Barefoot Black Sheep
Part 1 * CHAPTER 10
By: Dennis Crabapple McClain
& Lou Gojira

Slipping out of school proved to be far easier than Stephanie could have imagined. The sun shone high in the clear blue sky, and the crisp grass of the football field tickled her toes as she walked. Jessie had been babbling endlessly, leaving Stephanie mostly nodding and ignoring her. Stephanie couldn’t help it, she actually liked Jessie, but she wasn’t in the mood for a lot of small talk.

“Aren’t you worried about cutting your feet or something? It’s messy under the bleachers,” Jessie said as they crossed the track that circled the football field.

Stephanie shrugged. “It’s not that big a’ deal. You just have to watch where you step.”

“Oh,” Jessie said, and Stephanie noticed Jessie watching every barefoot step she took with surprising fascination. Jessie even winced as Stephanie walked with ease over the cinders of the track.

A head full of thoughts kept Stephanie mostly to herself, or at least as to herself as Jessie would allow. Under the bleachers… This was like an invitation to join an exclusive club! And, truth be told, Stephanie felt more than a little concerned about how dangerous a place it would be for her bare feet, no matter what she had told Jessie. Would going under the bleachers finally make her a real part of this clique? Everyone knew that the only girls who hung out under the bleachers were the freak-chicks. It would drive her parents absolutely nuts if they ever got wind of it. Stephanie grinned.

“I was just wondering…” started Jessie, hesitant, as they crossed around and over the dirt and gravel spilling out around the outside edge of the bleachers. Stephanie’s toes bent and curled around the uneven gravel, but she never broke her pace or hobbled. She always quietly prided herself on being able to take gravel barefoot without breaking her gait. Though this gravel was especially painful to her feet, rough and broken into unusually big and small chunks, she did not want to show any weakness in her stride. “…I like John… do you think he’s cute?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty cute,” Stephanie nodded. She stopped, realizing there was a fence running tight around the back of the bleachers; an obvious attempt to keep the burnouts from hanging out there. “He’s kind of older, isn’t he?”

“I think he’s a senior.” Noticing Stephanie’s confusion, Jessie pointed. "Yeah, we could have gone under around the side, but there’s a better place around back, sort of a hole everyone crawls under."

Nodding, Stephanie went along her way, trusting Jessie to know the spot. All along the back ran a stretch of broken asphalt, desperate weeds worked up through the cracks. Weeds Stephanie dodged, as many of them bore prickers.

“Hey,” Jessie stopped, a pained look on her face. Stephanie noticed Jessie’s toes scrunching in her shoes. “Do you think if I started going barefoot that John might like me?”

Not at all sure what to make of this, Stephanie stopped. Honestly, she had some desire to have a fellow barefoot girl around, someone to share her experiences and make her feel less alone and singled out. “I don’t know if you should do it just to impress a guy, but it’d probably work.”

“Why do you do it?” Jessie asked, leaning against the fence, her left foot coming up an inch or so off the ground, twitching as if she were struggling with whether or not she was ready to go barefoot in public.

“Oh,” Stephanie chuckled, “I do it ‘cause it makes me soooo popular.” She rolled her eyes.

“I can’t believe we’re cutting classes!” Jessie said, looking excited and nervous. “No, really, why do you do it? I mean, no offense, but it is kinda weird.”

There was no way Stephanie could tell her about the tingling, or about how she felt it was an important part of her identity. She wished she could do it... could finally tell the truth about it to somebody —but truthfully, she still hadn’t quite faced it out loud to herself. “I hate shoes,” she shrugged, going on. “They’re not comfortable, and if feet get dirty you can just wash them. It’s a lot easier than wearing shoes.” Fortunately, Jessie was behind her and couldn’t see Stephanie blushing over the lameness of her cover story, nor could she see how self-conscious Stephanie was about the fib.

“That makes sense,” Jessie said.

It did? Stephanie looked back at her and noticed Jessie watching her every barefoot step.

“I don’t like shoes much myself… but if you hate shoes, there are lots of different kinds of shoes,” Jessie pointed out. “Like sandals, they’re pretty comfortable, and your feet can still get air and stuff.”

Stephanie looked at Jessie cockeyed, unable to believe Jessie had so wholly missed the point. “I like to feel the ground beneath my feet,” Stephanie added, feeling that communicated about as much as she felt comfortable revealing. It at least was a little closer to the truth. The truth was, more to the point, that she liked how she felt feeling everything under her feet: alive, aroused, vulnerable, strong, herself. The ache she had for want of a friend to share in this obsession, the yearning for someone to understand, swelled up inside her. “Have you ever been under the bleachers?”

“No, I’ve just heard.”

“Well, if it’s as bad as you say, it probably isn’t the best place to go if your feet haven’t been toughened up a little first,” Stephanie didn’t want to talk Jessie into going barefoot only to have her end up cutting herself. “I got dog pads on the bottoms of my feet,” Stephanie boasted, pulling aside, she clutched the mesh of the fence with one hand and pulled her foot up behind her, holding onto the topside of her foot with the other hand so Jessie could inspect her summer soles.

“Oh my God!” Jessie gasped, noticing the ridge of callus along Stephanie’s small shapely heel, and the whitish callus-spot just behind the pinky toe. “If it’s not too weird, can I feel it?”

Stephanie shrugged; the toes of her supporting foot scooted and scrunched over the coarse concrete as she shifted to maintain her balance.

Hesitant, Jessie’s finger floated over Stephanie’s sole before touching it. Stephanie felt the feathery caress of Jessie’s stroking just as sharply as the careful curious dig and scratch Jessie made with her fingernail. “Oh wow! It’s like leather. Can you feel anything?”

“I feel everything,” Stephanie shrugged. “By the end of summer it just takes a lot to cut me is all. I’ve walked across glass without even noticing it until I heard it crunching under my feet.”

“No way!”

“Yeah.” Stephanie set her foot down and walked slowly backwards, feeling each step as Jessie stared wide-eyed. “If I’m not grounded for life, let’s hang out some this weekend. We’ll go for a walk downtown or along the trail.”

“You mean barefoot?” Jessie caught up and Stephanie turned around and kept pace with her.

“Well… yeah,” Stephanie said in a well-duh sort of tone.

“It’s supposed to get cold again tomorrow.” Jessie sounded disappointed.

“So,” shrugged Stephanie. “Who cares, so long as it doesn’t snow. It’s no big deal, I mean, if you aren’t up to it. I’ll go barefoot whether you do or not.”

Jessie led them straight to the hole. On her belly she crawled in the dug out patch of dirt, easily clearing the curled up patch of fence. Excited to finally be entering the inner sanctum of the freaks, Stephanie followed, her toes wiggling as she squirmed her way under the fence without so much as dirtying her white jeans. Though nowhere near as dangerous as the hangout spot down by the river, the ground under the bleachers was littered with crumpled plastic bottles, ant-covered and flattened out popcorn tubs, all sorts of smashed and mangled aluminum cans, and wadded-up brown paper bags with broken glass spilling out of them. Cigarette butts littered the ground amongst all this debris like swarms of bugs.

“Hey,” John said, already smoking as he leaned against a small metal pylon, watching the girls. “Watch it...” he nodded towards Stephanie’s feet as he strolled over to her and Jessie, meeting them half-way. “...There’s glass all over. I’d hate to think of you cutting those pretty little feet.”

Stephanie smiled, her heart racing. A feeling of dark but pleasant warmth swelled up inside her, as she just knew this was exactly where her parents expected her to be. John was busy swaying, pivoting on the heels of his booted feet as he reached up and held onto a slim aluminum support beam, smoking with his other hand. Jessie sat on a runner at his feet, like a puppy, afraid to get too far from his sight. Stephanie kicked aside a small pile of sticky rubbish, clearing away a safe place to stand, but mostly fidgeting, smiling, soaking up the thrill of this invitation-only hangout. “So, Ruthy didn’t come...” she observed, slightly disappointed despite it all.

“She said she was pissed at you, but I could tell she was upset... prob'ly thought that you might be pissed at her. She’s like that. I’ve known her for years. She’ll be cool. She’s just a little worried about Tommy.”

“She thinks that’s my fault.” Stephanie said glumly, looking down to watch her big toe flick at a cigarette butt.

“That’s bullshit. Tommy’s a dumb ass!” John popped off, breezing a stream of smoke past his lips.

“John!” Jessie cried more playful than scolding.

“It’s true,” he shrugged, letting go of the beam and standing straight. “If he’s in trouble it was his own stupid fault. Ruthy knows that. You know her… you know how she is. She’s just pissed and worried and taking it out on you. She acts like a bitch, but she’ll be over it by eighth period.” He dropped his cigarette and ground it out with the heel of his cowboy boot. There wasn’t a space under the bleachers where Stephanie could stand without stepping on cigarette butts —many of them stained with red and pink lipstick. She kicked aside a jagged and crumpled Budweiser can. Everything under the bleachers smelled stale, like cigarette butts; sticky-sweet like spilled beer and pop; and greasy. “So, you’re, like pretty smart, huh? You should help me with my math homework so I can catch up to everyone else and graduate before I turn thirty.”

Stephanie grinned and blushed, catching Jessie’s eye. Both of the girls suddenly and simultaneously looked away. In that moment it occurred to Stephanie that poor Jessie, innocently sexy as she was, most likely didn’t stand a chance with John as anything more than a little sister figure he felt obliged to care for. But Stephanie thought, even worried, that she herself might stand a pretty good chance. He was cool as well as cute, so much cooler than she’d first thought he'd be, which probably explained why he didn’t spend much time around Tommy and his gang of beer-swilling, loud-mouthed knuckleheads. She liked his scruffy hair, he was skinny as a rock star -though he sounded more like a potential country music singer if anything- and she liked his choice of clothes, wearing a tight T-shirt under his jacket and open flannel, and tight boot-cut jeans which were complimented by his peculiar choice of foot-wear. She also noticed his long fingers and reasonably thick hands, which, according to Ruthy, was certainly something to keep an eye out for in checking out guys. Stephanie felt almost sinful in liking that particular aspect about him, so she turned her attentions back down to her feet to relieve an impending tickle of guilt...

Stephanie idly kicked at a troublesome can, knocking it a little further away, and noticed all her little toe marks in the dust, evidence of her nervous fussing and fidgeting. “So Ruthy’s not too pissed at me? I mean...why should she be?! She was pretty shitty to me. She’s totally freaked out about my going barefoot all the time.”

“Don’t worry about that. I think it’s cool and if I think it’s cool, she’ll think it’s cool,” he nodded and grinned with a confidence Stephanie found funny but adorable. “Don’t you worry about Ruthy, I’ll straighten her out. You just go on being cool. She’ll come around.” He pulled a little tin from his pocket and revealed what Stephanie knew was a joint even though she had never seen one for real. He lit it and inhaled, holding in the smoke as he passed it to Stephanie.

She wanted in the worst way to take it. “Not now,” she wrinkled her nose, giving her head a tiny but nervous shake. “I’m already in deep shit. If I go home stoned my parents’ll kill me.” And it was true. She felt she had misbehaved enough for one day.

“What’s the trouble about?” he asked, coughing and handing the joint to Jessie who took it right away.

“It’s stupid.”

“Go ahead, tell me.”

Stephanie groaned and could not look him in the eye. She stood pigeon toed and wished she could find a hiding place for her naked feet. “My bare feet,” Stephanie rolled her eyes. “They’re really hung up on it.”

“That’s fucked up. I mean them, not you.”

“You have no idea,” Stephanie groaned.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“Easy for you to say. Your parents aren’t wacko.”

He laughed. “Oh, you have no idea. But I ignore them. After a while I wore them down,” he laughed almost boastfully. “Nah, I dunno,” he shrugged, “I guess my parents are pretty cool as parents go.” He laughed. “God, now that I think about it, they used to get all over my sister’s case about it. They hardly ever said anything about the dope, but her feet… shit. They never shut up about that. I dunno, I guess they were pretty cool about that, too, really. They only ever really said anything to her about it when it was cold or if she stayed out too late.”

* * *

In the light of her whole weird day Stephanie needed a grounding influence, and the rest of school was already out of the question for that; so the obvious choice? Why, Mrs. Thompson's of course! She was most likely home at that time, so after Stephanie gave John and Jessie a cordial farewell for the time being, she took off for her favorite aged hippie lady's house. The long walk to Mrs. Thompson’s house did little to clear her mind, as so much had happened and was going to happen at home that she could barely sort through it all. But through most of the walk she smiled in the glow of how good her time with John and Jessie left her feeling. She took a roundabout way just to make absolutely certain her parents wouldn’t find her walking along the road. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t even notice the rattling, pinging, and groaning of the old truck as it pulled up beside her. All she eventually registered in between all of her thoughts was the sound of an engine to her left and slightly behind her, droning away with the repetitious sounds of a motor that probably should've died a merciful death a long time ago, retired to a scrap yard and put out of its misery. At first noticing, she found herself thinking it was a passing vehicle of some sort, but as she walked, staring down at her foot falls on the sidewalk, it started to dawn on her that this noise-maker wasn't leaving, especially when the popping and grinding began cutting into her thoughts. Fearing the worse, she timidly looked over her shoulder, barely turning her head in the direction of the vehicle, and felt her stomach try to both climb into her rib cage and slink into her hips at the same time when she saw the light-blue and dented visage of the hood of the pick-up. Her feet involuntarily fisted the concrete as her blood shot into them, her every instinct telling her to get the hell out of there.

"Ain'tcha gonna thank me?!" came a loud yet weary voice over the noise of the slow, out of tune engine.

Stephanie froze at the unfamiliar voice and watched the creepy old white-headed man come into view as he drove up beside her, that same old man she was so messed up over that she imagined seeing him twice already at school. Her rapid heartbeat reverberated in her throat and skull, and she had to pee really bad all of a sudden, but her feet felt like they were clutching the ground so hard at the moment that she couldn't run to a bathroom even if she tried.

The old clunker of a truck bounced to a squeaky-braked halt; the old creep still eyeing her. "No gratitude huh?" His cheeks wrinkled into a smile.

A smile of all things! Stephanie's feelings of fear about half turned into anger when she saw his grinning face. She would've put a fist or something into that ugly old face if she were closer and the old man didn't creep her out to high heavens. She wanted to cut loose in saying something, anything, but all her pretty mouth did was fall silently open as she felt herself magnetically stuck to the spot.

The old man gave a shake of his head, that stupid grin never leaving his face. "You kids these days..." He fixed his gaze upon the frightened barefoot beauty. "I help ya' out twice an' ya can't even thank me?"

“F-For what?!" Stephanie answered with a question, making a conscious effort to push her fear inside long enough to respond. So badly she wanted to flee, but she was tired of being afraid and persecuted. Everything that happened to her that day; her forever irritating and over-protective mother, Ruthy's desertion, the sheep that passed as fellow students' sneering and jokes, the whole accursed and prudish system that looked down on her simple want, her natural feeling and need to leave her feet bare... Stephanie's frustration and rage collected and balled up, and this stalking old bastardly freak was about to catch the full-on attack of it.

"Th' cops last night!" he answered, putting the truck into park, but not cutting off that engine, the same noisy engine that was helping to tick Stephanie's anger up more and more as it ground, cranked, and hissed on. "Well, th' cops an' th' other thang..."

"Burning my shoes up?" Stephanie said aloud, eyes widening as it dawned on her what he was referring to.

Now the goofy son of a bitch was really smiling, and even the sight of his uneven and yellowing teeth cut into Stephanie's nerves. "Where's my thanks?"

Stephanie took a deep breath, the daylight and setting giving her the confidence to finally face-off with this nasty old coot of a man. "Who are you?! Why the fuck are you following me around?!" It didn't hit her until after she said this that she held her fists clenched at her sides.

"Such language..." the old man mocked with a *tsk* *tsk* and a shake of his head. Ernie couldn't help but keep smiling, sadistically enjoying his playful aggravation of her. "You eat with th' same mouth ya' talk out of?"

Stephanie bristled, not knowing if her trembling was caused by the fear or the anger. "Whatta’ you want?!"

The old man leaned back in his seat, relaxing an arm into dropping his grip off of the steering wheel.

Stephanie cast a quick look around at the neighborhood and instantly calculated the time it'd take for her to dart to a house and call the police. Feeling a little more confident, she pushed on. "What do you want?" she asked again, steadying her nerves a little better this time.

His eyes flicked downward and then back up to meet her furious and suddenly confident gaze, and this made Stephanie even madder.

"Is this what you want?!" she danced in a quick teasing circle on her front pads, lifting her heels as she did so, and then held up her foot showing her blackened and tough sole to him. "Get a good look asshole! Feel better?!" Her foot she slapped back to the ground in a huff, already repulsed at the idea of what could be running through the old man's head.

He just closed his eyes and shook his head again, his smile slowly disappearing. He was thankful to be talking to her, finally, but he had hoped it wasn't going to be this difficult. In spite of how traumatized he knew she had to be of him, that bloody-mouthed incident last night not helping this in the slightest, he had still managed to be optimistic enough to think it could've went better when he finally talked to her. He really disliked the letdown. "I thought that was what ya' wanted."

She took a step back. "Huh?!"

"I thought I was doin' ya' a favor." he turned to face the front of the truck, looking for all the world like he was hurt.

This stalking old bastard had nerve; getting hurt of all things...what gave him the right? "Fuck you and your favors! I'm calling the police!" and she did a half turn toward the house directly behind her.

"Th' same police I saved you from...?"

That's right, she was spared a trip home in a cop car to a pair of angry parents last night because of his antics. She turned back. "Y-yeah..." she became angry again when she found herself sympathetic in the smallest degree toward him. "I'll fucking call them!" she shouted, more front than actual anger this time toward him. She only took a quarter turn back to the house, and didn't realize it until she looked at how her feet were poised.

"You hate authority." his grin started coming back. "You won't call anybody."

She felt a surge shoot up her neck...who was he to try and pigeonhole her? "Wanna bet?!"

He finally shut that annoying engine off, and then gave his hands a wave. "Okay, call 'em. I won't go nowhere." he even pointed a finger at the house and added: "Th' people're prob'ly home right now. Go ahead...call..."

Her eyes started widening. What in the hell was this old fruitcake trying to prove? She bounced on her feet, antsy, wanting to call the police yet wanting to figure out this crazy ordeal.

"Tell 'em how ya' hate me... and y' don't even know me. Tell 'em how yer' too good to get looked at by an ugly ol' crud like me." Ernie hoped this would needle in with the desired effect. When he saw her still fixed on the spot, he continued. "If I was a big, popular guy at school you wouldn't mind any a' this. You'd feel like part a' th' in-crowd then..."

Trying to figure her out again...the fucking nerve. "Who are you to assess me?! And for your information —asshole— I don’t like jocks or any part of that 'in-crowd'!" Stephanie hated it when her parents did the same thing, but unlike her parents, she didn't have to take it from this guy, this stranger who couldn't even afford a decent ride.

Ernie motioned his hands over the dashboard. "Yeah, it is a piece a' shit ain't it?" he turned to face her again "But at least I ain't stuck walkin' like you!" he really smiled when he said this, enjoying himself more than he wanted to admit.

Stephanie was stunned when she realized how he seemed to pick up on her thoughts about his truck, but then figured that he saw her looking at the truck. Wait, he made a crack at her. She had to deal with that first. "Who do you think you are- fuckin' reading my mind and shit?! Nobody knows what I-"

"Yeah yeah!" he cut her off “Nobody knows how unique an' misunderstood 'little Miss Genius' is...how deep you are or how bad you got it...I know..." He got a little bit nervous when he saw how much more red she was getting in the face, thinking she may fly through the window to hit him in a minute, but he couldn't help but keep pushing his luck. "Ya' think yer' the only misunderstood young girl in th' world? Nobody cares..."

