The Academy by Bentley Little Read Free Book Online

sound as though they were coming from a room or section of building that they were not. So while there wasn’t supposed to be anyone in here at this hour, it was entirely possible that one of the coaches had left a radio on in an office or something. There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for the fact that he heard people talking in the girls’ locker room.
     
     
    But he didn’t think so, did he?
     
     
    No.
     
     
    Carlos tilted his head, put his ear closer to the crack between the double doors. He could hear both male and female voices, and there was something about their tone that made him pause, that kept him from opening the door and peeking inside to discover the source. They were not just talking; there were moans and yelps, grunts and gasps. It sounded like an orgy, but not one that he would ever care to join. Yes, he heard cries of pleasure and the light rhythmic slapping of skin, but there were other sounds as well, disturbing sounds, and male laughter that was harsh, cruel and far too loud. He tried to make out words, did his best to decipher what was being said, but everything was muffled. The only thing clear was that brutal laughter.
     
     
    It sounded like his dad.
     
     
    Carlos’ heart tripped in his chest, its beat stumbling as he recognized the familiar cadence. His father used to laugh every time he’d hit him—which was often—but he had not thought of that in years. Right before the old man had left for good, he’d beaten him with the buckle end of a belt and they’d both been naked and his dad had had a boner. Carlos had never told anyone about that, had successfully tamped down that memory and had not even recalled it himself until now, but the pain and humiliation caused by that act were still there and still stung, and they prompted him to take out his master key and yank open the locker room door.
     
     
    Silence.
     
     
    Silence and darkness.
     
     
    He had not imagined what he’d heard, and he turned on the lights, holding tightly to the handle of a broom, ready to use it as a weapon should he encounter any sort of threat.
     
     
    He walked forward slowly. At first glance, the locker room appeared to be empty, but he checked in the coaches’ offices and went up and down each aisle anyway, looking for signs of anything amiss. He didn’t expect to find anything—didn’t want to find anything—but halfway down the center row, on the low flat bench between the two banks of temporary lockers, lay a pile of wet bloody towels.
     
     
    From somewhere in the shower area came the sound of a loud slap, followed by a girl’s scream.
     
     
    And that deep harsh laughter.
     
     
    His dad.
     
     
    Carlos ran back the way he’d come, his fingers hurting from clutching the broom handle so tightly. He didn’t bother to close or lock the door behind him, or even take his cart. He simply sped as fast as he could away from the “sports complex,” running past the empty tennis courts, and through the open corridor between the social science classrooms—
     
     
    Where he nearly knocked over Rakeem.
     
     
    “Jesus!” Rakeem yelled. He had finished with the office and was heading over to the first-floor classes.
     
     
    Finished with the office?
     
     
    That was a one-hour job on a good day. It had been only about ten minutes. Carlos examined Rakeem’s face, looking for any indication that something out of the ordinary might have happened. “You okay?” he asked.
     
     
    “Sure.” Rakeem would not meet his eyes. “What are you running away from?”
     
     
    He wanted to tell the other man what he’d heard, what he’d seen—if anyone would believe him, Rakeem would—but there’d been a hint of derision in Rakeem’s voice when he’d asked the question, and despite his suspicion that Rakeem had encountered something in the office, he thought about his partner’s earlier admonition against talking to Enrique.
     
     
    Carlos wiped the sweat from his forehead, breathed deeply. “Nothing,” he lied.