Candlemoth by R. J. Ellory Read Free Book Online Page A

perhaps for
me, but she could do nothing. She belonged here, Nathan did not, and if I was
close with Nathan then I didn't belong here either. Hell, they were just honest
white kids hanging out, having some fun, and Marty Hooper and Larry James had
gotten a little overheated, granted, but no reason to go overboard.
        I
smiled at her, I remember that, but she didn't smile back. She looked away,
looked towards the floor, anywhere but right back at me. And it was at that
point she became something else, someone else. I felt a sense of loss, and yet
again a sense of relief. For as long as I could recall I had been torn between
her and Caroline, torn between the two of them like a man strung between two
carts travelling in opposite directions. I could only have held out so long
before feeling something give, before watching myself unravel at the seams and
collapse inside. In that moment, the moment I turned towards her, she had
betrayed me, she had become one of them. I believed it would have been
impossible to ever forgive her. I let her go, I know I did. At that very moment
I let her go, and even through those seconds of panic I found myself thanking
some higher force that Caroline Lanafeuille had not been there to witness my
bruised pride. Caroline retained her pedestal, while Sheryl Rose Bogazzi's crown
slipped and rolled soundlessly to the gutter.
        By
the time we reached the street there must have been five or six behind us. The
guys came out, the girls stayed inside, and I remember hearing Benny Amundsen's
voice over the hubbub.
         Take
your trouble outside, he was saying. You boys take your trouble outside .
        Benny
knew what was happening, would have been the first to realize it, but he would
do nothing. Benny could not be seen to side with a negro.
        When the
first stone came we started running. Nathan was taller than me, his legs
longer, and had it been a race he would have outstripped me in a heartbeat.
        But
he didn't, he kept with me step for step, and when we reached the turning at
the end of the street he actually hung back to let me turn first in case we
collided.
        Had
he not done that he would never have been hit.
        The
stone caught him on the cheek, and to this day I can recall the sound as
clearly as if it were but five seconds ago. A dull thud, like someone thumping
a side of beef hanging in the shed. And even as he howled I saw blood, and in
seeing blood everything changed.
         Blood
on the teeth is an expression I heard once. Once the animal has blood on
its teeth it never loses that taste. Craves it. Lives for it.
        The
running gang behind us became crazy.
        What
had been a jog in our direction became a chase, and even as they chased us I
felt stones whipping by my head, heard the sounds as they hit the sidewalk or
the wooden front of a store.
        Somewhere
a window smashed.
        I
looked at Nathan. His eyes were wide with fear, the left side of his face
covered with blood, and somewhere within me I found a reserve of passion and
strength and stamina because I took off like a rocket and for a moment left
Nathan behind.
        How
long we ran I can't remember, but suddenly there was someone ahead of us, and
in a flash we were past them and I heard them shouting.
        I
slowed, came to a stop, Nathan alongside me, and when we turned we saw something
that I would never forget.
        Mrs.
Chantry stood in the middle of the street, resolute, immovable.
        Above
her head she held a heavy-looking stick, and when she spoke it seemed like her voice
came right up out of the earth and filled the street and every building along
it.
        'You
stop right there!' she hollered.
        I
looked at Nathan.
         Rock
and a hard place, his eyes said.
        The
running gang behind us came to a staggered and surprised halt, bumping into one
another, each jostling to see who was standing in their