She caught her breath hanging in her chest, fluttering. The nerve...the Goddamn nerve of this man! "Fuck you!" she yelled, a flood of feelings washing over her, not knowing what else to say.

"Fuck you Ernie! Ya' never asked my name." he smiled, hoping she'd simmer down a little bit as she was obviously really getting steamed up.

"I don't care who you are! I don't care about you!" her eyes were burning all of a sudden. Was this old creep making her cry? She felt a knife made of acid cut into her stomach at this thought, hating herself for this weakness he seemed to so easily exploit. She was still trying to come up with something to say about his 'not stuck walking like you' comment in the midst of all of this even though that window of opportunity was slipping away.

"You care too much about me!" he said, figuring he could try and shift the mood a little by lying off so many of the personal comments. "I'll betch'ya think about me a whole lot." That probably didn't help, he realized after he said it.

"You're following me around motherfucker! How would you like if somebody was following you around?!"

"So ev'rybody but me is allowed t' drive around an' take trips to th' river..."

She paused; hating how fast this guy could come back on her. "NO!" Her angry, tear-welling eyes mindlessly watched a car as it drove around his parked pick-up truck in passing. "I -I don't care about none of that." She lied, stammering, trying to get an upper hand somewhere in this. "You ran up on-"

"Then why was you watchin' me so close before then?"

Busted, or so she felt. "I was only-" How did he know? She collected her thoughts, or tried to anyway. "You were staring at me!"

"Yer' barefoot in cold weather! Y' don't think ya' stand out like a sore thumb?"

"Well..." she stammered. "It's just that..." My God how she started hating how she couldn't think of what to say next.

"Am I th' only one t' look atch'yer' bare feet?"

"N-no! It's just that..." she trailed off; her tongue was tying up as her angry and frustrated thoughts were coming in too much and too fast.

"It's just that I'm not some hot-shot jock boy at yer' school, else it'd be okay. Right?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and felt a single tear finally work its way out and run down her scrunched up and angry face. "I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT!" she screamed. Of course she meant that she didn't care about what the popular kids thought of her, but she'd gotten too emotional to word it better.

Just then a lady leaned out the door of the house behind her, and the sound of the screen door popping open caught both Ernie's and Stephanie's attention. Stephanie pivoted on her soles and started stomping off madder than a stirred up swarm of hornets. She had to get out of there...away from this old man named Ernie, away from this nosey housewife that she'd brought outside by stupidly yelling so much. Stephanie didn't know if she wanted to cry, cuss the old man out, feel sorry for herself, punch him in the face, get Ruthy to sic the guys on him the next chance she got, feel sorry for his seemingly low self-esteem, or what...

Ernie knew the futility of trying to fire the old clunker up quickly enough to follow her, so he got out of the truck, closing the door and giving his old back a stretch before he tried to walk after her. "Where y' goin'?!" he called after her, only half expecting an answer.

She wanted to say something, but he seemed to have a way of making her put her feet into her mouth every time she tried. She just stared blankly ahead and kept up the pace, hoping he'd just go away.

"Aw shit..." Ernie said to himself and started walking after her, giving the woman in the door of the house a smile and a dismissive 'everything's alright' kind of wave. The fleet-footed…the barefooted lass, was going to make him walk if he wanted to keep talking to her, damn it all to hell. "Hey, wait a minute..." he said to Stephanie. "I didn't mean t'-"

She stopped and turned to face him, feeling better that she was about ten feet away from him now. She ran a quick and angry hand over her eyes, trying not to give him the satisfaction of letting him know how he got to her. "If I see you again I'm calling the police...now leave me alone!" She turned back and started stomping away again, hoping her threat carried some weight, any weight...

Ernie stopped his achy pursuit, already feeling defeated, but knowing he had to let her know what was going on. He had to, it was important, and he was regretting how he got caught up in petty word games in trying to grab her attention. He'd gotten her attention all right, just not the kind he should've worked for. "There's more t' you than ya' think!"

She kept walking, wishing he would just go about his way, and seriously considered telling Ruthy to get Tommy and his little circle of rough-necks to break the old man's bones; an arm or his pickle-like nose would've done just fine. Tommy and Robbie both saw him last night, so it wouldn't be hard to describe him in giving them the details they'd need to look him up. Maybe that offer was still good despite the fact that those boys were suddenly ignoring her and Ruthy...though she suddenly started regretting even thinking about having somebody beat another person up, let alone this stupid old man. That'd be something Melissa would pull, and she remembered the few times she overheard the bitch bragging about doing just that to her equally shallow and heartless friends. Stephanie just wanted to get lost in her barefooting and get to Mrs. Thompson's house, her cool house and Leah herself being the lights at the end of this tunnel of emotional turmoil...

"Blue skin!" he called out, then made a line to his truck, wanting to chase after her, but knowing he wasn't in shape for it. 'That should do it...' he figured, hoping this one line would pay off.

Blue...skin...she froze. Her feet painting...she turned back to see him cranking, turning the old engine over. She suddenly wanted to go back and ask him a slew of questions, naturally starting with 'how the hell did you know that?' and eventually ending with 'why did I do that?' but fought the urge. She just watched him work that engine and cuss, finally, eventually, getting the old truck running. She was so creeped out at those two little words, and still angry with him, and still wanting to cry, and still wanting to see his face smashed in because of his shitty attitude toward her, and suddenly remembering how frighteningly lovely her feet looked in the blue eye shadow. She almost didn't register his passing her by until she noticed that he was pointing right above her head as he went. 'What is...' she started to wonder as a little white moth clumsily flew up and landed right on the front of her head. She shooed it off with a wave of her hand and started thinking about maybe coming clean with all of this to Mrs. Thompson when she got over there.

Unnerved, angry, mostly confused, Stephanie doubled her pace to Mrs. Thompson’s. Sanity, there she would find sanity, there she would find a safe place and a reasonable adult. Something about the old man left her feeling dirty all over. Worse, something about him cut right through her, like he knew things about her she wasn’t willing to face up to just yet.

“Well, fuck him,” she muttered, watching her feet in her quick heel-toe pace. Pound, pound, pounding on her heels she went, unable to put away the things he said.

Unfortunately the nearer she got to Mrs. Thompson’s back door the more inexplicably peculiar she felt. The house radiated a disquieting hollow feeling. That same feeling she got last summer when she and Ruthy snuck around Haven Hills, the abandoned old folk’s home that ominously overlooked their town from a wooded and secluded mountain top. Ruthy had talked Stephanie into wearing shoes on that outing, and Stephanie was glad for it, too, as the place was in ruins; shattered glass, heaps of metal, and broken porcelain heaped the floors of that abandoned building in piles. Secretly, Stephanie had wondered what it would be like to go back there barefoot, but she never did. Three times over the summer she started out that way but always chickened out, the uncomfortable tingling in her toes seeming to warn her off of doing it. Warned off or not, she could not forget the place, even now amidst all the mess of things on her mind and coursing through her body, just thinking about braving that place barefoot sent a charged shiver through her.

Knocking on Mrs. Thompson’s sliding door, it became clear that no one was going to answer. Stephanie felt a lump in her throat that somehow made her know that Mrs. Thompson would never be there for her again. “That’s ridiculous,” she muttered, pulling the milk box across the concrete with a scrape. She stood up on it, on tiptoes, and called for Mrs. Thompson though the screen, the window still open over her sink.

A defeated Stephanie sat on the milk box, filled with some unexplainable dread, somehow certain Mrs. Thompson hadn’t just run out to the store for milk. Not only was the peace she had hoped to find here gone, but the scorched black mess on the patio reminded her of creepy old “Ernie”--as he called himself. She could still hear his voice in her mind, still felt the influence of his few words. “Could my life get any more fucked up?” Her feet she pulled tight against the cool milk box, posing them pigeon toed. Without thinking about it, her hand slid down and felt over her silky topsides and toes, her bare feet feeling especially soft, vulnerable, warm, wonderful. But underneath she felt the harsh dry coarseness of her heels and soles from all the hard walking, and a chill emanated off her toes.

A sudden inspiration —more impulse than instinct— caused her to get up and look inside the milk box. Not sure she was ready for it, she pulled out the simple single envelope inside. It had her name on it, and was too heavy to just contain a note. With trembling fingers she worked it open...

“Oh God,” she cried, staring at the heavens, realizing all her skipping church, going barefoot, drinking, and hanging out with bad kids might be catching up with her. She didn’t know if she believed in God anymore, but she feared that if He was there He was pissed at her, too. Pissed and ignoring her.

She shook the contents of the envelope out, which were a key and a typed note.

“Stephy,
I’ve left something for you in my garage.
Enjoy,
Love, Mrs. Thompson.”

Stephanie shook her head. “What the hell is going on?” Key in hand, the note crumpled up in the other, she crossed the pavement to the grass and seriously considered not opening the door. Perhaps it was best not to know.

She turned from the garage and took long strides towards the house. The sliding door, unlocked, slid right open, and that more than anything sunk her heart. “Mrs. Thompson…” she cried out one last time, though the house remained silent. Stephanie suddenly longed for the familiar taste of a coke. The rubbery kissing sound of the fridge opening sounded far louder and far more threatening than it should have. Cold air wafted out and she reached in for the last Coke. Likewise, as she sat at the table, the sound of the crisp sound of the can opening sounded just as ominous. She shoved it aside, watching steam rise up around the cold can. She chuckled thinking that until someone noticed Mrs. Thompson missing, she could hide out here, live here. No more bullshit with her parents.

“That’s ridiculous.” She stood up, reached back and sipped at her Coke, not ready, but unable to resist the desire to know what was in the garage. More puzzling, why was it locked but not the house? “Whatever,” she huffed.

Unlocking the garage she half expected to find creepy old Ernie inside, or things far worse. The door scraped across the concrete stoop as she forced it open. Inside she found only silence and the dusty oily smell of a very ordinary garage. With her bare foot she broke through the cobwebs of the rarely used door, but recoiled, coming to her senses just as a black spider dropped to the floor. Skipping back, she did a little dance in her panic to wipe the webbing off her bare foot, having forgotten in all the weirdness just how much she hated spiders. “Gross! God… gross!” she whined, feeling the webbing sticky between her toes. Returning to the garage, she let one foot slip in, left it hovering over the floor, toes pointed, waiting as if the spider might leap out and get her pretty bare feet the second she stepped in. Satisfied after a wait that the spider was not going to get her, she stepped quickly in and padded across the floor to the suitcase sitting conspicuously in the very center of the empty garage.

Spiders or no, there, safely away even from the prying eyes of her parents, she opened the suitcase. Her eyes went wide with delight. Mrs. Thompson had packed the suitcase tight, both sides, with pounds of soft old denim, and sleek fun vintage clothes. And another typed note, which must have been tapped out on the old antique 'Singer' Mrs. Thompson had in her bedroom.

“I know these clothes are horribly out of style, but I wanted you to have them.”

"P.S. Watch out for the splinters!"

Pulling out a pair of vintage bell-bottom jeans, patched and tattered from Mrs. Thompson’s barefoot years, Stephanie beamed and said aloud: “Out of style? Who cares? These are cool!” Folding them up, she felt uneasy, as if there had to be more, or a catch of some sort. Digging through the hippie clothes, she found at the very bottom another envelope, this one large, manila, and heavy. With eager hands, holding her breath, she pulled out the contents: a pile of newspaper clippings, magazine clippings, and yearbook pages…all of it about Anita. Not just the gruesome obituaries and articles about the stabbing, but any other mention, picture, or memento of her Mrs. Thompson could find. Stephanie’s mouth went dry and she suddenly felt the creeping burn in her toes of having squatted on the dusty concrete too long. She stood up and shook out her toes, wiggled them. 'No splinters around here...I think...' The mixed message in this gift caused her to ache with a terrible chill. Yet she was more baffled by all this than terrified. She didn’t know what to make of it. Not any of it.

As if something in the garage might answer her head full of nebulous questions, Stephanie, her breathing coming in troubled gasps, looked around. It was just a garage, and there was little to look at. Glancing over her shoulder, peering through the windows as if Ernie or her parents might be walking up the drive any second now, she decided to explore the last space left in the garage: the loft. The little plywood loft had always fascinated her. She crept up the homemade wooden ladder.

“Shit!” she hissed, feeling a splinter catch in the fore pad of her right foot. 'Watch out for the -splinters...cute...very cute...' she sarcastically realized, baring her teeth at the gnawing in her freshly injured sole. With nervous hands she sat in the dark, her left foot dangling over the edge, her right foot upturned on her knee, and easily she plucked out the dry little annoyance.

Alone in the emptiness of the loft there sat a little decorative box about the size of a shoebox. With some trepidation, she opened it. Inside nestled four small handmade calfskin bags in a bedding of curly wood shavings. “God, I am not up to this,” she shook her head and sighed. Her eyes adjusted to the low light. She could not help herself. Taking one last peek down through the windows and satisfied that she was wholly alone, she opened the first bag and found fragments of a coffee mug. Not just any mug, but the mug with daisies on it that she dropped a couple months ago while visiting with Mrs. Thompson. It was the same mug Stephanie had used out of habit whenever she and the old girl sipped tea together, dating all the way back to her very first visit when Mrs. Thompson had sat that flowery mug in front of her.

Stephanie went cold.

Hurriedly she opened the second bag and found what she assumed to be clippings of her own hair. How Mrs. Thompson got them she didn’t know.

In the third bag she found a stupid little drawing of a man smoking a cigar that she had doodled while on the phone at Mrs. Thompson’s. She smiled, recalling how Mrs. Thompson took it, threatening to frame it and hang it up in her bathroom. But the smile turned bitter and Stephanie felt herself choking up. A miserable tightness clenched her gut as she thought on all this, the clothes, and the collection of morbid clippings. Why the clothes? It didn’t make any sense. The Mrs. Thompson she knew would have left her the clothes; that she understood. But who was THIS Mrs. Thompson, the collector of articles and Stephanie artifacts. It made no sense.

Her head already reeling, not knowing what else she could possibly learn, she had a suspicion about what waited in the final bag. She unraveled the layers of tissue paper inside the bag and found exactly what she had expected: the sizeable sliver of glass Mrs. Thompson had pulled out of her foot last summer. It bled badly enough that Stephanie hadn’t dared go home and hear a self-righteous “I told you so” from her mother. So, she hobbled to Mrs. Thompson, who pulled it out and cared for the cut. Her parents were none the wiser.

Like a wave crashing against a breaker, Stephanie crumbled into a ball in the loft and cried, her bare feet rubbing together.

It made no sense.

Mrs. Thompson.

Ernie.

But she cried, and she cried. She was scared, worried but mostly confused and even a little angry that all this was happening to her. She cried until she felt all dried up.

But there was John, and Jessie, and her little victories and school. It was all she had and at the very least it was who she wanted to be. “I want to be drunk,” she whined, done with the howling of her crying. Slowly, as she unraveled from herself, she found some resolve. She didn’t know what to do. But she knew she couldn’t stay balled up in this garage for the rest of the day.

She shot up and sat with her feet hanging out into the open over the edge of the loft. She bit down hard, breathed through her nose. All at once she knew what she wanted. She wanted to do something normal, and if not normal then at least distractingly wild.

Normal, wild, though it made no sense, her contradictory needs, either one would do.

“I’m not gonna just sit around bawling,” she sneered, wiping her tears from her cheeks. “Fuck them!” she barked. “Fuck my folks. Fuck Ernie. Fuck Mrs. Thompson.” With all the determination she could muster she pushed herself off the edge of the loft. Her naked feet landed with a hard slap on the concrete floor of the garage. Immediately shockwaves of bone-rattling pain shot up through her feet. The pain resonated through her, clung stubbornly to her feet, clearing her mind.

Feet still stinging, she held the box and grabbed the suitcase and left the garage, back into the house. She cut through Mrs. Thompson’s bedroom, past the wallowed bed, and straight into the bathroom. The door closed behind her, in the full light and quiet of the bathroom, she dug through her purse for her make-up. Splashing cold water on her face drew her a little closer to whatever reality was left her. “No one’s tried to hurt me,” she said into the mirror. “It’s all pretty fucked up, but no one’s tried to hurt me, not even Ernie,” she said, toweling her face off. With her hands she made a cup and slurped up mouthfuls of cold water. It tasted great, normal, everyday.

Clutching the edge of the sink, another wave of terror and tears came over her. “No!” she spat through clenched teeth, stomping her heel. “No,” she said, sighing. “I’ll go to Ruthy’s, we’ll meet up with John or somebody and all hang out.” She just wanted to go out, be barefoot, and forget about all the bullshit…and perhaps most importantly: stop feeling harassed so damned much by everybody and everything. Tomorrow she would go to the police. Yes…the police. Tell them everything she knew about Ernie; show them all the weird shit she found in Mrs. Thompson’s garage… “For all the good it’d do.” It wasn’t like collecting newspaper articles was a crime, or even much of a threat. “But it sure is creepy,” she chuckled, fixing her eyeliner and mascara, putting it on much heavier than normal.

Even as she prepared to go out, she feared it wasn’t very smart. “What the hell am I gonna do, go to my parents?” she laughed. “Or the police. Great, they’d love that, two visits from the cops in like twenty-four hours. What would I tell them? ‘This old guy is talking to me, and I found this envelope full of newspaper articles.’ Right!” She laughed and darted out into Mrs. Thompson’s living room and dug through her records. She found everything but the Beatles, which of course she had an urge to listen to. Stephanie laughed, thinking it silly that Mrs. Thompson somehow thought herself too cool or hardcore for the Beatles or something, and yet had albums and even framed portraits of musicians on her walls that could be heard on any classic rock station you could imagine. In the end she found Leah’s sole Beatles album, The White Album. “There now…that’s the stuff…” Stephanie grinned as she cranked up “Yer Blues”, then darting back to the bathroom. She danced in place as she fixed her lipstick in the mirror, finishing off by penciling a thin and subtle touch of black eyeliner around her now ruby red lips, further enhancing the natural fullness her lips already had, and keeping pace with the heavier make-up she had thus far applied.

She charged out of the house with her suitcase and box, hoping to run a little wild before whatever was coming down on her came down. With an optimistic heart she headed to Ruthy’s hoping to patch things up. The biggest surprise to Stephanie was that she felt pretty good —all things considered. Heavy as her load got, often as she stopped to rest and shake out her arms and feet —the extra pounds of luggage pushing her feet down hard on each pebble or stone— the walk did her a world of good. After all, she was defiantly barefoot. And that was enough right now. “The sick part is,” she chuckled, wincing and whispering as she walked over a patch of gravel, “all this freaky shit is starting to feel normal.” But still, somewhere under all her self-convincing that Ernie meant her no harm, under all her determination to party, she could not shake the idea that she might end up like Anita. She crinkled her toes, almost feeling that sticky patch of concrete where Anita had been stabbed.

* * *

“Hey Brain,” Ruthy answered the door as if nothing had happened today at school —and in comparison to all that had happened since leaving school, nothing much had went on, really…

“Water,” Stephanie replied.

“So what, you like moving in or something?”

“Oh, no,” Stephanie gladly set down the suitcase and box just inside Ruthy’s door.

“What is all that shit?”

“Just stuff. Believe me, I’m in no mood to explain it all now.” She answered, crouching down to give Sarge a quick head rub before standing back up.

