ridiculously early for a Saturday.
But the truth was he hadn't really slept much the night before, and although
exhaustion was tugging at him with leaden fingers he knew that any more
sleep was impossible.
	He went to the bathroom and had a shower, turning the temperature  down
halfway through so that the cold water would wake him up. He dressed and
made himself a breakfast of cold cereal, and then wondered what he could do
to fill the rest of his day.
	The house didn't need cleaning, Mattie had left it in it's usual spic 'n
span condition, and all the laundry was current too. Because of the cool
weather the lawn didn't have to be mowed, nor was there anything around the
house in need of fixing. His teachers had given them a break because of the
three day weekend and hadn't assigned any homework, and he had finished the
last book he had gotten from the library two days ago. That left, what, TV
or playing video games over at Milo's, and his friend wouldn't want him over
before noon. He picked up the remote control and started flipping channels.
	Saturday morning TV was it's usual mix of pabulum and inanity, with the
inevitable result that Joe ended up doing the one thing he had not wanted to
do. He started to think. To relive the events of yesterday, like probing a
raw wound and watching the infection ooze. The image was gruesome, but also
accurate, as the memory of the near rape in the boys room once more flashed
before his eyes. He was suddenly bathed in a cold sweat and found himself
shaking, curling up into a ball on the couch just as he had on the filthy
tiles the day before.
	God, he hated this! Hated being afraid, hated feeling like a coward, hated
believing that he was a coward. To be helpless and to know he couldn't
defend himself, that he was used to. But this cold, clawing feeling in the
pit of his stomach that sapped his strength and destroyed his will, how
could he ever get used to that?
	Joe looked down at the crumpled papers on the coffee table, and his
tumbled, jumbled, scattered thoughts finally settled on one subject. Becka
Jackson. The girl who had started this, who had first humiliated him in
front of the whole school, the one who had marked him as a victim in front
of Gary Harper and every other psycho at Roosevelt High. She had ruined his
life four years ago, and he had avoided her like the plague ever since. And
yet now all he could think about was hiding behind her so that he could
finally feel safe again.
	Joe reached over and picked up the copies of The Rough Rider that Milo had
given him and slowly unfolded them. He didn't have to read the crumpled
pages, he had already done that three times last night. Like his friend had
said the story was incredible, even with all the holes that were obviously
in it, the things that a high school newspaper wouldn't be able to print.
	Sometime in the beginning of that school year, new student Gia Cameron had
befriended Becka Jackson. When she discovered that the older girl was being
abused by her stepfather Ralph Danning, she had tried to help her get away,
but Becka had been caught by Danning and beaten so severely that she had to
be hospitalized. Danning was arrested for the assault, and Gia and her
family had taken the girl in and eventually adopted her.
It then turned out that Danning was involved in a major drug running ring
that had stretched across four states. Becka had supplied information to the
police that had resulted in the arrest of most of the gang, but two of them
who had avoided capture had plotted to kidnap and murder the girl. Whether
to prevent her from testifying against them or just for revenge was unknown.
But when the pair were unable to get close to Becka they had instead settled
for kidnapping her new sister Gia, right out of the school parking lot. They
had failed only because Becka and three other girls had witnessed the
attempt, and had rescued her in a violent confrontation that had sent both
of the drug runners to the prison hospital ward. And now Becka Jackson was
not only a hero, she had become a legend at Roosevelt High.
	Joe put the news story down and rubbed his face, and then stood up. He was
still bone tired, but at least he wasn't shaking anymore. He decided he had
to get out, get some fresh air, maybe head over to Milo's even though it was
still a little early. He was looking for his jacket when the sound of a car
horn came through the window.
	Someone was really leaning on the horn, hitting it again and again in an
attention getting staccato. It sounded close, too, as if it was coming from
the street right outside their door. Curious, Joe crossed the room to the
front window and peaked through the crack in the drapes.
	Parked at the curb was a four wheel drive Jeep with the canvas top down. It
was Matt Ingles who was sitting in the drivers seat and sounding the horn,
with Ronnie Hooker crouched in the back seat. Gary Harper stood on the
grass, leaning against the front fender and looking at the house with an
insolent grin. Joe felt his heart rise in his chest and threaten to choke
him.
(continued)