A Hidden Place by Robert Charles Wilson Read Free Book Online

arms were prickled with black hairs, his angular face was a shadow. He hunched forward threateningly. And there was another shape looming behind him, one of Greg’s buddies, an illiterate millworker named Kluger.
    Next to her, Travis climbed very slowly to his feet. Nancy’s stomach was leaden with fear for him.
    Nevertheless she said, “No, thank you, Greg, I would not like a ride. You shouldn’t have followed me.”
    Greg came closer, his hips thrust forward, his hands loose at his sides.
    “Just curious,” he said. “Just wanted to know what Miss Too-Good-For-Me is up to. Miss Royal Twat.” He spat at Travis’s feet. “Rolling in the dirt with a shit-heel farmboy. Well, well.”
    She stood up. A moment ago, she thought dazedly, everything had been so nice…. “Go away, Greg.”
    “No,” he said. It was a hostile, insinuating whisper: “I want you to ride with me.”
    Travis started forward. But Greg was quick, Greg was terribly quick, and she saw his fist fly out like a piston and heard it connect with Travis’s face.
    Travis reeled back. She looked up at him and saw a ring of blood around his mouth. He was sagging against the timbers of the shack. His eyes were closed.
    “Son of a bitch,” she said.
    Greg laughed. “You dirty-mouthed cunt,” he said triumphantly. “Come on, cunt.” And his friend moved closer, too.
    Greg reached out for her. She drew back against the wall of the shack, next to Travis. Her heart was beating wildly, she could hardly see for the tears that had started in her eyes. But I will fight, she thought. He will not have me without a fight.
    Greg came forward again, his hand suddenly clenched on her wrist … and then, so quickly that she did not understand at first what had happened, Travis’s fist clubbed down on the side of Greg’s head, his foot came up between the legs of Greg’s greasy denims.
    It was clumsy, Nancy thought, but terribly effective. Greg stumbled back and then fell to the ground, clutching himself, shouting “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” —so loudly that Nancy thought the whole town might hear.
    Travis turned to face Kluger … but Kluger, his mouth an astonished 0, only stumbled back and pulled Greg to his feet.
    She looked at Travis and thought: How often has he had to do this!
    His eyes were dilated, vacant. He stared at Greg and Kluger. Greg, crimson-faced, drew himself up as if he might be willing to stay and fight it out; but Kluger whispered something in his ear and Greg nodded and backed off. It was over as quickly as that. Greg shouted once from the darkness, an insult or a threat—Nancy could not make out the words—and then there was the sound of Greg’s Model T ratcheting down a side road toward The Spur.
    “They’re gone,” she breathed.
    She felt Travis relax next to her.
    “You’re hurt,” she said. “Let me help. Travis?” She took his hand. “Please.”
    She led him across the dark field, down the shallow bank of the Fresnel to a quiet place she knew where pussy willows had grown up. The river had retreated in the dry season but she took his hand and guided him across a pair of broad, flat rocks until they stood surrounded by running water. “Kneel down,” she said.
    He went down on his haunches at the edge of the rock.
    She cupped fresh water from the Fresnel and washed his mouth with it. There seemed to be no loose teeth. That was good.
    His blood ran into her hand and she dried him with the hem of her skirt. She did what she could, then sat cross-legged on the rock with his head in her lap. He was breathing more easily now. The first stars were coming out.
    “This is what it means,” he said thickly.
    She looked at him, frowning. “Travis?”
    He said, “You let him screw you?”
    It was a vulgar question but she answered seriously. “No. He wanted to. I wouldn’t. That’s why he’s mad at me.”
    Travis nodded, seemed to mull over the information.
    “This is what it means,” he said finally. “Being a