“What the fuck is going on? Are you running away?”

“No,” laughed Stephanie. “Though it might not be a bad idea, the way I’m gonna get it at home. Mrs. Thompson gave me all her old hippie clothes is all.”

“You mean like love beads and shit?” Ruthy laughed.

“Sorta.” Gripping the case with her toes she shoved it further into the corner of the kitchen. The box she sat on top, feeling already a lot freer of the troubling stuff inside. “Heard from Tommy?” she asked, knowing it was a sore spot, but she wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible.

“I don’t know what the deal with him is, but fuck him, right?” Ruthy said generously, making a show of not holding it against Stephanie.

Stephanie smiled, realizing what a friend she had in Ruthy after all.

“So I heard you kicked ass in math class today…”

Stephanie laughed and felt a wash of pride and pleasure in being reminded of her little victory. “I was pissed at my mom, so I pitched my shoes. Mrs. Jenkins had a fit about it and I guess I smarted off.”

“I guess!” Ruthy laughed. “Oh well, she should mind her own business, right?”

Stephanie nodded, touched at just how cool Ruthy was being about all this. Or perhaps, Stephanie knew to take some credit for Ruthy’s change of attitude…after all, she had shown her teeth at school. ‘Good little Stephanie’ actually sent to the office.

“John thinks you’re the greatest thing since toilet paper.”

“Uh… thanks… and gross!”

“Your little bare toesies are getting him all horny, babe! Good for you, he’s a hunk. Jessie, the little poser seems to think you’re pretty cool too.”

“Hey, I’m really sorry, y’know, ‘bout Tommy and all that stuff,” said Stephanie, desperately needing to clear the air.

“Whatever. It’ll work out. John’s right, the dumbass is probably back in Juvie, or in Detroit with his dad or something.” Ruthy lit a cigarette.

“Still, he shoulda’ called you.”

“What?” Ruthy snorted, “Like we’re dating or something!” Try as she might, Ruthy’s show of bravado did not fool Stephanie…it might have before, but not anymore. Ruthy sucked deeply on her cigarette.

“I’m still really sorry.”

“Drop it,” Ruthy said impatiently.

Stephanie stopped.

“So, we gonna hang around the kitchen all night or are we gonna party?”

“Actually, I was hoping we could go to the library and read.”

Ruthy stared numbly at Stephanie for a moment. “Yeah, OK Brain, that may be fun for a dweeb like you, but I think I’ll pass.” She looked at Stephanie, still not sure if she was kidding about the library.

Stephanie rolled her eyes, realizing that her ill-conceived attempt at irony was to blame for and yet another of Ruthy’s “Brain” cracks.

“The gang’s meeting at the game tonight. You wanna hang out with the dregs of society… see how the other half lives? What’ll mommy dearest say about that? She’d prob’ly beat your ass with a wire hanger…after she recovers from a heart-attack first.”

“Please, don’t even bring up my parents.” Stephanie requested of her, and changed the subject, “Hey, I’m famished. I didn’t get any lunch.”

“We got time. I was just gonna heat up some chow mein. But if you hold out until after the game, I’ll bet if you wiggle those dirty toes in John’s lap, he’d buy you a steak dinner.”

“Shut up! Please!” Stephanie cried, wide eyes, hitting Ruthy as she laughed.

At the table, sharing a can of chow mein with Ruthy, Stephanie felt more and more herself. She didn’t take a big portion since Ruthy only heat up one can’s worth, but the small amount sated her hunger just fine. “Is that all?” Ruthy teased as she attacked the rest of it, “You eat like a fuckin’ bird! What if John actually wants some love handles to grab onto? You better work on gettin’ some.”

“That’s okay…if that’s the case I’ll just send him your way.” Stephanie laughed.

* * *
Ruthy didn’t take as long as Stephanie thought she would to doll up. In less than ten minutes Ruthy was out of the bathroom and then her bedroom, made up and wearing different clothes, thumping her bared feet across the kitchen floor as she grabbed a tiny post-it note off of the refrigerator. Stephanie sat on the couch in the living room watching her, Sarge sitting in the floor between her feet. His gaze wouldn’t leave Stephanie the whole time she was in the apartment, but she didn’t think much of it, other than figured Ruthy and Joyce to not pay much attention to him, hence his neediness now. “Telling your mom when you’ll be home?” She gave his ear a tiny scratch and he leaned into it.

“Naw…” Ruthy answered, then made her way over to Stephanie’s suitcase and box to place the note on top of it. “Just a note to leave the shit alone. Mom’s not all that nosey, but there’s no tellin’ who might come home with her.”

“Good idea.” Stephanie responded with a nod of her head, thankful for Ruthy’s sporadic, unpredictable, but always-welcome moments of thoughtfulness. She watched as Ruthy slipped on a pair of socks, then a pair of beat up old sneakers. “Nice shoes…” she smirked.

“You wish you looked this good…” Ruthy grinned as she tied the laces. “These are made for walkin’…and that’s just what we’ll do!”

“Cool…”

“Yeah…you’re gonna think ‘cool’ before we get there!” Ruthy said, flicking her eyes down at Stephanie’s bared peds.

“Bring it on…” Stephanie bared her teeth and wrinkled her nose up at Ruthy, spreading her now tingling toes as she thought more and more about the distance of the school from the apartment.

In need of such a long and difficult walk, Stephanie eagerly took on the challenging trek along the busy roadsides, most of it without any sidewalk to keep her away from the traffic and the rough and dangerous roadside. This summer was the first Stephanie had ever dared brave the broken hard gravel and littered roadside. Her first time over it all was painful and scary, but as the summer progressed —and her soles hardened— she learned to walk the hard miles expertly. Now, a long summer behind her, Stephanie’s limber toes gave and spread over the large jagged gray rocks as she went, keeping pace with Ruthy with ease and confidence.

As she walked the many miles, her biggest fear was not Ernie, or even the glass and cans along the road, but that one of her parents might drive by. Though occasionally a hot pang of tremors troubled her, reminding her of her many worries, she lost herself in Ruthy’s friendship and conversation, and in the bliss of this long hard barefoot walk.

* * *

Finally, as the sun set, on sore and dirty feet —her world of worries falling farther and farther behind her— Stephanie walked alongside Ruthy up the long drive to the school. Already the lot filled with carloads of students and parents all flocking to watch what Stephanie called “The big stupid game.”

“We are way early,” Ruthy complained.

“Good,” huffed Stephanie, "let’s sit down for a few minutes. My feet’re killing me.”

“Yeah, I can imagine, mine too. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

Stephanie grinned to herself. She didn’t “stand it” she loved it. Walking wide of the crowd of incoming jocks and parents, Stephanie and Ruthy sat along the fence farthest from the football field. “The stupid part is: I hate football,” Stephanie moaned, pulling a dirty foot up into her lap, digging her clean hands into the soreness of her dust and blacktop darkened soles and grubby toes without a second thought over how dirty they were.

“I fucking hate jocks, but the gang all hang out here. John gets the best pot. God, your feet are disgusting!” Ruthy sneered.

“Yeah, they’re really dirty tonight,” Stephanie grumbled and jerked suddenly as she hit a tender spot.

“You know, if you wait, maybe John and Robbie will fight over who gets to rub your gross dirty stinky-ass feet.”

“They don’t stink! They only stink when they’re cramped up in those bacteria boxes you all wear. And shut up!” Stephanie nudged Ruthy. “I don’t like John or Robbie…especially not Robbie! God he’s gross.” Stephanie rarely massaged her own feet seriously, but she had to admit, at least privately within her thoughts, that she liked it. Not just the massage…more importantly the feel of her dirty feet in her own hands, the shape of her tiny toes, and the worn sensitive hide of her soles and coarse calluses from all the rugged walking. All of it filled her with pride for the hard miles she’d covered in her bare feet. Also the surprising softness of her toes, instep and topsides, the delicate softness of her toes all brought home how vulnerable and cute her sweet little feet were.

Lost in rubbing out the soreness, she heard Ruthy swigging from her flask of liquor. Without even considering it, Stephanie reached for the alcohol, hoping it might wash away or at least numb the resonating stains troubling her mind. Ruthy handed it over without even making a single snide or patronizing comment. The alcohol went down hard as Stephanie hoped it would, and it felt great. After taking another swig, Stephanie switched to rubbing out the other foot.

“What the hell?” Ruthy asked, noticing a dozen or more butterflies clinging to the fence behind Stephanie.

“I know, I’ve never seen so many as I have this summer. They’re everywhere I go.”

“Huh,” Ruthy nodded her head.

“What?”

“Come to think of it, I hadn’t noticed, but they’re only around when you are.”

“Huh,” Stephanie sat with her mouth agape. “I guess they like me.”

“Well, butterflies beat creepy old fuckers any day of the week.”

Stephanie cringed. She hadn’t yet told Ruthy about today’s encounter with Ernie, or about the things she found at Mrs. Thompson's. She filled with a hot nagging dread, and took another swig from the flask.

“Whoah, Steph! Watch it, that ain’t beer, y’know!” Ruthy took the flask away. “I don’t want you puking and passed out under the bleachers. I’m sure Robbie wouldn’t complain too much if you did…might help himself to a little hoochy-coochy…” she smiled.

“Oh God,” Stephanie groaned, rolling her eyes back, having found a spot between her pads so sweet that the Robbie jab went unnoticed. She dug in hard with her thumbs and the sugary painful sensation did her far more good than the booze which had already started numbing her. Once the initial buzz of the sweet spot and the initial kick of the alcohol dulled, Stephanie stretched her legs out before her and leaned back against the fence.

Sighing, stretching and curling her grubby toes, she simply felt more content than she’d felt all day long. All her troubles seemed miles away now; tucked away in that beat up old suitcase she took from Mrs. Thompson’s garage. Feeling herself so very far from her shoes, knowing how many miles she would have to cross just to get back home in her bare feet, her mind emptied of all but the pains, pleasures, anxieties, and joys of being barefoot so far from home. For the first time all day she felt the luscious and vivid tingles of pure pleasure tickling her from toes to ankles. Tingles and tickles she was slowly accepting as a very secret pleasure.

Mostly though, it was the miles between her and her shoes that gave her the most pleasure. With a little disgust and a lot of longing she daydreamed about getting out of this town. She dreamed of one day daring to really go places in her bare feet. Anywhere would probably do…just so long as it wasn’t here. After a sigh, she looked to the deepening blue of the sky and the autumn stars. All yearning aside, she smiled to herself, done in by the beautiful night. For now, at least, she was content where she was. And, she was safe. There were too many people around for her stalker to bother her here. The nip in the air promised the cold snap Jessie said was on the way, but apart from her bare feet, in Ruthy’s coat, Stephanie felt plenty warm enough.

While Ruthy closed her eyes Stephanie glanced over at her and smiled; they were the best of friends again. More and more, Ernie, the trouble she was in, the stuff Mrs. Thompson had, and the dread of it all became nothing more than a whisper in the night. A whisper so low even the slightest breeze obscured it. Muffled under the bliss of a great night of barefooting and more to come. The alcohol continued to warm her from the inside out, hard as it was to do, Stephanie had set her heart on forgetting, at least for the time being, the disturbing weirdness of the day, and it was working.

She took the booze from Ruthy and shot back another swig. “Alright Stephy,” Ruthy chuckled.

“It’s been a weird day.”

“I noticed.”

“No,” Stephanie chuckled. Shaking her head, she handed the flask back to Ruthy. “You have no idea.”

“So, tell me what’s up?” Ruthy drank. “And lay off the booze for a little while. It may not feel like it yet, but this stuff’ll kick your ass.”

“Oh God, not now. I’ll tell you about all the weird shit later. I really don’t want to think about any of it now. Hey…” she turned to Ruthy, taken by surprise by the warm swishy feeling in her head as the alcohol, as promised, kicked in hard. “Can I crash at your place again tonight. Your mom said it’d be cool. We’ll talk about all this shit there.”

Ruthy nodded, lighting another cigarette.

“Cool.” Stephanie stood up and dusted off her rear. “Let’s just go hang out for a while. I just really need to get away from all this shit for a few more hours.”

“What you need is a good fuck. I bet John’d do you right.”

Not at all knowing how to respond, Stephanie chose to walk on as if she hadn’t even heard Ruthy’s last comment.

“I don’t mean to nag, but you might wanna be careful under the bleachers barefoot. It’s pretty bad under there, and things get kinda rowdy sometimes.”

Stephanie nodded, and swallowed hard. She didn’t tell Ruthy this, but what she needed far more than a “good fuck” was just that, a dangerous place to be barefoot.

To Be Continued...

Barefoot Black Sheep
Part 1 * Chapter 11
By: Dennis Crabapple McClain
& Lou Gojira

By the time they got to the hole in the fence they already could hear stoned laughter and throaty testosterone chuckling. The booze made Stephanie far wobblier on her feet than she had expected, having never really been drunk before, being this tipsy took her by surprise. Stephanie crawled in ahead of Ruthy. Standing up on the other side she was shocked how different this hang out felt now. For a start it was darker, far darker than the last light of evening outside. Between the bleachers and the jostling of the seated people above the bright lights of the football field broke through in lightning-like flashes. The thunderous pounding of all the seemingly hundreds of feet overhead, the laughter, and the band music blasting away from the field filled her chest and rattled her skull. Everything was so much noisier than she could’ve imagined. Not just the band, not just the over-excited kids above —the good kids-- but the bad kids hanging out below; the storm of laughing and shouting, mixed with the overhead noise of the aluminum bleachers bending, creaking, and moaning at having to support the weight of all the fat suburban parents.

Stephanie’s head swam. Here, now, this place felt more like her parents would have imagined it. Even Stephanie felt a vague sense of "evil" lurking somewhere under here. Here, now, this place felt more like some sort of initiation, some sort of trial by fire. Right on down to the vomit-sweet stink of spilled smuggled beer, cigarettes, and pot, this place was everywhere Stephanie’s parents did not want their daughter to be. In the dark, poor Stephanie felt more than watched where she stepped through the mess in her tender bare feet.

"Hey, you OK?"

"Huh?" Stephanie looked around, noticing Ruthy already off with her many friends.

"Whoah, girl, you alright?" John caught Stephanie as she stumbled; her toe stubbed on one of the aluminum supports that ran along the ground.

"Yeah, I’m fine," she giggled nervously, happy to be in his arms. The dull thud of a throb in her big toe only served to impress further upon her the candy-apple-sweetness and the devil-may-care-bareness of her exposed, naked feet. And how much this throbbing and all the danger increased the thrill of being barefoot she could scarcely believe.

"You sure, you look… kinda… freaked or something?" He revealed the joint he somehow managed to keep hold of when he caught her.

"Oh no, no way!" Ruthy shouted from somewhere. Stephanie looked around and saw the wavy silhouette of her friend against the flashing lights breaking in between the spectators. The band music beyond sounded strangely unsettling now, like some out of tune barking. "She’s fucked up enough. Trust me."

"Cool," John nodded at Ruthy and handed the joint over to someone else. Catching her breath and footing, Stephanie thought she noticed Robbie sitting not too far away, but blinking, a little dizzy, she wasn’t sure. John kicked aside some cans, watching Stephanie’s feet for her. "Babe, you need to sit down." He sat her down on one of the beams running across the bare ground.

"Nah, I’m cool," Stephanie slurred.

"Yeah," he chuckled dubiously.

"I didn’t even drink very much, it’s just been a long day," she said, sitting.

Jessie seemingly appeared out of nowhere like a sneaky little imp and sat down next to Stephanie.

"Hey," Stephanie chuckled.

"Hey," laughed Jessie, noticing the tipsiness of Stephanie.

Stephanie stared right at Jessie’s bare feet, but didn’t know if her expression was a scowl or not since her face was feeling pretty numb, thanks to the delayed reaction of the booze.

"My shoes were hurting me," Jessie said, dropping her shoes between them. She leaned in and whispered to Stephanie. "John’s been looking at me all night."

"Uh," Stephanie nodded. She tried to grin, but felt sick. All the noise, the tipsiness, the band, the lights, and lest she forget the impending trouble she was in. It all came rushing in. She had done her best, but could not deny it all. There were too many things to feel, but through them all, the trouble she was in pushed further to the front of her head.

The beating of the drums shook poor Stephanie, and all at once everyone stood up in their seats and pounded on the bleachers from above. A sudden wave of anxiety washed over her. Noticing John had turned away for a minute, Stephanie turned to Jessie. "Hey, good luck with John, or whatever," with that, Stephanie shook her head and slipped away.

Ruthy was now so pre-occupied within the crowd of burnouts, hoods, and bad kids that it would be almost an hour later before she noticed Stephanie’s disappearance.

* * *

Bare feet slapped gently down the paved hill the buses used every day in their drive up to the school. A sudden quiet brought out the chirping of the crickets. Stephanie slowed down. She slowed down, not even realizing she had been trotting so quickly. Doubled over, she caught her breath then darted off to the side when a carload of shouting teens roared up the hill.

She couldn’t remember crawling under the fence behind the bleachers, or even walking through the parking lot. It was as if she had just woken up here and now. Taking a deep breath, she realized she was thirsty and glanced back at the brilliant lights of the field and was glad to be far enough away that the crickets were louder than the band. She rubbed her temples, not feeling nearly as drunk now that she had put some distance between herself and the weird world under the bleachers.

Feeling around in her pocket she realized she actually had a few dollars to her name. About a block down the main road, even further from all the chaos of the football field, was a gas station where she could get a can of pop.

* * *

She sat on the curb in the light of the gas station and popped the tab on her 7-Up. The blacktop was bumpy and greasy feeling under her already filthy feet. The tingling in her bare dirty feet felt like some sort of pushing. A pushing that filled her with an urge to do something impulsive. Something she fantasized about now and then…

The river walk…

It could be dangerous…

No, it was dangerous…

Very dangerous in bare feet…

She knew that from the other night, and she wanted in the worst and most undeniable way to go there right now; practically agonizing to go and brave it all alone and in her bare feet. She knew what that meant. Full well she knew. It meant trouble. If she somehow managed to brave another river walk, well after dark no less, she knew it would only be by dumb luck if she managed to come back unscathed. The impulse to just get up and go there now, strong as it was, unnerved her. Taking another sip of her pop, she picked one foot up and rested it upturned on her thigh and stroked her silky instep as she tried to convince herself to deny the impulse. No amount of sole-stroking and fingering of her instep and toes could still the hot-cold tingles or squelch in her the desire to go. Even now, as she fingered the bottom of her soft and supple foot, she knew, and she knew it in surges of uncomfortable tingles in her crotch, that if she went the very sole she stroked would most likely be bleeding before she turned to return home. Still, the urge to go would not quiet in her.

A man passed through the doors into the gas station, stealing glances at Stephanie as she set her foot down and slid her hands over her dusty silky topsides and blackened toes.

Before she could talk herself out of it, 7-Up still in hand, she shot up and decided to commit to this. She was going to do it, She was going to go barefoot to the most dangerous place she knew of —apart from the old abandoned retirement home-- and she could not block or deny the rush of ticklish tingles and surging she felt stirring in her most private places. Instead she tried to simply not think about the disturbing tingles. But the words and images in her head were like a scream that she could not ignore. The pushing became more and more urgent.

This was it...the biggest moment of her barefooting career thus far. And it made her slightly sick to actually be going through with it. But Stephanie had it figured out that she was doomed once she got home anyway, so she might as well go down putting up the most fight she could. Or so went the pressing logic in her head. Pressing or not, logic —however strange— or not, she knew it was a rationalization. The odds were stacked against her, the river having about any and every form of dangerous-to-bare-feet debris a person could imagine…or not imagine all around it. It didn't matter...if her anally retentive mother was going to ground her for life, if her father was going to give her another disgruntled and sideways glance, being the dismissive and uppity prick he had the tenacity to be, if her little sister was going to do nothing but shit bricks of gold in her parents' eyes from now on, and if Stephanie was going to be such an out-cast black sheep, so be it. She was suddenly gruesomely fascinated with the idea that her pretty and "rebelliously" bared feet were going to get seriously abused and tortured in this nighttime jaunt around the river. That would be her protest. That would be her defense. That would even be her attack.

If her parents were going to consider her a troublemaker just because she wanted to go barefoot, she would give them a damn good reason…plenty of ammo to back up their prudish and uptight nagging. She wanted to see her mother's face as she worried over the damage her feet were going to get. She wanted to see her father shake his fat head and take yet another condescending tone with her as her feet were being stitched up. She wanted to scare her little sister, watching her band-wagon riding, dying to fit in, smug little face light up with shock by making foot prints of blood and mud right through the front door.

Fuck 'em all…

Sick, strange, troubling. Her sensible self tried to step in, tried to turn her on her heels and head her for home. This was crazy. She knew it, but knowing that did nothing to slow her down or quiet the need she felt to do this. Perhaps it wasn’t all about spite or some ‘sicko’ masochism, perhaps it was the challenge that pushed her on. ‘I don’t really want to hurt myself,’ she realized in the front of her mind. As her stomach twisted in sour pangs, as her feet tingled terribly, as her whole body surged with the slick jelly of anticipation, she giggled to herself, a nervous little giggle that tried to repress the fear that she had gone slightly mad.

‘But I don’t feel at all… sick, or nuts,’ she just felt. Felt the need to go try this, to see it through. In fact, even under the effects of the alcohol, she felt sane, a strange and very real sanity and solidity to her needs and her thoughts. It was as if everything out there would tell her she was crazy, everyone out there would want to send her to therapy for doing this, but inside it simply felt undeniably right.

At least for her…

She always did the right things, or so she thought. She made the good grades and went to church without protest for years and years. Hanging out with the outlaw bad-asses, all the Tommy Dawson's of this world, was out of the question, and giving herself up to whatever boy she ever dated, not that there were very many anyway, was unheard of. She wasn't like Ruthy who claimed to "use" the guys that she dated for sex- and wound up getting stuck with a bad reputation because of it. Though she loved Ruthy like the slightly older sister that she never had, Ruthy was the embodiment of everything Stephanie wasn't —the embodiment of everything her parents feared. With Ruthy there was the obvious need to fit in, the promiscuity, the underage drinking of alcohol, the smoking of anything passed to her, the oft-times total disregard for her grades...Stephanie avoided all of that, and where was her thanks? Instead of an occasional pat on the back, a little showing of appreciation for her efforts and successes at being a good girl which was more than above and beyond the call of duty, or even just a simple “atta’ girl” once every blue moon –but all she ever seemed to get were increasingly higher demands. All the time her parents wanted more and more out of her, and Stephanie felt like they got some kind of morbid thrill out of putting those demands on her. Little sis? Ha! Her little sister could have anal sex with Tommy Dawson himself right in the middle of the living room in front of her parents and she'd get praised for remembering to have Tommy put on a condom first.

Those fucking hypocrites...

Stephanie was filled with a most defiant, righteous sense of rage and hatred for her parents. She plodded along, the increasing chill of the night making her toes tingle all the more as she walked. Stephanie started twisting her feet before she raised them off the ground in her walk, smooshing and pressing in whatever dirt and specks of debris her foot happened to fall on in her stride. 'Hey mom, look at me...' she thought '...you fucking neurotic head case. You want a reason to worry?! Here you go you nerve-racking bitch!'

Oh yeah, fuck every last one of them…

Stephanie grinned the most evil smile she probably ever had in her life at the thought of how this was going to hurt her parents, all the while her own feelings about this were turning more and more -quite unbeknownst to her in her inebriated state- well…erotic. Spite. Strong as spite was, as much as she masked her needs under a veneer of spite and anger, she knew it was little more than a cover. She was going on this walk because she needed to. Wanted to, needed to, she couldn’t tell the difference. Didn’t know if there even was a difference or if it were worth spotting. The ticklish feelings that coursed through her down there, in that private spot well below her slim tummy but higher than her thighs...the nervous anticipation of the potential danger and the tasty tease of it supposedly being so taboo to begin with stimulated her on so many levels. She didn't really stop to think about the very real eroticism of it, she just knew that what she was doing made her feel good, and she was wallowing in this euphoric bliss even before she got to the river. Barefoot day at school didn't turn out how she hoped, damn the luck, but barefoot night all alone at the river would make up for any and all of it, she determined.

And quite suddenly a stillness drowned all her self-doubts, her spite, her anger, her fears that she was mad. Clear as church bells on a Fall day, she knew simply that she was going to go through with this. She knew that, strange, spiteful, disturbing, angry, or not, she was wet with anticipation and it felt as if a giddy giggle were tickling her from the inside out.

* * *

Pastor Danny Coles and his reasonably pretty wife Cindy just so happened to be paying the Goddard household a visit that night. The church was going to have a car wash that coming Sunday after services, and most likely the last one of the year before it got too ridiculously cold to even consider it as an option for raising money. In getting prepared for everything, Brother Danny thought he and the wife could swing by the Goddard's while they were out that way just to see if Barbera (respectfully known as Mrs. Goddard most of the time around church) was still cool with taking care of the funds it would generate. While there, he figured he might try another optimistic yet ultimately hopeless attempt at getting her husband, David, to join them for church that Sunday. He could also see if Barb's, as he understood, “sweet daughters” would want to come too, and maybe even go so far as to help out with the car wash. He was a relatively new pastor at the church, having only been there for about a year and a half, but that was enough time to get to know the congregation pretty well. The Goddard girls whom he never saw were usually spoken very highly of by their mother, and he even understood that they used to attend church with their mother every Sunday without fail…and for that matter even pop Goddard was known to show his mug around there on occasion. Why they never came anymore was a mystery to him, but maybe he could change things, maybe give them all a tiny “oomph” back to church with this visit, he thought.

To his surprise, Mrs. Goddard was standing in the front door before he or Cindy could even get up to it to ring the bell. Assuming the sound of their closing car doors brought her to the front door, he stopped in his stride. "Are you expecting somebody?"

"Brother Danny..." Mrs. Goddard said with a smile. "Come on in. Hi Cindy!"

Cindy smiled and spoke back, but something seemed amiss with Mrs. Goddard. "Are you sure? We were on our way home and thought we could stop in and see you." Danny said with a smile that he hoped was reassuring.

Mrs. Goddard bit into her lips, giving them a nervous kind of chewing with her front teeth, but stepped aside and held the door open anyway. "Oh no...no...please. Come on in!" She spun around and made a noiseless motion behind her, then turned back to Danny and Cindy with a smile. "Just overlook the mess if you don't mind."

Danny and Cindy were herded, more or less, to the kitchen table. Along the way there he saw Mr. Goddard, David, standing and pulling on the bottom of his shirt as if he'd just finished putting it on. Danny smiled, knowing the man was probably kicked back, shirtless and comfortable in his easy chair, watching television, and Barb felt the need to make sure that her husband was dressed before company, the pastor no-less, stepped in. He felt bad about it all of a sudden, the fuss she made and the fact that he popped in unannounced, and started nervously speaking again. "Mrs. Goddard, don't worry about clearing the table." That was pointless, the woman continued to grab up the piles of mail and the 'this-n-that’s' and hurryingly stack them into little piles toward one side of the table. "We just wanted to ask you if you were still up for all the money counting this Sunday, that's all really."

"Money? Oh! Yes! Yes! No problem..." Mrs. Goddard laughed really loud all of a sudden, the laugh being pretty out of character for her he noticed. "I forgot all about it but I'll be there! Do you want some coffee or anything?"

Cindy politely declined and Danny did too, but Mrs. Goddard was already running to the coffee pot and pulling out a filter from the cabinet above it before waiting for an answer. As she got the Mr. Coffee pot brewing, Mrs. Goddard made all kinds of idle chatter with Brother Danny and Cindy. She took a seat at the table with the both of them and continued chattering away while she waited for the coffee she was sure they really must've wanted. Nothing really deep conversation-wise came out of her mouth, just things like: any word on when those new offering dishes were going to arrive, did Margaret really drop out of the choir last week and what made her do something like that, was Brother Bill going to get the new swing-set put up before it got too cold for the kids to use it, did they need her to go along with the Girl's Assembly field trip to the zoo next month...

Before she got a satisfactory answer to one question or topic, Mrs. Goddard was starting into another subject. Once when she looked away to check the level of the coffee as it drizzled into the pot, Cindy made eye contact with her husband with a worried kind of expression. Danny just smiled tight-lipped and closed his eyes in some 'I don't know what's wrong with her either' look. He gazed into the living room and started trying to see what show Mr. Goddard was immersed in, perhaps subconsciously trying to drown out Mrs. Goddard's nervous ramblings with the sounds of the TV. No such luck for the good pastor though. He turned back around in his seat as Mrs. Goddard finished asking him a question and was still staring at him. "Excuse me?" he asked her, having missed the question and starting to regret his idea of dropping in, having missed the Goddard daughters anyway and knowing Cindy would inevitably complain about the amount of time spent there once they got back to the car.

Mrs. Goddard's cheeks flushed a little red, and looked for all the world like she was offended that Brother Danny wasn't giving her his total and undivided attention. "Uh..." she stammered "...I...it's nothing..."

Danny cut a quick look to his wife, but then turned back to Mrs. Goddard. "Is something wrong...Barb?"

"It's...oh...nothing." she shot up when the coffee pot fell silent and started grabbing for cups in the cabinet above the sink. She had one cup in her right hand and was trying to balance two in her left, holding only the bottom cup of the two when she turned back around. "You want some cream in-" The wobbly top cup of her left hand, the one she didn't have a direct hold on, fell off and hit the floor, breaking into about ten pieces. "Oh!" she said, frustrated and bent down to start picking up the pieces, noticing a few wound up under the table.

Danny was embarrassed for her. "Really, you don't have to-"

Mrs. Goddard rose up at the sound of his voice, and in so doing cracked her head into the bottom of the table with such a thump that Cindy jumped back in her seat. Cindy looked at her husband and caught his gaze, then flicked her eyes to the front door, obviously wanting to get out of there more than she ever wanted to leave a place in recent memory, but too reserved to say it. Danny wanted to fly out of there too, but he felt obligated to see what Mrs. Goddard's problem was.

"You okay?" Danny asked as he stood, looking down on Mrs. Goddard as she sat there on her knees, grasping the top of her head with both hands. "You bleeding or anything?" He knew she couldn't be bleeding, no possible way, though it was a pretty good thump. It was the polite thing to ask when something like that happened to another human being, or so he tended to think.

Mrs. Goddard just knelt there and started crying. When David heard his wife sobbing, he stood out of his chair and looked into the kitchen, suddenly mad that his wife was "making an ass of herself" in front of these people. He knew what was eating her, and he almost prayed that she wouldn't feel the need to talk about it to these visitors.

Cindy was kneeling beside her, feeling sorry for her but still not able to help wanting to get out of there. She patted her shoulder then let her hand relax into a gentle rub of her arm. "Mrs. Goddard...please, calm down. What's wrong?" Cindy was already regretting asking the question, knowing it'd lead into more time having to get spent in this dramatic and suffocating place should the lady go into a truthful answer. Cindy stood and went to the refrigerator as Danny stepped around to Barb.

"Come on..."he offered his hand, which she feebly took. He held her hand as she finally stood back up, all the while Cindy could be heard rummaging through an ice container in the fridge. He continued to hold her hand as she slowly sat back down in her seat. He released his grip, but gave her shoulder a caring pat before retracting his arm. "If something's on your mind maybe we could pray over it."

Cindy returned to the table with some ice cubes wrapped in the towel that she grabbed from the side of the sink and handed the makeshift ice pack to Mrs. Goddard. "Here…put this on there before you get a knot."

Mrs. Goddard laughed, sniffed a squishy snort of snot loudly in her nose, and wiped her tears with her hands before taking the pack from Cindy. The crying woman leaned forward and rested her elbow on the table, her other hand holding the pack on the top of her head. "I don't know what to do Brother Danny..." and she broke into more sobs.

"Shit!" David slipped out in his angry huff as he left the living room and made his way for the basement. ‘That damn fool woman is going to have everybody in the county knowing our business,’ he thought as he angrily took the basement steps. He just knew he had to find something to get into down there, so he could hide from this sure to be embarrassing debacle that was about to take place in the kitchen, hoping to find something to keep him busy until the "church folks" left.

Danny eyed the direction Mr. Goddard disappeared into, then turned his attention back to Mrs. Goddard. "Don't know what to do about what?" he tried not to see the glare Cindy was giving him from across the table.

That's when everything hit. Mrs. Goddard's mouth fell open like gates opening at a race track, and like the horses that would tear out from behind said gates, off and running for all they're worth, Mrs. Goddard's whoa's and despair poured out with almost the same velocity.

Stephanie, and her rebellious nature...

Stephanie, and her smart-aleck mouth...

Stephanie, and the bad choices she made in picking friends...

Stephanie, and her total disregard for respect...

Stephanie, and her sick need and what was probably an addiction to going barefoot…

Over and over, in sickeningly sobbing tones, and sometimes monotonous, droning tones, Barbera Goddard talked about her eldest daughter. She would start with Stephanie herself, then work out to something bad she was doing, and other times start with something bad she was doing and work her way back to Stephanie. It didn't matter, all roads lead to Stephanie, and these same roads side-winded and detoured almost inevitably to dead-end at Stephanie's bare feet. Danny and Cindy both gave each other puzzled glances while Mrs. Goddard got lost in her stories, and both started wondering why the woman was so uptight about Stephanie not wanting to wear shoes. Of all things, they were both expecting a bomb to get dropped about Stephanie either being unmarried and pregnant, hooked on drugs of some kind, a combination of both, or any other of the gazillion problems a young girl could get into. But going barefoot? The pastor and his wife had to wonder if Mrs. Goddard had been prescribed some kind of pills for some mental "condition" they were unaware of.

All of these "bad things" Barb described didn't sound that bad, not to Brother Danny's listening ears anyway, and he'd been around enough to get told all kinds of things people were having problems with…even had his own fair share of problems to face down. Sure, he was almost a decade younger than Mrs. Goddard (and probably Mr. Goddard too, he assumed), but he wasn't some wet behind the ears, fresh out of seminary school college boy, some “hothouse intellectual” type who automatically assumed the worst in any given scenario because they totally lacked experience in the real world. Try as he might, for the life of him he just couldn't see how Stephanie was so terrible as to break Mrs. Goddard down to such a degree, and he had a strong feeling that Cindy's thoughts were along the lines of his own.

Mrs. Goddard wasn't timing herself (though Cindy sneaked a few peeks at her wrist-watch a few times), but after what felt like a full forty-five minutes of the build-up stories (forty-eight minutes to be exact, by Cindy's watch) the most recent Stephanie stories got started. Now a little bit of real concern started to kick up between the Coles'. Not coming home or not calling, telling her own mother to go to hell, out somewhere at the moment with God only knows who and with no indication of when or if she'd be home...these stories got a few eye brows raised. Nevertheless, the stories about dressing like a tramp and trying to go to school barefoot easily got dismissed. Stephanie hadn't gone to school dressed like something from an MTV video, they were eventually told with a little prodding, not like so many other girls were doing at the time. She was just dressed weird, according to her mother anyway, with no shoes to be had on those feet of her's. Danny and Cindy gave an eye-roll to each other when they found that little detail out and hoped Barb didn't see it.

When Danny finally got a comfortable moment to speak he began by trying to ease Mrs. Goddard's nerves by talking general knowledge: about how teenagers just tended to rebel for no reason. He also tried to reinforce that most of Barb's concerns were being blown out of proportion. Trying to say it as comforting as he could, fighting his urge to get sarcastic over all of this –what seemed to him to be not much more than blown out of proportion tomfoolery on Barbera’s part- he said that by making mountains out of these little mole hills, that Barb was actually pushing Stephanie into these directions of rebellion.

Barb just sat and stared wide-eyed at the young pastor when he was finished. "How...how can you...it's not my fault! How could it be?!" she whined after the initial staring.

Danny pulled his little pocket sized New Testament out of his coat pocket and started thumbing through the pages. He stopped on one part and read a little bit to himself, moving his lips in his silent reading, then flipped a few more pages. "Here you go," he said, suddenly finding what he was looking for. He looked up to see Mrs. Goddard's full attention and started reading. "Children, it is your Christian duty to obey your parents always, for that is what pleases God."

Barb started nodding. "See?! I'm just trying to-"

Danny shot his hand up, index finger raised, cutting her off into a silence, then continued reading, really laying emphasis on the last three words: "Parents, do not irritate your children, or they WILL BECOME DISCOURAGED." He closed the little book up and shoved it back into his coat. He held his hands up, palms out.

"I've never heard that befo-" Mrs. Goddard started.

"It's in there,” he interrupted her “Colossians chapter three, verses 20 and 21." He then stood up, Cindy standing too. "Pray about it Barb. You and your husband both." Leaving for the front door as Cindy caught up to him, he said over his shoulder: "You've probably got a very good daughter ma'am, basically. Please, stop pushing her away." And as he opened the door: "Thanks for the coffee anyway."

Mrs. Goddard just sat at the table, stunned, tear-streaked, and mouth agape that she didn't get the reassurance, or rather the ear tickling she was wanting.

As they pulled out of the driveway, Mrs. Goddard not seeing them out and Mr. Goddard still hiding in the basement, Cindy muttered under her breath: "Don't be surprised if she stops coming to church."

Danny just shook his head. "I don't care either way. Miss Mattingly said she'd do the job if Mrs. Goddard pulled a no-show... Sheesh, I hate to say it, but that Barb Goddard has got to be one of the most self-centered..." he paused, looking for the most appropriate and least offensive words "...Old Biddies I have seen in a long time." He gripped the steering wheel tighter as he added: "She's definitely been wearing a mask at church." then tacked on "I hope our kids' only problems are wanting to go barefoot... Dang I can't believe that woman!"

"You don't hate to say it, just admit it. The woman's a fruit. And what's this about our kids?" Cindy smiled at him suddenly.

"When we have some...you know what I mean!" he managed to grin back, noticing Cindy trying to lighten the mood, being the supportive wife he was thankful to have.

"They say that half the fun about kids is making them." she giggled then gave him a coy smirk.

Danny reached over and gripped her warm hand in his, feeling like his talk to Barbara Goddard would've probably been more effective on a brick wall, but taking some solace and consolation in the love of his own wife, who was, thank God, nothing like Mrs. Goddard. He started praying in his head for this Stephanie Goddard girl, feeling sorry for her but trying to stay optimistic that things would eventually work out, as he sped along and eventually left the nighttime suburbs.

* * *

Mrs. Thompson's car squealed into a halt as she stopped at the last second for the red light she very nearly ran, not seeing it at all at first. Brother Danny and his wife were the only people who were merging out on the highway in their sleek little dark blue car for the light to change. "One car! One fucking car!" cursed Mrs. Thompson with a smack to the steering wheel.

As the light finally changed to green she punched the gas and continued watching the sides of the road, with way more attention than the actual road itself, for the barefoot and now very elusive Stephanie. 'Where is she?!' she thought, frustrated as the anger overtook her once more. There was no way Stephanie went home, Mrs. Thompson knew that since she fruitlessly watched the Goddard home for far too long that evening, and going to the football game at the school didn't pan out either, being a decision hastily made at best when she eventually took to searching for her. 'Where does that little nitwit go?!' she yelled in her mind, knowing her time was about to run out. 'Where did she— ' Mrs. Thompson paused that thought. 'The river...the damned river! Of course!' She spun into a parking lot of some store that was closed for the night and whipped the car back around and out onto the road. "Nomic..." she said the word aloud, and felt her gut tighten at what it implied, hoping against hope that this river idea was going to work for her.

* * *

As the full effect of the nighttime darkness came into play, Stephanie eventually stopped looking down at her bare feet as she walked. Instead, she started looking all around her at the various sites as she was elevated relatively high on the flood wall that ran parallel with the river, able to see quite a bit from up there. The lights of the power plant that was miles and miles away down the river, the lights of the downtown district barely showing through the haze of fog, smog, and exhaust of the downtown hustle and bustle, neighborhoods and suburbs that were lit up and a whole lot less interesting during daylight hours...all the while she moseyed on ahead and felt her way through the knee-high weeds and brush that were way past due for a good mowing. To her left was the forest that lined the river, black as pitch by this time, and to her right was the backs of various places of business intermingled with occasional spots of suburb. Nobody seemed to stir in her near vicinity, it was just Stephanie, barefooting high above it all and enjoying the trek...the resilience of the weeds as she wound up catching some between her bare toes in her walk, the occasional bare spots of ground that were cold and wet to the touch, the mish mash of rocks and other lumps of debris that littered the ground, breaking the monotony of the wet, smooshing, tall, damp grass and thickets. The prickly jabs of other types of weeds that were obscured and hidden in the dark further broke the monotony, causing the more tasty sparks of sensation to flare Stephanie's bare and toughened soles.

So far so good… Already she had braved many glassy streets and wound through many difficult places, and without a scratch to her lovely feet. Her left foot she picked up behind her and felt over the sole, thick, rough, still ticklish, but not a scrape. She outstretched her arms, half-empty 7-Up still clutched in one hand and numbing her fingers with its chill, snapping the fingers of her free hand, and swayed her hips in her stride, subtly dancing while walking. Swinging her hips and ass while walking was something she'd dare not do in more sober and social times, thinking it something only the loose girls, in their perpetual quest to get attention from others would do. Now alone, tipsy, and self-indulgent, this little dilemma of Stephanie's easily got tossed out the window. And the swagger and sway in her step felt so sinfully sweet and came with such ease that she began to hope she might be less shy about it in the future. It came easy, so easy she felt her usual way of walking might actually be the affectation, an uptightness she should let go of, rather than this seemingly natural sensuous stride. ‘Or at least,’ she giggled to herself, ‘I should learn how to use this.’ She almost doubled over laughing, feeling so free, and thinking of how she could, at the very least, use her new walk. Use it on John.

She started singing to herself as she danced/walked, adjusting the sway of her hips according to the speed of the song she just happened to be singing. She sang in a low voice -even though nobody else was around- not so much because she didn't like the sound of her own voice, but out of habit. She wasn't concerned with keeping the lyrics accurate or even finishing the songs that came to mind, she just mouthed and softly voiced whatever song filled her head and caught her fancy. "Get Back" somehow managed to get morphed into "Radar Love" --she even instinctively made some guitar sounds with her mouth on this one, giggling when she realized she was doing it-- which eventually became "Separate Ways", and then strangely evolved into "Hungry Like the Wolf", which she was singing at the moment. Slowly her hips cocked to each side, her waist undulating in a soft yet clumsy circle, managing to maintain a pretty decent swaying in spite of her constant walking. All the while she still took in and registered every bit of the terrain her tough, yet ever-sensitive soles came into contact with. Simon LeBon's singing was loud and clear in her mental ears, but Stephanie's soft, sweet voice was the only sound that barely came out. And occasionally, even in the dark, through the singing, and in all the sway of her walk, she felt enough with her sensitive soles to pull back or alter her step when the rubble felt too sharp or clinked and crunched in a menacing way. This again confirmed for her that she wasn’t so sick after all. She wasn’t out to get hurt, and her instincts still kicked in to protect her pretty little feet. But the dark thrill remained; coursing through her as she took delight in knowing what sharp and jagged things might lay on the ground behind her, before her, and all around her. Even if she played it safe so far and hadn’t yet dared go near the worst of it…

And it dawned on her how truly reckless it really was to come out her with no shoes, even if up to now she had been lucky. Though she swallowed hard and missed a beat in her singing, her heart missing the same beat, she kept it all going, her forward motion, her singing, her sway. But some of the sweetness was replaced with saltiness as she recognized how likely it was that her luck would run out, if not soon, then perhaps on the way home. And she hadn’t brought any shoes…she had no safety net…no security blanket or a “get out of jail free” card…it was now a matter of “do-or-die”…no tap-backs allowed. Her heart felt hot and the heat swelled up in her chest like a balloon as she feared the worst for her bare feet out here…

A very real and icy fear was beginning to form and then stand over the shoulder of the dark thrill with these realizations, waiting to pounce and smother it out, so Stephanie sang louder.

"In touch with the ground, I'm on the hunt I'm after you..." She stopped walking at that line of the song, and thought about the picture she'd tore out of some teeny-bopper magazine her sister had and hung in her locker at school of John Taylor, the guitar player and her personal favorite member of Duran Duran. His image had a way of keeping her company on certain nights alone in her room, imagining how he'd hold her and kiss her and all that romantic stuff, and she was intrigued that somehow those thoughts managed to kind of creep back on her now in her big night out of barefooting. She couldn't help but grin at the realization that even though things had changed, she'd grown and was now exploring and enjoying other outlets of self-induced bliss, that things still stayed very much the same. Ruthy had sniggered at her when she noticed that picture hanging in her locker that first time months ago, wondering how Steph could have a crush on the same guy Melissa was so hung up on —someone so “bubblegum”— and saying how the other teenagers would laugh at her if they spotted it. Stephanie defended it of course, simply by saying that she liked what she liked, and nobody was going to change it.

She liked what she liked...Stephanie cast a gaze down at her feet as she stood fixed in that spot of brush, not seeing her feet but only her legs as they disappeared into darkness and weeds just below the knees. Her walk so far felt good to her, perhaps all too lucky and safe to her anyway, invigorating enough, sure, but it wasn't really what she was hoping for, not tonight anyway. Maybe at another time these sensations would've been enough to stir her imagination and fire her spirit to a good degree, but she was wanting a real blast of barefoot excitement now, and started to get aggravated with herself that she wasn't getting it, having no one else to blame. All of a sudden being lucky so far and feeling the heat in her chest and the worry in her head didn’t seem like enough. She consoled herself with the thought that she didn’t really want hurt, ‘Not really,’ but she had come out here to push herself to extremes. Looking around at her options, she'd got her tingling and still slightly numbed brain to narrow it down to two; either the hidden threats of the darkened woods or the far more threatening and obvious threats of the parking lots of these crummy —if not abandoned-- businesses. This brought further complications because both options carried about the same weight. Both could offer her dangers and a challenge worthy of her mood. Either way there was going to be broken glass, sharp rocks, probably some nails, no doubt some splinters, and most likely other forms of dangerous debris, only one option would provide better visibility if not bigger challenges than the other. So then it was a matter of preference; did she want to see what happened to her feet as it happened, or did she want to gamble and simply feel what happened, then admire the results later? No matter which way she went, she was determined to get as reckless as possible and she was going to get a deep, gut-wrenching, mind-blowing satisfaction out of all this before she went home and faced the music of her parents. She wondered if she could let herself do that. Did she have such recklessness in her? Either way, she would have no way of knowing until she actually stepped into the worst of it.

"Choose choose choose..." she said to herself as she arched her feet then relaxed, letting her heels smack the ground as she looked back and forth. She stopped switching her head to and fro when she spotted the back-lot parking lot her and Ruthy crossed two days ago. Even from this distance, that area emanated a chilled, yet attractive draw for her. That spot was really dangerous, literally, because that spot is where Anita got killed. She wouldn't think about the morbid implications a decision like this would have until tomorrow when her head was more clear and she was less driven by hormones, but like a moth to a flame her bare, dirty, thrill-seeking feet started carrying the rest of her back to that parking lot. At the very least there she knew she would be alone. No one would be likely to see her doing this. No one would be able to pass judgment on her. No one but herself…

To Be Continued...

Barefoot Black Sheep
Part 1 * Chapter 12
By: Dennis Crabapple McClain
& Lou Gojira


Stephanie almost jumped out of her skin when the sudden sound of a pair of cats facing off somewhere in the night grabbed her attention. She stopped her stride down the slope of the floodwall, having mistakenly thought it was the blood-curdling scream from a girl getting stabbed to death, and laughed at her over-active imagination causing the mistake. She put a hand to her chest; calming her breathing as she looked out at the empty parking lot where she was headed...she at least knew why she imagined what she did when she saw the place.

'This is stupid...I wanted to go to the river!' she thought as she scolded herself, feeling her inhalations slowly level out as she tried to imagine how poor Anita must've felt as some knife-wielding maniac brought her life to an early conclusion. She then started remembering all the things she found at Mrs. Thompson's house, feeling her insides contract with a worried burn over the confusion all of that brought on earlier. One decidedly barefoot poised itself to hoist her back in the direction of the top of the floodwall, while her other equally bared foot inched in the direction of the parking lot. Her hips fidgeted back and forth as her common sense was telling her to just forget the scene of the year old crime and go on to the river, while her challenging nature was pressing her onward. She bit into her pink, now lipstick-free and still puffy bottom lip, aggravated over her indecisive thoughts. It occurred to her that all this hesitation might just be her sensible self not really wanting to do this at all. She felt herself chickening out, then felt a swell of disgust at the very notion. She knew, however badly she got hurt, that would be far less painful to her than never forgiving herself for backing out now. However perverse or sick she felt for doing this, for coming here with such weird notions in her head, she felt a sticky and sour commitment to see it through.

A bell-like tingling in her bare feet, a damp spot and tremor in her jeans, convinced her.

"Fuck it..." she muttered, and started back toward the parking lot. She somehow reasoned that her thoughts about the weird findings at Mrs. Thompson's just might get some rest if she were to inspect this place. 'Take the bull by the horns...' she thought, trying to build up her courage and only half succeeded as she walked. There were the newspaper clippings about Anita...she couldn't forget that particular part of her strange findings if she tried...

* * *

Ernie had just put the truck into park and turned off the engine when he saw Stephanie emerge from the darkness and step into the dim lighting of the back of the lot. He was a little frustrated with himself that he didn't think to pull around closer and save himself some walking, but then he was thankful that she wouldn't get an early warning he was there when she'd inevitably hear the sounds the truck's engine was notorious at making. 'This is for the birds...' catching himself in his actions, aggravated as he found himself instinctively trying to hide in the shadows of the parking lot, knowing she was unaware of his being there in the first place. 'She's gotta listen t’ me...' he thought '...this sneakin' around shit is wearin' me out!' Then he leaned his head back and sniffed the air. 'Aw damn...' he cursed as he recognized the scent, being disturbed at the smell of alcohol and second-hand pot that drifted off of her even at that distance. Not that she reeked of the scents mind you…it's just that Ernie could detect them.

He closed his eyes and fisted his hands, clearing his thoughts and trying to feel the mood she was in. Reckless... annoyed... daring...this would not be good, he thought, his connection with her still being very new and weak at best. 'Give it a few minutes.' he mentally told himself, hoping her mood would shift and she'd maybe get more receptive to some of the things he had to tell her.

Then his head spun as he tried to figure out, again, just how to broach a subject of the magnitude that waited his telling her. Even though he'd practiced a few different spiels alone and into his rear view mirror as he drove around that day, he didn't feel confident in any of them. He knew she wouldn't believe any of it, that was pretty much a given, but how much should he try to lay on her in one session? No way he could explain all of it, so cut to the chase, he figured. If she just hears and believes some of it that would be better than not knowing any of it. Just a smidgeon of knowledge would make his task easier, and he was all for that.

Within a minute his body convulsed. He closed his eyes and felt it...pain... embarrassment... humiliation... regret and self-doubt… but thankfully not fear. He tried to see what happened to Stephanie back there, but all he could make out was her sitting on the asphalt, so he knew she wasn't being assaulted at least. He gave a look around, then started strolling back there toward her...

* * *

"Shit shit shit!" Stephanie hissed through clenched teeth as she eyed her foot, holding it upturned in her hands as she sat on the ground. One really prominent piece of glass jutted out of her skin, it curled around and hooked straight and deep into the tender side of her heel, while smaller pieces, spaced out here and there, stuck out the bottom of the same heel and underside of her arch. 'Fluorescent bulb...of all the damn things to do damage... who'da thought?!' The smaller pieces were more annoying than painful as they were caught mostly in the soft yet leathery bottom of her foot, but that one curled piece managed to sneak its way into the still very vulnerable side, just enough past the protective callous. She glanced over at the wreckage past her own drops and smears of dirty blood where the metallic end of the bulb tube lay on the ground. 'Why didn't I see it?' And did it ever hurt, rising up in swells, pushing tears to her eyes. Tears she refused to release. Under all the pain she couldn’t feel the tingling anymore, and she worried that it might still be there.

Wincing, she looked back over her path and the menacing little pieces of glass sprayed out all around the bulb. The worst was that second when she saw it coming and couldn’t stop it. No, wait, the worst was seeing it coming and knowing it was all her fault. She had been climbing right along, making a game out of scaling the rolling hills of debris as quickly as possible. She had comforted herself knowing she wasn’t aiming for nails, glass, and jagged rusted scraps of metal -not exactly. The game was to try and keep moving, and to skip, jump, and climb as close to the dangerous stuff as possible: jump and land an inch from jutting nails, climb tangles of metal —watching her naked little toes slipping and gripping into twisted rust-red corners, all the while truly trying to miss the bad stuff, just relishing the challenge in the outrageous danger-game.

Once, in a fit of inspired madness, she even stopped and placed her foot over the length of a coke bottle and tried to stand on it with all her weight just to see if it would hold her. But Stephanie “chickened out” and pulled her weight off it, deciding that would truly be too much. After that she decided to back off a little, feeling she really didn’t want to hurt herself on purpose.

The last challenge she faced was the final slope of the big hill of rubbish. She decided to take it in two leaps. She jumped, sailed through the air, her heart leaping, as she came down hard with both feet on the door of an old refrigerator. It shifted, clanged and thumped like hell, echoing off the walls. The echo alone startled her more than the stinging slap of her soles after hitting the metal. Keeping up with her bet with herself, she didn’t stop, but kept moving and leapt for the black bags of garbage. She felt glass give under her feet as she sank into the bags, but none of it hurt her. Not directly. She slipped and found herself thrown towards the ground, and as she scrambled to keep her balance and not hit face first—and she saw it coming —her bare foot came down hard on the florescent bulb.

In that slow-motion instant she felt the sickeningly sweet churn in her gut at knowing nothing could change this now. She yelped and stumbled away as the bulb exploded, spraying glass all around. The spraying glass tinkled after the little explosion, almost sounding pretty as wind chimes as it scattered across the broken blacktop and pavement.

And now she sat wincing, clutching her toes and cursing herself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she cried, almost crushing her toes as the pain just kept zinging up her leg. “Damn,” she huffed at last, feeling a strange wash of relief, or something like it. After all, this accident was the point, and it had happened without her doing it on purpose. Well, not exactly. And, this rush and this pain took her mind wholly off her parents, school, and everything else. She simply felt here now, barefoot, hurting, ashamed of herself, but here now. Here now, just her and her desperately bare feet, no shoes anywhere.

The smaller pieces she plucked out with no problem, leaving little gashes that didn't bleed so much as just sting. Timidly, she touched the end of the curled piece and pressed it. When she did, she watched the skin of the whole side of her heel bob about a sixteenth of an inch then snap back into place, and this completely grossed her out, seeing her flesh tug away from muscle more than flesh normally would. She swung around, twisting at the waist, and what was still in her stomach came splashing out onto the asphalt in chunky plops. Stephanie grimaced and spit what remained of the taste of alcohol and tiny specks of chow mein off of her lips. "Damn it!"

She swung herself back around and grabbed her foot again, mad at herself, queasy and feeling even more nauseous than she did when she left the Sacred Spot under the bleachers. Still there remained that clarity, ringing like a bell. Nothing else mattered now but her bare feet. Even in that clarity she instinctively drew her can of pop up to her lips to rinse and spit away the foul taste lingering in her mouth, even gargling with the soda. Her heart raced in her chest at knowing this wasn’t even over. At knowing she couldn’t undo it.

"Y' better be careful...those kinda' bulbs c’n be sharper’n ’ey look." Ernie's voice suddenly cut through the darkness and Stephanie's body jolted in place. With the alarmed start, she gave the big piece a tug and threw it away, hearing it *tink* as it landed and getting back on her perfect but bleeding bare feet as she recognized who it was before she saw him. The adrenaline rushed to her tensed legs, but before she could cut out of there he added: "I'm not th’ killer..."

Nervously, she stepped back and felt her foot crunch down on the pieces of the bulb that were there, but thankfully at this point laying flat. His words had a way of freezing her in place yet again...how did the old man seem to know what she suspected? She didn't know what she felt more at the moment, hate or fear for this old creep as she saw him step into view. And shame. What if he had been watching her? What if he knew about her? About why she came and what she was doing?

"Y' gotta admit though..." he said, looking around the area "Whoever it was couldn't 've picked a place much worse."

Stephanie trembled and forced at least one leg to scoot away, yet hated that she wanted to hear what he was going to say next.

He looked at her and smiled, that same stupid smile she didn't like to see at all. "Will you r’lax?" he held his hands up. "Didn't’cha read any a’ those newspapers? Didn't say nothin' ‘bout an old man doin' it..."

Her mouth fell open. "W-what..."

"I guess y’ didn't go over there then..." he huffed as his smile waned and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I got that shit all set out an’ ever’thang, an’ then ya’-"

"Mrs. Thompson's..." she said without realizing it.

"Is that that old hippy girl's name?" his yellowing grin came back. "So ya’ got ev'rythang." he shook a fist with a satisfied smile. "I knew y’ was goin' that way...So what did y' do with all that stuff?"

"Fuckin'-" Stephanie wanted to say so much but didn't know what or where to begin with it all. And jolts of pain still shot up from her heel.

Ernie's expression dropped into dead-seriousness. "Easy..." he motioned with his palms in a downward push. "It's alright."

'Oh my God, what if he killed Mrs. Thompson?!' Stephanie's mind was screaming at her as her eyes suddenly became saucers. "You didn't..."

"I didn't kill the old girl if that's what yer' thinkin'..." he shrugged. "Glad ya’ think I'm a psycho!" he rolled his eyes.

"I didn't think-" Stephanie sputtered, but became determined to finish her sentence even though her thoughts were going a hundred miles a minute. "Where was she?! What were you doing over there?! She doesn't even know you!"

"Oh yeah she does." he clenched his lips together and wrinkled his brow.

Stephanie narrowed her eyes to slits. "Liar! You didn't even know her name! How does she supposedly-"

"She don't know me personally." he cut her off with a nod. "Yer' right, but I'm not a liar." his eyes darted down to her feet. "Whoa, yer' cut pretty bad..."

Stephanie looked down as she stood there all tensed up and saw the tiny dime-sized puddle of blood that was accumulating at the side of her foot. Through everything she still blushed at the thought that he knew what she was up to. "What's it to you?!" Now the cut started back to stinging since she took notice of it again.

He shrugged once more, hands back in his pockets. "Jus’ thought I'd point that out..."

Stephanie's teeth were bared as her heart raced. "Look old man, you have got a lot of nerve coming up here just to-"

"Ernie." he corrected her, any form of welcome he may have had getting worn out by the second.

She squeezed her lips together so tight she felt them tingle against each other.

"Please..." he said. "Jus’ think for a minute about ev'rythang you saw at that house."

She looked puzzled, having not known what to think earlier, and sure as hell not sure of what to think now in the midst of this ordeal.

"The hair... the cup... the glass..."

"The drawing..."she added defiantly. "So what?!"

He grinned and pointed at her. "All you."

She stared at him, unable to say anything, her look of frustration frozen on her cute face.

"Why d'you think that- what's her name? Thompson...why d'you think Miss Thompson kept all that?"

Stephanie shook her head. "Why? I don't...what difference does it..."

"She's a Hunter!" Ernie blurted out, but hoped she'd take the bait.

"What are you talking about?" Stephanie's top lip curled as she looked back down at her bleeding foot, imagining this old shithead forgot his straightjacket at home. She looked back up. "Are you crazy or something? And what does she ‘hunt’ Mr. Weirdo?"

"Oh boy...here we go. " he paced a bit in his spot, stopping to face her. "I'm not crazy, an’ I wish I was makin' this up, but I ain't. I also ain't a murderer like ya’ thought, an’ I'm not a..." he collected his thoughts for a second, "Well, maybe I am a lil’ bit of a stalker..." he giggled, but needless to say she didn't find it amusing in the least. "I'm here t’ protect ya’..."

"From what?" she asked, allowing the annoyance to show through in her voice, her foot burning like fire by now and causing her to shift her weight off of it when she thought to do it. Her stomach was so sour and the flame shooting up her leg wasn't helping it settle. She was determined not to vomit again though, especially not in front of this old man, and since she still had some barefoot adventuring she was going to enjoy. The night could still be salvaged, maybe...

"Ya’ already think I'm crazy, so jus’ humor me for a minute. " he said looking back down at her foot. "I really think ya’ need t’ wash that cut..."

"Don't worry about that cut..." her skin crawled "Just stop looking at my feet you old pervert." She crossed her feet on top of each other in a vain attempt at hiding them from him. Her arms folded, spilling a few drops of 7-Up on the side of her jacket in the motion, and her lips pursed in and out, impatient with Ernie.

"Okay...okay. Ya’ already think I'm crazy, so c’n ya’ at least hear me out?" he felt a little bit defeated, but his will was steeled to not give up this time.

Stephanie gave a deep sigh that trailed into a groan. "You won't leave me alone until I do anyway, right?”

Ernie nodded and grinned. "Pur’ty much..." then added "Wasn'chew goin' somewhere?" he pointed "Th’ river?"

Stephanie was flooded with too many thoughts to even begin sorting them out. "I'm not even gonna ask how you know..."

"Ya’ wouldn't get it anyway." he chirped. "Come on..." he motioned with his shoulder as he turned away. "...I'll walk with ya. I like the river too."

Stephanie just watched him as he gained a little distance in his stride, thinking that maybe-

"An’ I swear I'm not gonna get’cha in the woods just t' kill ya'." he said without turning to look back.

'I can't fucking believe I'm doing this...' Stephanie thought as she found herself following after him, suddenly remembering his comment about blue skin and becoming very anxious to ask him about it now that the opportunity was there. "And will you please cut that shit out?"

"Sorry..." he answered. “Guess ya’ ain’t us’ta somebody knowin’ what’cher gonna say ‘fore ya’ say it…”

Stephanie angrily slapped her bare soles on the asphalt as she caught up to him. "You just did it again. That's annoying as hell Ernie!" she hoped that by using his name, it'd help to force her point.

He beamed a smile at her from over his shoulder. "Good! Yer' usin' my name. This must mean we're friends." he saw her eyes roll in the darkness. "So what's yer' name?"

"Can't you read my mind and know it?!" she smarted off, still bothered by Ernie and his little quirks she was fast becoming familiar with.

Ernie started the ascent on the slope of the floodwall with a strained sigh, but then stopped to put a hand to his lower back. "I'm not that good..."

Stephanie by-passed him and started her barefoot climb with much more ease than Ernie with his worn-out back and clunky work boots, though she knew she'd scale it better if she wasn't so nauseous from the lingering effect of the alcohol and the puking. She stopped and turned, watching the old man start his climb again. "This was supposed to be my night! I didn't want company down here..." From her stance nearly three-quarters up the hill she could see bits of glass glinting here and there. Even where she stood the ground felt hard and threatening under the weeds and grass. Up she went, a little more nervous now that she knew, really knew, what it meant to be cut and how much it hurt, and how much it still bled.

"Ya’ prob'ly didn't want that big gash in yer' foot this soon either, but'cha got it..." he smarted off, slowly making way through the dew-slick weeds.

Stephanie wondered if she could actually square a kick just right to his head and watch him tumble back down the slope. She dismissed the thought as she took a refreshing swig of her pop, feeling the cool fluid run down her aching and strained throat, trying to settle herself. Wait...'This soon...' Damn him! She rubbed her forehead as he caught up to her, hating the way he seemed to have a hand up inside her brain, the dew of this nice patch of grass feeling particularly soothing on the fresh, bleeding gash as opposed to the dirty and grainy asphalt.

"B’lieve me..." he panted, still clumsily huffing himself higher and wanting to curse his back for aching him so. "I don't know where t’ begin."

Stephanie shot ahead a few more feet then stopped and waited again, watching him catch up. "What about that-"

"Blue skin?" he asked, then caught himself. "Sorry." He tried to smile it off, but started talking once he saw her glare. "I'm guessin' ya’ prob'ly wondered, at least once here lately, what yer' skin would look like if it was blue."

Stephanie just locked up, not knowing if she would feel comfortable enough to say he was right. Okay, worst-case scenario: the old man was a professional bullshitter and decent sentence finisher, and she was stupid enough to waste her time and play along…but the blue skin? That was too frighteningly specific to her. If this was a game he was playing, he must've had her room bugged with a spy-camera or something to know that. Best-case scenario? She wasn't sure what that could possibly be...

He stopped his climbing and just wheezed, trying to get his breath back. Once Ernie slowed his panting down, he said: "Ya’ prob'ly noticed little diff'rences too...like yer' attractin’ stuff…bugs or whatever…"

She remembered the comment Ruthy made about butterflies being around only when she was. "That's nothing..." she started, "Just some silly little butterflies…and I’m sure I’m not the only one to get them…hell, they're probably just attracted to the hairspray or something."

Ernie shook his head as he stood in place, and smiled feebly as he stretched his back, his knees now aching along with it. "Ya’ don't use that stuff."

She put her free hand on her hip, aggravated at his brazen behavior, acting like some know-it-all about her. "And how do you know this?" she smirked as she cocked her hips in the tight jeans. Ernie tapped his nose with his index finger, and with that Stephanie threw her hands up and tossed what was left of her 7-Up away, but even in this mess she aimed her trash towards a tipped over fifty-five gallon drum rather than thoughtlessly shooting it any-old where. What could she say? He was right, she didn't use hairspray as she tended to think the current hairstyles on most all the girls at school looked phony and plastic, and damned if she'd go along with that trend. Of course that got her ribbed by some of the more pretentious girls and even a few of the superficial guys, but that never perturbed her much. What did irk her in a major way was this implication Ernie was making that he could smell her hair of all things, good enough in his "skills" to know this. Stephanie darted up to the top of the hill before she said anything about it, afraid he'd make her put her foot in her mouth once again.

"B'sides..." Ernie started his pain-racked ascension again. "I get 'em too. The animals know somethin's diff'rent. People don't notice."

Stephanie laughed, suddenly remembering her night at Ruthy's and how she loved on Sarge off and on through the night. "My friend has a dog that didn't notice a thing. You're full of crap." Partly out of her love for the woods, but mostly just because she didn’t know what else to do, in a fit of nervous energy she kicked at her empty can, making sure it went deep into the old drum. Even to her this bit of neatness seemed absurd out here amidst all the rubbish and litter. She stopped, forgot Ernie for just a second, and realized her refusal to litter came from her dad. Even as much as she hated him right now, she felt a little warmth inside at knowing that he had at least passed his respect for nature along to her. Ernie, her awareness of him came back to her all at once, and she turned and kept an eye on him.

Ernie stopped and looked around suddenly.

Stephanie noticed his look of confusion even though it was so dark outside. And his look of confusion brought her back around to the conversation they had been having. "What's the matter? I just blow your bullshit story?" She smiled, feeling like she turned the tables on the over-confident old fellow.

"Yer' blood...it's callin'..." Ernie's muscles tensed all over. "M-Maybe ya’ need t’ skip the river..."

Stephanie bent forward, putting her hands on her knees and focused on this little old man that couldn't catch up with her. "You go ahead and skip the river Ernie boy. I'm tired of your stories anyway."

"No...I'm serious...ya’ need t’ get outta here..." he looked up with pleading eyes.

Stephanie pranced ahead a few paces. "No, you need to get out of here you tall-tales old goat. I'm going to the river and you can't stop me! Go on home and watch your old movies you old-timer..." she pointed away from the river as she teased at some imaginary house he supposedly lived in, then resumed her skedaddle along the top of the flood wall, relishing the feeling of the cold weeds on her bare feet and her silencing of old Ernie. The worst of it was knowing it was all over, her big night, done. She was mad now, scared —not about the cut, but about the old man— and her mood to continue her private night of barefoot thrill seeking was shot.

Taking a deep breath, Ernie forced his aching joints to endure the rest of the climb as fast as was possible for him so he could begin to catch up. Once at the top, he saw Stephanie getting further ahead, uncomfortably far away from him. "Ya’ little smart-ass!" he could feel his angry face filling red with blood as his chest hurt like a toothache. "Come back!"

Stephanie turned and flipped him off, even though she knew he wouldn't see it in the dark. To think, this was the same old man that had her running scared just a day ago. She laughed and twirled as she kept her vigorous barefoot walking up. 'I shot his story down and he can't stand it...' she mentally gloated. And she smiled to herself, no less creeped-out by this old stalker, but convinced and comforted at the realization that even she, skinny and little as she was, could probably take him, or at least outrun him.

Ernie's heart jackhammered his chest as his hands began to tingle. His breathing was beginning to get painful as his arms suddenly went numb. "Help..." he dropped over face first, his knees buckling on him.

Stephanie heard the thump as he hit the ground and turned to look at him, seeing the mound his collapsed body made there on the hill. "That doesn't work twice Ernie..." she laughed. He didn't budge. "Okay, game over..." still no motion. Her arms dropped to her sides. "Come on Ernie, stop playing. Don't you have anything better to do?"

Ernie finally stirred, his wheezing gasps for air so loud. "Help...me..."

Panic hit Stephanie all at once. "Oh my God!" she ran up to him and knelt in front of him. "You- you just hold still...I'll find a payphone!" As she stood to run away, Ernie shot a hand out and latched onto her jewel-covered ankle. She gasped.

"No..." he forced a swallow, still holding onto her leg, his dried, coarse fingers slipping and caressing her smooth dew-wet heel and a bit of her topside. "No...doctors..." his hand slipped off as he turned on his side, beads of sweat rolling down his head. "Help me...take this...coat..." he started putting his hands out.

Thinking the old man too hot, hence the sweat, Stephanie started tugging on his sleeves. "Let me call a doctor!" she said, aggravated at his decision and fearing what was happening, not sure what to make of it.

"I...said...no..." he wheezed. "I jus’ need t’...catch... my breath..."

Stephanie continued struggling with the coat. For a split second she was angry that she was having to deal with this kind of crap on what was supposed to be a night of reckless abandon before going home to face eternal damnation from her parents, but that thought disappeared as quick as it came. Stephanie was kind-hearted to anybody in immediate need, whether she wanted to be or not. "Don't you die on me!" she tried to joke.

Ernie managed a laugh. "Too much t’ do...t’ die." His breathing slowed down as he started feeling his arms again, though his heart still thumped irregularly. He was able to squirm enough, as he lay there, for his coat to go sliding off, Stephanie stumbling as she took it the rest of the way. "Thanks... ma’am..." he coughed.

"Stephanie." she corrected him as she smiled in relief, seeing his condition improve, if only just a tad. "I'm not old enough to be called ma'am, not yet anyway." She really felt relieved to see him sit up and start wiping the sweat off of his head with his hand. She balled his coat up as she held it, not knowing what else to do for the moment, and forgetting her own feelings of queasiness.

"I can't b’lieve this..." he chuckled as he sat hunched over, feeling the dew of the cold ground soak right through his jeans. "I get stuck in this old body…I need t’ work on this…"

"You'll be alright." Stephanie tried to reassure him, hoping he would in fact be alright. She really started to dislike the fact that she was caring about the well-being of this old man who just days ago she was creeped out and practically traumatized by.

He turned to see her from over his shoulder. "We still goin' t’ the river?"

Stephanie smiled closed-lipped and shook her head. "No. You need to go on home..." dread filled her stomach "...and I do too for that matter."

"No y' don't..." he said, staring at the ground between his legs. "Ya’ need t’ do this..." he struggled to get to his feet, and Stephanie found herself helping him up. "Y' want this...this walk." he held out a hand and nodded his head toward his coat once he gained his footing and was standing without help.

She put his coat back into his hand. "I do, but it can wait." She felt like humoring him in hopes of it helping him along, so she added: "Don't I need to get out of here? You said I do."

A grin slid across Ernie's face and his eyes slitted up, almost evil in their appearance. "No..." he started nodding his head, as if the nodding helped his confidence climb back up. "No, we're not runnin'…an’ this is yer’ night…I want’cha t’ have a lil’ fun…"

"Running? From who?" Stephanie asked, feeling so sorry for this feeble old guy, but getting put-off by this looming idea of a story that she felt coming on. "You're not in the shape for it...Ernie."

Ernie stretched his arms above his head and let them drop. "Well then...Stephanie...I'll make y' a deal." He slung his jacket over his shoulder. "If I drop over again, ya leave me t' die."

Her eyes squinted. "Huh?"

"Ya’ walk away an' forget about me."

"I can't do that..."

"Sure y' can. Nobody'd know. You just go on yer' own way if I fall over."

"Like hell..."

"Then we go to the river?"

"Shit..." Stephanie tried to reason with him. "Make up your mind. First you tell me to leave…now you want to go to the river with me. Like you want me to go down there or something..."

He reached out his free hand, almost like he'd put it on her shoulder, but he pulled it back halfway there. "Ya’ don't wanna go home..."

"Duh..." she eyed her shoulder where his hand almost went.

"Jus’ let me go with ya'..."

"No...no...I can't just..."

"Please...just so you c'n let me tell ya' what I wanted t' say."

Her head dropped.

"I won't have another close one..." he said, realizing she was relenting. "And if I do-"

"I'll walk off and leave your ass!" she cut in.

He laughed. "Hey now…ya’ hate when I do that…ya’ readin’ my mind now or somethin’?"

She shook her head and laughed at her weak-will, too annoyed and tired to scold herself. "Okay...deal." she seemed to have a lump in her throat when she said it. "But I'm serious...and don't say I didn't warn you." Stephanie doubted whether or not she actually would stroll off as the old man's heart seized up on him, if it seized up on him. She was hoping he'd think she was capable anyway.

Ernie felt confident enough in himself and his health, but just to make sure he was being taken seriously, he said: "I'm not talkin' 'bout just goin' home. F'I have th' big one an' die, ya’ get that stuff I set out for y' an' move out of this state." He started walking and passed by her.

She watched him for a few seconds and then caught up to him. "You're totally serious about all of this..."

"Serious as a heart-attack!" he smiled at her, trying to keep his hand from his chest so she wouldn't worry. "Ya' even look in th' pockets a' them hippy jeans?"

"Why?" her eyes went to him as she walked beside him.

"Let's just say that old woman kept all kinds a' money around th' house, an' I didn't want it..."

"You ROBBED Mrs. Thompson?!" she paused in her step.

"Naw...I jus' gave her money t' you..."

Stephanie stood idle as she watched Ernie continue his walking. "You...you thief...how...why?"

"Thief? Me? Naaaaa." he grinned, knowing she was still eyeing him from the back.

"I'm giving that stuff back! You really take the cake you asshole! The only reason I took that stuff is because I thought Mrs. Thompson gave it to me!"

"Miss Thompson would've gave it to ya." he stopped and turned to face her, wanting to laugh that her mouth was hanging open, stunned at him, but he kept his mood grim, because this was a serious situation. "Only that's not Thompson..."

* * *

Mrs. Thompson felt the bottom of the Lincoln Town Car bounce and then scrape most painfully on the dirt road as she kept the pedal pushed to the floor, getting a good start down the back-trail of the woods by the river. She was beyond reason, not caring at all if the car was torn literally to pieces that night. All she thought about was Stephanie, and how she had to accomplish that one, single goal of wiping her out, and by any means necessary. "Your little Movement is over!" she growled. 'It ends tonight...' she thought 'It all ends tonight...I'll do it...fucking Beasts...it's over!' She squeezed her eyes shut, laid her head back, and laughed most maniacally.

To Be Continued...

Barefoot Black Sheep
Part 1 * Chapter 13
By: Dennis Crabapple McClain
& Lou Gojira

It didn't matter what sort of question Stephanie had, Ernie came off with an answer for it. As they walked the winding path through the woods, Stephanie found herself starting to loosen up around this old guy she was just a day or so ago terrified at seeing, even though she had it figured out that he was going to be in some very deep shit sooner or later for his breaking into Mrs. Thompson's house. As she loosened up around him she found she could even return to quietly enjoying the thrill of her challenging barefoot walk again. The difficult terrain started to mean less to her now than the clean and clear sensation of being barefoot that kept creeping up her feet and legs in tremors.

So what about the two notes and all the items placed so interestingly at Mrs. Thompson's house? It was all Ernie’s doing, or so he claimed. According to what the offbeat old fellow told her, he had watched Mrs. Thompson's house since early that morning, waiting for the former hippy to leave. Once she left, he just strolled right up to a window at the side of the house, hoisted up on it, and climbed on in. He arranged all the items and typed the notes himself, having a very good feeling Stephanie would find everything, but knowing she wouldn't take the things unless she thought Mrs. Thompson was okay by it.

And why did he bother with all of that? This answer went back to the night when he burned Stephanie's shoes by Mrs. Thompson's back porch, and inadvertently forced Stephanie to go to school barefoot. He didn't go into a lot of detail, but stated, rather matter-of-factly even, that Mrs. Thompson had put off a smell that night that gave her away. His first draw to the spot was Stephanie's shoes and socks, saying he could sniff those out from the road as he drove by. Of course he assured her that her feet didn't stink and her shoes and socks weren't smelling-up the whole block, he just had a bloodhound's sense of smell and he wanted to investigate why he sensed her so strongly back there. He figured that after the close call with the police, Stephanie would go back to the spot for her shoes, though he knew how she hated to have to wear the imprisoning things in the first place. That's when Mrs. Thompson was putting out the smell, so he thought that by burning Stephanie's shoes, he would scare her out of going back to the place, at least for the night. He sniggered when he told her that neither she nor her friend (whom Stephanie told him was named Ruthy) were as quiet and slick as they thought, hiding in the background.

In the distraction of all their talking and in the glow of truly feeling a deep awareness of her barefootedness she felt less and less upset about “chickening out” and not pushing harder and harder for dangerous thrills. Even this simple walk she found to be plenty menacing to her little bare feet, as without even trying, the ground around the river was difficult. She realized though that she had meant to push harder and seek more dangerous ground. That would have to wait until another night, this would have to do, and it was challenge enough just as it was.

What smell was it and why was Mrs. Thompson so dangerous? Going on what Ernie was saying, and he was sounding more and more full of shit to Stephanie as he talked, Mrs. Thompson was excreting something that night, bodily fluids in fact, and he didn't go into detail on what type of fluids or what she was doing to bring them about. He merely said that there was a tell tale sign of Mrs. Thompson's true being in the scent, which nobody else would've picked up on.

Why did he arrange the items then, if he didn't want Stephanie around the place? To point out that Mrs. Thompson was up to something, since he knew Stephanie would try going back to the house sooner or later, and the old girl had been up to something for a long while; the items being the proof and the other things as an added bonus for Stephanie.

So Ernie was implying that Mrs. Thompson killed Anita, and that Stephanie would've been next? Not by Mrs. Thompson’s own hands, rather she was putting others up to her dirty work. Ernie acted sheepish when Stephanie asked who was the culprit of said dirty work, but didn't seem too reserved when he said the culprit was probably at the bottom of the river or in a Dumpster somewhere, going on the scream he heard not long before Mrs. Thompson tore out of there. That old girl had some serious business to take care of when she left that morning, going on how she sped out of the garage, he told her, and he’d be willing to bet that she was going to take care of all of that.

And who was the culprit? The same person who was with Mrs. Thompson that night; a man, young, and Ernie had recognized his scent, as he smelled Mrs. Thompson’s scent. From where did he recognize the scent of this culprit? The bus ramp at the middle school a bit earlier, when he had ran up on her that night. Who? Which one? It was the longhaired boy- kind of unshaven and dirty, slightly tall and fairly built. Tommy? Ernie guessed that was his name when Stephanie threw it out there. Ernie asked if he was a friend of her's, and Stephanie gave an emphatic no for an answer. That's why he ran to her, the culprit was going to act and Ernie had to stop him, he told her.

Stephanie had to take a seat after all of this. Try as she might at getting some daring barefoot time in as she listened to Ernie weave his tales during their walk to the river side, this was too much to take. She didn't know whether to laugh at him, because she didn't believe anything he could've been saying, at least the last bit of it, or to run for her life since he talked about her death, or the possibility thereof, so straight-faced. “Ow, shit!” she hissed, feeling something or some things biting into her foot from toes to heel. Picking up her foot, she felt the sickening sensation of her flesh being caught and not budging anymore. “Shit, shit!” she cried, focusing her eyes, heart thrashing in her chest. “Oh, thank God,” she breathed a sigh of relief, “just thorns.” Carefully, she leaned back against the nearest tree and peeled them away, the little holes almost healing up behind the thorns in the thickness of her summer-soles. She sighed, having hurt both feet. Her heart still raced in the panic that it might have been worse than thorns in the panic that worse might lie in wait ahead. But it was the simmering panic she longed for.

‘Ernie!’ she huffed inside her head. Her feet hurt, she was afraid, and not of him, but she knew however far she walked, she would have to cross the same dangerous ground to get back. But this wasn’t what she wanted. It was more than she could take, but it wasn’t at all the wild and reckless trek she had planned. If it wasn’t for Ernie, she could have done just as she had set out to do. Part of her hated him for ruining this for her. "Why, Ernie? Why?!" she asked, more frustrated than she realized. "If you like me, for whatever reason you have, we can be friends I guess...but why all the stories?" She put her feet up on the fallen tree on which she sat, rested her elbows on her knees, and rested her face into her hands. She tried to watch the river from there, hoping to put her mind at ease, but it wasn't working. Her troubles at least now were more focused. First there was all the weird shit Ernie was telling her, but then there was the long walk home on her hurting bare feet she would have to face soon enough.

"I know y' don't believe me..." he started as he got a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, still carrying his jacket slung over his shoulder. He lit up, blew the smoke out, watching it as it went, and allowed Stephanie some silence before he continued, hoping it would help her. "If y' don't mind me sayin', I wish you'd start believin'...this is important." In the few moments Stephanie let down her guard, stroking her topsides and toes in a moment of reverie, Ernie stared, stared right at her toes as she curled them up and rubbed across the smooth knuckles of her toes with her fingertips.

She hopped up and went tiptoe over the fallen tree as if it were a balance beam. Stephanie had done some gymnastics when she was younger, and it was the only sport she really liked. “And if you don’t mind my saying so… if you’re gonna go all over town havin’ heart attacks, you probably oughta quit smoking.”

Ernie laughed. “So says th’ girl who cuts her feet up but still r’fuses t’ wear shoes.”

Stephanie glared down at him. “Hey…shut up!”

He smirked and looked away from her.

"So Mrs. Thompson is some manipulative, second-hand murderer who got Anita stabbed, and now Tommy's dead too because of her?" Stephanie sighed and then rubbed her eyes.

"Ya' saw th' news papers..." he leaned up against the same fallen tree Stephanie played on, and he could not help but watch her toes again as they worked and strained in her walk across the tree.

"You-" Stephanie sputtered. "You don't get it! Mrs. Thompson is cool...she wouldn't hurt anybody. If...if...if somebody held a gun to her she'd stick a flower down the barrel for God's sake!" She let her dainty hands slap against her seat as she turned to face him, meeting his gaze. "She's the only adult I know who's so...so peaceful...got her act together...Why do you want to pick on her?!"

"Who's pickin'?" he took another draw from his smoke. "I'm tellin' y' this f'r yer' own good!" he flicked some ash toward the dirt trail. "I don't doubt yer' word on her bein' "cool", but I'm tellin' ya' that's not Miss Thompson we're dealin' with..."

"Oh yeah...she's a Hunter...’” Stephanie wiggled her fingers and went "wooooo" for a second, her eyes widened and lips poking out, an adorable expression regardless of her smart-aleck intent. Though secretly she wished every word were true, as that would mean that under all this her Mrs. Thompson might still be there. But all her scoffing at Ernie made her wobbly on the fallen log and she quickly caught her balance.

Ernie shrugged as he got more comfortable in his leaning. "She is...an' I'm here t' protect ya'."

"Okay Ernie...okay!" Stephanie hopped down, her bare feet thumping the cool, dirty ground when she landed. "You be sure and protect little ol' me from that dangerous hippy woman! Ruthy's gonna crack the fuck up when she finds out Tommy almost killed me...it'll give her a funny story to tell Tommy the next time she see's him."

Ernie shook his head and sighed. "You kids..."

"You crazy old people!" she shot back. "Did Mrs. Thompson turn you down for a date when you guys were in school? You do seem to like girls a lot younger than you...Did she turn you down and you've been talking shit about her ever since?!" she waved her hands as she talked. "Let me guess...just to keep this interesting...Mrs. Thompson is really an old whore who was fucking Tommy...all your talk about bodily fluids and everything...Tommy being there that night...they were bumping nasties, right?"

"Well, since ya' put it so nicely..." he rolled his eyes.

"And, uh...she was fucking Tommy to have him kill people...right?!"

Ernie just looked back at her, his lips tight together.

"Aside from the fact that Mrs. Thompson wouldn't have a damn thing to do with some burnout asshole like Tommy...she wouldn't even know Anita! Why would she want her dead?!"

Ernie pointed at Stephanie's bare feet.

"Anita went barefoot too, yeah, I know… and you’re sayin’ that had something to do with it?"

"I'm guessin'..."

"Please!” snorted an incredulous Stephanie. “You guess..." Stephanie folded her arms. "You lie is more like it!"

"Thompson got it wrong...she looked f'r th' wrong signs." he sighed. "Goddam Crystals never get their shit right..."

"Who the fuck is Krystal?! Some other girl you're following arou-"

"Tha's what yer' friend Thompson is!" he cut her off, showing his teeth. "Fine! Don't believe a fuckin' thang! Either way I'm gonna be around...little know-it-all smart-ass..."

Stephanie felt her mouth fall open. She helped save his life --probably-- she let him tag along on what was probably her last night among the free population, she heard him out even though she thought he was full of crap...and this was the thanks she got? To be called names? This cranky old bastard was no better than her parents...he didn't appreciate anything...he was the one who said she wanted to fit in with the "in-crowd" earlier...he's the one who...who...knew exactly what to say to cut her to the bone...Stephanie started gasping as her lips quivered, furious that her eyes were welling...again! Thanks to him! A dirty, lying old man! ‘Am I that fucked up,’ she thought, ‘to let the likes of this cretin, this loser, get to me…to hurt me?!’

Ernie took a final draw of his smoke and flicked it away. "Yeah, yer' a smart-ass! An' if you were mine I'd smack yer' mouth!" he wrinkled his face even further. "I'm not so bad..." he trailed off, knowing it'd annoy her that he picked up on her thoughts yet again.

"FUCK YOU!" she shoved him with both fists, watching him fall back on the tree then stand upright. "FUCK YOU!" she shoved him again.

Ernie straightened his shirt, turning his eyes away from her, but not raising a hand to her.

Stephanie eyed him for a few seconds and then took off running. She heard him call after her, but she didn't care. She also felt the rigorous abuse her feet were taking in the blind run through the woods, but she didn't care about that either. The tears streamed her face as she tried to put as much space between her and Ernie as she could, making her way back from the river. Maybe she should just turn back and jump in the river to get this pain over with…she somehow managed to think in all of this running.

Trees...weeds...clearing...she was at the spot where her and Ruthy hung out with the "bad boys" a couple nights ago, but it didn't fully register. She just pounded her feet into the dirt, not caring if she found something sharp along the way, feeling the cut she already got filling with stinging dirt. 'Let it get infected...I don't care!' she thought, emotions train-wrecking all through her.

The trail, the car trail…the one where people could drive back to the river... she found it after passing through the glass-riddled clearing. Home. She had to get home. Face the music, face the hell, just get away from Ernie...Two head-lights cut the darkness right in front of her and before she knew it she was being thrown to the side.

Ernie's face! On top of her! How did he catch up so fast?!

'Is he going to rape me?!' but before she could get past that thought, Ernie was standing and turning to face the source of the head-lights. Stephanie looked in that direction as well, and saw the back of Mrs. Thompson's car crunch to a halt. Sanity at last! Mrs. Thompson!

She stood to run up to the car, but Ernie clamped her arm. "Stay here!" he growled, and then she was landing in the grass. Did he throw her? She was too far for it just to be a push from the weak old man.

Now this "weak old man" was charging up to the vehicle, and running no less! The same old man who couldn't even walk up a hill earlier was now running! Stephanie just laid there, her legs still raised from her landing, seeing this between her bare feet as they were in her field of view. Her breath caught in her chest...she simply couldn't believe what she was witnessing already, then things took a turn for the completely bizarre…

A white light, like staring at the flash from a camera, only about a thousand times brighter suddenly blinded Stephanie. Surprisingly, her vision cleared as fast as the flash happened, and just in time to see the coat Ernie had been carrying land on her still tensed legs. "Who the fuck?!" she cried as she looked back to where Ernie was.

That's right, was. Ernie was nowhere to be found but there was a huge figure beside Mrs. Thompson's car. Light gray all over, the huge figure was rippling with muscle, and apparently in the nude. Mrs. Thompson's car door went flying away as this figure seemed to rip it off and tossed it behind him like it was a tab on the top of a can of soda. She saw Mrs. Thompson's head for a split second as she seemed to emerge from the car, then there was another blinding flash, like the first, only this one was green. There was some growling, some scraping, some smacks and thuds as the two figures connected in a mass of flaying limbs. Stephanie tried to stand but couldn't...she was numb all over...terrified, confused... the sound of metal crunching and glass cracking. And sounds the likes of which she couldn’t name…had never even imagined.

Then there was language...gibberish...the likes of which she'd never heard in her life being shouted. One shouted something, and the other shouted something else as they were locked in what appeared to be an all-out fight. More shouting, more fighting...Stephanie couldn't see which one was doing what because it was happening so fast.

The green figure broke away from the struggle and came toward Stephanie as she lay there, and for a split second she could make it out. It looked female, tall, so very tall and slender, naked like the first one, green skin that shined like glass, and with hair whipping behind her in a mass of flowing purple. Stephanie put a hand to her face, scared that she was coming at her so fast, then the female figure reversed. Now that same figure was being thrown in a direction opposite from Stephanie, the huge, gray, muscular male figure seeming to have a hold of her leg and doing the throwing.

Then there was more struggling...more fighting...more shouting back and forth in this weird language. Bits of dirt and rock went flying in all directions, and then there were snapping sounds...trees. Trees were getting snapped right in half before Stephanie as these two fighting forms took their struggle toward the sides of the trail, somewhat into the woods. Stephanie had never seen a tornado, fortunately, but she imagined what she was seeing probably being very similar. Glass shattered, metal crunched, Mrs. Thompson's car was now a mat of sorts, flattened out as these two figures were now back on top of it, still fighting. Stephanie couldn't move a muscle, and only now realized that she was getting pelted with the dirt and debris kicked up by these two.

The gray male form went flying off of the green female form, the female's leg extended as if she'd kicked him away. Again, the female lunged toward Stephanie as she lay there, too dumbfounded to even get her numbed muscles working well enough to get herself out of there. The green figure went away as the gray one plowed into her from the side.

All of this, in reality, was about a three-minute ordeal, but to Stephanie it felt like half an hour. The struggling and shouting never relented the whole time, but eventually the green female form broke away and seemed to vanish into a streak of neon light, leaving a lens flare in Stephanie's vision. The gray male figure just stood and stared into spot of the nighttime sky where the green neon streak vanished. He turned and fixed his gaze on Stephanie now...that face...he, or rather it, didn't look human. It looked almost like a cow, or a bull...and those eyes...solid white and glowing. The glow from those eyes illuminated what looked to be horns on the top of his head, pointed back almost like a Billy goat's. It had something hanging off its chin...two black leather-looking tendrils that seemed to worm and snake around as they hung there...

Stephanie wanted to throw up all over again...but the dumbfounding was turning into terror...real terror as it finally dawned on her that this was all really happening. For a second Stephanie actually heard her own teeth chattering, and she realized that she was gripping the coat Ernie had tossed to her tight to her chest, like a security blanket.

Now the gray figure took a step toward her. "Are you alright?" he asked, the voice so deep and reverberating.

That was the last sight Stephanie saw that crazy night before she finally, thankfully, blacked out into a comforting unconsciousness...she had literally been overloaded with strangeness…so her body did the only thing it could do…

It shut down for a while…

* * *

Waking up hurt. Not like an ordinary pain she could name, not like a headache, more like a dull drained sensation that overtook Stephanie’s whole body…but mostly her mind.

Not until sitting up did she realize just how cold and hard the ground was. The moon was a little higher in the sky than the last time she saw it. If it wasn’t for the low wheezing, clanking, and maladjusted headlights of Mrs. Thompson’s battle-beaten car, Stephanie could have easily convinced herself that none of the otherworldly weirdness she had just witnessed had happened at all. Her mouth tasted foul to her, and she spit and spit before eventually opening a crumpled stick of chewing gum she had forgotten in one of her pants pockets.

As if that wasn’t reminder enough of just how real and bizarre this turn in her life was, standing up brought it all home. The pain took her breath away. The nasty cuts in her heel impressed the weirdness of her life right now further into her. “Oh God,” she whimpered, taking a hobble-step. Somehow the glass in her foot felt sickeningly exhilarating when it was fresh and bleeding. Now the dirty wound and smaller wounds simply felt miserable. Nothing more than a dry thud of a pain, itchy and unpleasant, the skin out around the cut now feeling crisp and hard. Even the places where the thorns had bitten into her felt swollen and hard. “What was I thinking?” she muttered. “It had to be the shit in that bottle,” she said hopefully, remembering her grabbing the flat-bottle away from Ruthy, and now unable to handle that she may have actually wanted to hurt her pretty feet. Hurt it did, both feet, though ironically the damage was not nearly so bad as what she had dreamed up and dreaded when she headed out this way. But now she felt in no mood to push anymore. She just wanted to go home.

Scratching her head, sorting through all the dizziness, she headed for home. If not home, then at least a place not lit up by Mrs. Thompson’s headlights and eerily noisy and abandoned car, a place not so near Ernie, and Stephanie’s own disturbingly perverse self-punishing walk. Though she was surrounded by sounds of the lonesome lapping of the river at night —safely alone— she also sensed that Ernie was nearby, observing her or watching over her like some creepy guardian angel. Stephanie chuckled wearily to herself, “I had always hoped my guardian angel would look more like Mel Gibson than Chester the Molester.”

With each step, whine, and grimace she felt simultaneously more confused and uprooted from the precious little she actually understood about life and the world in which she lived, and universe, the whole universe seemed bigger now, more like a universe than a small town, conversely she felt a clarity ringing away in her head.

None of the bullshit mattered. In light of all Ernie had said, and all she saw with her own eyes, being grounded and shouted at no longer seemed like a big deal to her. Not now, not in her much larger universe. Still, she couldn’t shake the sensation of just being Stephanie, ordinary flesh and blood. Her parents and their rage were no more than specks in her mind now. And her feet really hurt, and each step pushed more and more trivial bullshit aside.

Here and now the last thing she wanted was to finish off her night of wild and dangerous barefoot adventure. She just wanted to get off her hurting feet —and without suffering any more pains. And it no longer felt like chickening out. She would, maybe, try it again. She was too tired now. She cried to herself just thinking about the long dark and unkind miles ahead of her and her naked feet. Home suddenly seemed like a nice place to be —wherever home might be tonight. In fact, right now, being barefoot felt like nothing more than one more obstacle between her and a nice hot bath. She felt filled with a helpless dread about the long walk ahead, and actually thought she might not mind a pair of shoes on her feet now if it meant she could get to bed sooner.

* * *

Her mind occupied itself with figuring out then taking the easiest and safest roads she could find. She was not at all up to any dark wooded paths or even long stretches of roadside gravel and litter. Nice clean sidewalks, if any existed in her part of town, would suit her just fine. Somewhere along the same stretch of road she had walked when she first noticed Ernie stalking her, another shitty old rusted-out car spat and sputtered to a stop alongside her.

“Stephanie? Is that you?”

She looked into the car wearily. “John!” she cried, relieved.

Without hesitation he threw his car in park and ran around the front end. A look of concern big and beautiful filled his long but striking face. He caught Stephanie as if she were about to fall over right there on the sidewalk. “God, Steph, are you alright? You look like you’ve—“

“—Seen a ghost.”

“Yeah. No, oh no. Dear God, please,” he shook his head, trying to hold onto her while opening the passenger door. “Don’t tell me you’re all fucked up. I don’t want to see you end up like my sister.”

She looked at him dumbly. She needed to tell someone everything. No way. Who would believe half of it? “I’m OK.”

“You sure?” he looked at her, unconvinced, helping her into his car.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just that my life’s gotten… complicated.”

“Take it easy.” He made sure she was all in the car, especially her dirty and delicate-boned little toes before he shut the door.

As he stole glances at her, he pulled his car out onto the road. Stephanie sat stiff and miserable in her seat, wincing as the dry pain nagged at her feet, but happy she didn’t have to walk anymore. “I stepped in glass,” she whined. But it came out funny to her, like a non-sequiter.

“You alright?”

“It hurts.” A tear finally rolled down her cheek.

“Let’s get you home. I hate to say it, but lets get you into some shoes.”

“No!” she said stridently. “No, I don’t need any shoes. I just need to get a bath or something. And I don’t want to go home. God, I don’t want to go home!” she yelped, arching back in her seat.

“My mom’s a nurse. I’ll take you to her house so she can look at you.”

“No. No doctors, it’s not that big a deal.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not taking you to a hospital, just to my mom’s house so she can fix you up. Then I’ll take you to me and my dad’s house, or to Ruthy’s, or wherever you want to go.”

“Just take me to Ruthy’s. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I told you, things are just really complicated and weird for me right now.” She looked at him and even managed a smile. “Thank you, John, you’re so nice.”

“Oh God,” he groaned. “Please, don’t call me ‘nice,’ girls hate nice guys.”

“Well, you are nice, and I don’t hate nice guys. And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

“I just… I don’t… I mean, you probably think I’m really weird, all the way out here, all cut up, and with no shoes.”

“No. I don’t. I told you, I think barefoot girls are the best. I just wish you weren’t hurt or whatever.” ‘All the way out here…’ he thought, thankful that she didn’t ask him why he was out here himself. The truth of the matter was that he quietly excused himself from the Sacred Spot when he saw that Stephanie hadn’t returned by the time he figured she should’ve…and he started cruising around looking for her. She was pretty tipsy when she wandered off and his concern for her well-being was genuine, but he just knew she’d think him a stalker or whatever if he told her all of this.

For a while neither of them said a word, leaving Stephanie plenty of space to sink deeper into her weary awareness that her world had changed. Along with it came an awareness that she never could have expected. After all the drama of the day and the blinding weirdness of everything she witnessed along the river, how she saw the world now surprised her.

After witnessing the violent otherworldly battle, the world —her world— had changed. Surprisingly she found that the world did not suddenly seem ordinary, dull, or drab by comparison. No. Quite the contrary, as John drove she took special notice of things she always took for granted before. In all her years here she had never even noticed the oak tree alongside the library. Then there was the way the streetlights illuminated the remaining leaves and intricate network of branches of the scrappy trees along the road, all of it filling her with wonder even in her exhaustion. The tops of the trees glowed like moons and lightning against the starry sky. Looking over at John she realized, sadly, that he was not seeing things the same way. No doubt the world looked to him the same as it had yesterday and the day before. Even the tatty drab buildings seemed remarkable to her now, and she saw in them more than years of rundown hopeless neglect, she saw all the hope that must have filled the lives of those who knew those buildings when they were new.

Another tear slowly welled in her eye. According to the clock outside the bank it was 1:49 in the morning and forty-six degrees. “Could you take me home, please?” she asked. Amazing as the world was here and now, it had worn her out.

“No.”

She looked over at him, mouth agape, full of fear. Beautiful as the world was, she was finding it difficult to trust her apparently narrow understanding of reality, let alone individual people. After all, even Mrs. Thompson, as it turned out, was not what Stephanie had always thought her to be.

“Not like this. We’ll stop by my mom’s. I’ll let her fix you up, then I’ll take you home. I promise.”

The smile he wore when he turned to her convinced her that she could at least trust him. And, it convinced her that he would not take “no” for an answer. Resigned, after a sigh, Stephanie settled back into her seat and waited.

* * *

Another surprise was in store for Stephanie, but this one was more down to earth and it confirmed some things she had been starting to accept. Even at this hour John’s bath robed, sleepy headed, and clearly just-out-of-bed mother answered the door with more concern and interest in her face than anger and self-righteousness. This was not the greeting Stephanie would have received at home.

Stephanie was exhausted. So much so that even though she knew they were talking about her she scarcely bothered to pay attention to anything outside her haze until John’s mother began cleaning the many little wounds decorating her feet. “Ow! God!” Stephanie cried, every muscle tight as she sat in the musty old recliner reeling in all the poking, digging, and prodding that came with having her cuts cleaned.

“You’re worse than Gina,” said John’s mother, and Stephanie noticed the look she gave John.

“God, mom, don’t say that,” John said,

“Are you high?” sighed John’s mother.

“No,” Stephanie replied, gasping as John’s mom dug in, cleaning the cut to its depths. “Ow! God! Ow!” Stephanie jerked her foot away, her heel grinding with pain far worse even than what she felt when she first stepped in the glass. With a desperate grip she held onto her bunched-up toes with one hand and her ankle with the other. The pain just kept coming in waves until at last the waves flooded to a steady drone. Never had she considered that getting cut on her dangerous trek would not be the worst of it. And worst of all this pain was sober and not at all spiced with tingles.

John looked on, not sure what to do. Could he, should he touch her, comfort her? Her grubby feet stirred up both surprising and familiar things in him, and yet he felt nothing but sympathy for her. He didn’t see her as being the least bit “weird,” or, perhaps he did, but it was a weirdness he really liked. In the end he cautiously rested his hand on her shoulder while she relaxed a little.

“When was your last Tetanus shot?” asked John’s mother.

“April, or May, or something,” Stephanie hissed as the pain burrowed into her like an acid burn headed straight for the bone. Still wincing, sighing heavily, she curled her filthy toes before sacrificing her foot to John’s mother’s cleaning again.

“Good. And stop fidgeting,” she said with as much humor as a woman woken up out a good night’s sleep could possibly muster. “Now, if you have more sense than Gina did you’ll keep your shoes on for a couple days, just until this heals up.”

“Mom!” scolded John, though he smiled at his mother. All this affection between them confused Stephanie. This wasn’t how families were supposed to work… was it?

“And if you don’t have more sense than you know who, then at least make sure you wear a Band Aid.” She winked at John and squeezed his hand. It cut Stephanie deeply to see this, to really know the truth.

To listen to her own mother talk she always assumed that “trashy” divorced parents of “burnout” kids didn’t really love their children. Not like “good Christian” parents. Parents like hers. She always thought people like John and his parents were “weird” —her Mother’s favorite word— but right now Stephanie was having more and more doubts about who and what was supposedly “weird.”

“Oh! Shit!” Stephanie gasped as John’s mother sanitized the wound, the pain like fire on her foot. She pulled her foot up and clutched her own toes with both hands while the sting drilled into the cut. “Sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to cuss.” John’s mother just patted her knee and started to get up. Thorough as John’s mother was, she was also fast, and the cuts were already clean.

“I’ve seen worse,” she said, giving the bare toes of Stephanie’s other foot a warm and gentle squeeze. Stephanie started to sit up. “Oh no,” she firmly pressed Stephanie back into place in the recliner. “I’m not through with you yet. Stay put.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stephanie stayed put. Embarrassed, so shy about her bare feet still, her cuts, and worse. She was mostly shy about how being barefoot made her feel. She feared they knew the truth about her, about her feet, about where she had been and why she had gone, as if they might somehow know that she had been on a perverse thrill-seeking quest in her bare feet. She pulled her feet up and inspected the worst of the cuts; which no longer bled. Though it grossed her out nonetheless, the cuts didn’t look nearly so bad as she first thought. She felt, most shamefully of all, a little disappointed in herself for not having gone farther. Most of the cuts were small, almost invisible in the thick skin of her heel. Fortunately the worst cut sat up over the ridge of her heel where she would not be constantly stepping on it. “It’s so gross,” she said more to her foot than to John —his mother busy in the closet.

“Well then stop looking at it,” he chuckled, gently taking her foot away from her and setting it back out on the footrest.

“You want a pop or something, Sugar?” John’s mother asked as she walked to the kitchen with a handful of little boxes.

“Just a 7-Up or a Coke, please.”

“Very polite,” she said more to John than to Stephanie, winking to encourage him.

John winced. Looking Stephanie over from her bedraggled hair to her dirty toes he hoped she somehow missed his mother’s embarrassing winking. As a twinge of tingling whirred around in his crotch he cringed, feeling guilty that Stephanie’s hurting and dirty foot actually shot an unshakeable rush of pleasure all through him. How distinctly he still remembered Gina’s friend Paulette, unlike Gina who was tall and blonde, Paulette was small and brunette like Stephanie. It was Paulette who first got his sister into going barefoot all the time. As much as John adored and worshipped his sister, Stephanie reminded him of Paulette. Even as a child he felt things for Paulette, things no child could understand, things that drove him to show off in ways Paulette must have found more annoying than flattering. He cringed again recalling the childish and dorky things he did to get her attention. Sadly, Paulette moved away shortly after Gina died. “Excuse me,” John hopped up and headed in to the kitchen.

“Nice girl,” his mother whispered while Stephanie sat in the living room and picked up a tattered copy of “Reader’s Digest” as she tried to pretend she didn’t know they were talking about her. But she was dying to know what they were saying, and straining to hear.

“Don’t get too excited, she’s just a friend.”

“And she’s polite, too. And cute!” She nudged her son, teasingly.

“Mom,” he chuckled, glancing back at Stephanie, who pretended to be reading all the dumb jokes and sappy articles. “I wish you weren’t bringing Gina up all the time around her.”

“Sorry, Johnny, it’s the bare feet. You remember how I tried to get your sister to stop that —running around like a hippie or hillbilly or whatever— but it just seemed to make her want to do it more. Watch this girl, I would hate it if… you know.”

“She’s not like that.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned, the moan bent around a little and turned into a chuckle, a twinkle lit her eye. “You were probably too young to remember, but Gina was always coming home with cuts in her feet.” She laughed.

“No, I remember, and I remember you giving her hell for it, too,” he confessed.

“She used to try and hide them from me. Now Paulette…she never seemed to get cut. I guess she wasn’t as fucked up as Gina was on dope all the time. This Stephanie girl, she’s not doped up… so what’s her problem? Is she just clumsy?” she chuckled. “Well, whatever, I guess there are worse things than running all over barefoot. But honestly, you’d think after the first time or two a girl steps on glass that she’d give it up.” She shook her head. “It’s like some sort of obsession with these girls. Well, you take care of this one.”

“She’s just a friend, mom.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean you can’t take care of her.”

A few minutes and sips of Coke later and it was over. John’s mother had not only butterfly bandaged and Band Aided the worst of the cuts, but also sent Stephanie home with a few spare Band Aids and instructions on how to keep her cuts clean and bandaged.

“Thanks so much… Mrs… uhm, gosh, sorry, I don’t’ know your last name,” Stephanie looked at John and blushed.

“Call me Susan.”

“Thanks… Susan.” Stephanie started out, John right behind her.

“And, Stephanie, Sugar, if you ever hurt yourself again, don’t be shy about stopping by, anytime day or night.”

“Thanks,” said Stephanie, limping off, touched by Susan’s warmth. “Your mom’s real nice,” she said after Susan shut the door.

“It’s Vincent, y’know: my last name.”

* * *

Stephanie hadn’t meant to, but she slept through most of the ride home. As John saw her to the door she realized she didn’t care about the world of trouble awaiting her. She was too tired to even dread facing her parents; even at this hour, even barefoot.

John backed away from the door, feeling more than a little squeamish about this awkwardness. This wasn’t a date, and that goodnight kiss —as much as he wanted one— seemed absurd even in the glow of his surprisingly sudden infatuation with peculiar little Stephanie. “So, tomorrow, can we go to a movie or something?”

“I’d love to, but… I’ll probably be grounded for life after all I’ve pulled.” Looking up, Stephanie realized with dread the impossibility of sneaking in. It was well after two a.m. —her parents always in bed by ten-thirty at the very latest— and the living room light was still on, and the TV was still casting blue flashes in the sickly yellow light of the room. She sighed. “See you in school Monday. And, John… really sorry about tonight. I’m just… it’s been weird, and I’m really tired.”

“That’s cool.”

“Really, I’ll see you in school. I’ll feel better then, I hope.”

“Good luck,” he chuckled knowingly as he heard weary and heavy footsteps coming to answer the door Stephanie hadn’t even knocked at yet. He made his way around to the driver’s side of the car. ‘I wouldn’t want to be her right now.’

The front door opened. Stephanie almost choked on the heavy pent-up air that seemed to be sucking her into the house. There her mother stood. Face puffy, splotchy from plenty of crying, and looking as if all her crying had twisted her face in around her nose. She looked twenty years older. Barbera Goddard’s whole body was bent under the weight of all her obsessive worrying. She looked as if she had been up for two nights straight. All the work her mother did to make her misery clear to Stephanie annoyed Stephanie more than anything. It seemed clear to Stephanie now that her mother was not so much interested in Stephanie as deeply involved in her own emotional drama and martyrdom.

No hug, no welcome home, just lips pursed and red eyes, a Kleenex wadded in her hand. Stephanie, ashamed of her dirty and bandaged bare feet, stepped in, braced for hours of lecturing and a very long night, guilt, and a long steep in her mother’s single-minded stew of showy misery.

“I don’t care anymore,” her mother said, backing up the stairs with all the grace of an invalid. “You just go on and do whatever you want to do. You obviously don’t care about anyone but yourself. I give up. I quit.” She turned around and felt weakly up the stairs, either putting on a great show or totally consumed in her own drama, either way Stephanie merely resented the whole pathetic display.

It was the slow heavy and ever-controlled footsteps of her father coming down the hall from his bedroom that alarmed Stephanie the most, riveting her by the toes to the spot on the landing. Her naked feet suddenly crept with burning shame. Down the stairs he came, his eyes always seeming to be focused squarely on the top of her head. He stood toe to toe with her, towering over her like some animate storm cloud, but still as stone. He looked her over from her tousled hair and skintight torn jeans to her scandalously bared and dirty bandaged feet. “You get more and more disgusting every day,” he said, standing so tight and so clenched that she knew he meant for her to realize it was taking every ounce of his resolve to not beat her senseless. He turned and left, following his —once again— sobbing wife down the hall, catching the light and TV remote along the way. He stopped and faced her in the dark. “So long as I live I will never forget what you have done to your mother.” Stephanie stood plunged in total darkness, except for the light leaking in from the porch-light outside the window in the front door.

Slipping quietly to her own room, Stephanie didn’t feel the least bit guilty. At least not about the things her parents meant her to be steeping in remorse over. Nor the many things her mother wanted her to be torturing herself over: going barefoot, disobeying, dressing like a tramp, hanging out with Ruthy, hurting her raw-nerve mother and pissing off her asshole father. Stephanie instead felt a clinging warm guilt over feeling such a solid resentment for her own mother. A guilt born of beginning to see things for how they were in the light of everything she was discovering about other families.

But that was that. Feeling her way down and to her door, passing her father’s workroom, she flipped on her light and plopped right down onto her own bed. Alone, in the basement-quiet of her room, she sat. Walls full of smiling rock stars stared coldly at her, dumbly, sunshine and wind behind them.

Thinking of all the fairy tales her mother had read to her, thinking of all the bright summer times, of all the times her mother had taken her swimming, or to the mall, or to the used book store, or to the park…Stephanie just curled up and cried.

The End...
(for now)

This is a fantastic story so far! My compliments to both authors. How soon until we can read part 2?
Stephanie is a fantastic character. She reminds me of Lindsey Weir from the American TV series "Freaks and Geeks," and of course Mara. Has Dennis done any illustrations of Stephanie?

Thanks for the kind words kalki.

Part 2 will be available as soon as my website becomes available. Don't worry, it will be a free site and it will feature both Barefoot Black Sheep and The Spider and the Fly (another barefoot girl story that's about a quarter of the way finished), among other barefoot girl related goodies. I just posted the first 13 chapters of Barefoot Black Sheep to drum up some interest and to see if people liked it or not. Hang in there and be patient my friend, when the site becomes available I'll be sure to let everybody know.

And no, I'm sorry to say that Dennis hasn't illustrated any of this story. For reasons that are very personal to him he won't be illustrating anything any time soon, but don't worry about Dennis, his passion is alive and well with his writing and the man continues to kick ass to this very day. I however will be illustrating this story when it goes up on the site. I don't know if you've seen any of my drawings or not, but I hope you'll like what you see when I put pen to paper for some barefoot girl artwork.

Just in case anybody's curious about my artwork pertaining to barefoot girls, here are seven different pieces I've done that happen to have barefoot girls in them...
http://wusfeetlinks.com/artwork/lougojira/lg_artwork.html

These drawings were either done for certain sites or independant publishers. They aren't "barefoot girl art" so to speak, and they're all more than a few years old, but hopefully you'll get a basic idea on what to expect as far as story illustrations. Hope you like what you see.

I love the art, and can't wait to see more.

Thank you sir.

And some good news about the art...I just got home, literally, from Mara Land!

I was fortunate enough to get to spend the entire Thanksgiving weekend with Dennis and Christine at their place waaaaayyy up North, and one part of the fun was having Dennis drive me around to all the real world locations that inspired him for certain scenes in Barefoot Black Sheep. I brought along a camera, and he snapped off a bunch of pics to help me out in drawing out Stephanie's world. It was so cool to actually see all the locations that I helped write about, and I hope that by using this source material it'll help give the art some real world feeling.

Hang in there Bro...when this stuff is completed and goes up I'll be sure to let you know. Thanks for all your interest and encouragement.

I'm so happy to see that the view count keeps climbing for this topic! I like to think it means that people are interested in this story, so as an added treat to the thread, here is a pre-production ink sketch done on a particular character...



His name is Verono, and folks who have read these 13 chapters won't be a stranger to him. Don't let his appearance fool you...he's one of the good guys!

Sorry for not posting a drawing of barefoot Stephanie just yet...I gotta save the really good stuff for the site!

Great drawing Lou! I have been looking forward to updates on the project, and I'm pleased with everything that I've seen so far.

Thank you Brother kalki, glad you're enjoying this.

Just a little update on this project as a whole: As of this posting, I'm in the middle of the HUGE finale on this story. Everything has lead into this pivotal point, so I'm taking extra special care to deliver an ending that will hopefully satisfy myself and the folks who read this tale of our barefoot girl Stephanie. Once the actual writing of the story has been finished, I'm going to dedicate all my time to the artwork...something I'm really anxious to start full swing. Naturally there's going to be some revisions and rewrites before it all goes public, but that shouldn't take too awfully long.

Thanks for your continued interest Bro...and thanks for your patience with me as I get this labor of love finished up.

It's a great story, we'll stay tuned waiting for more!!!

And that drawing of Verono is cool!

Thanks for bringing Stephanie to our lives. She's the dreamgirl of any barefoot girl lover!!!

Regards

DG

Thanks Bro...coming from you that means a lot!

Stephanie was a big departure from the types of girls I tend to portray in the stories I write. If you've read any of The Spider and the Fly (and I know you have DG ), Stephanie is almost a CHOIR GIRL when compared to Lacey...whereas Lacey is basically reckless, amoral, and trashy (in good ways *hopefully*), Stephanie has a lot of dilemma's in her decision making, and she tends to fuss and worry a lot. Dennis and I didn't necessarily set out to make her this way, that's just how the chips fell...in other words Stephanie somehow took on a personality all on her own as we wrote about her, and there were times that Dennis and I both felt that we'd lost control of her character! I know stuff like that happens sometimes, but we sure didn't see it coming here...

Anyway, I'm glad to know that Stephanie's been so well received. Hang in there for the whole ride Bro. It should hopefully be a blast.

Ah, Lacey! That's the other side of the coin, the opposite to the good Stephanie. Believe me, I miss Lacey!

On the other hand, a good, well behaved girl like Stephanie can become wild, out of control from time to time!!!

Regards
DG