Lark

When I let her in I saw the look of steely determination in her eyes. Nora was going to fix things, fix me, and there were no two ways about it. When she told me to hit the showers, after which we were going to lunch, I did. It certainly couldn't hurt for people so see her with me, and I rather liked the idea of her attending to me. It would have to be humiliating for her and I'd savor every morsel of sweet revenge.

The cafeteria fell eerily silent again when we entered, after inching across campus at my whatever-you-do-don't-make-your-balls-bounce pace. She asked me what I wanted to eat, got it, and sat with me. She started talking about her sister's tennis game. Really. I assumed she needed something to fill the void and that's what came up. I ate, mostly tuning Nora out, attending to how the room slowly came alive with hushed, excited, whispers. I enjoyed the many furtive, mystified, dubious glances in her direction.

I adamantly refused to go to the appointment she'd made for me with Dr. Edith Stapleton, head of campus counseling and chair of the psychology department. Before I'd pushed her out the previous night Nora, whose brother had fought through a bout of depression, had decided on her own that I was exhibiting all the symptoms and scheduled a talk with Dr. Stapleton.

As I refused for the third time - Nora is nothing if not persistent - I silently scoffed at the idea. I knew I didn't need it. Though I'd slept longer than I could remember, I'd awakened to an awareness that a part of me, of which I'd previously had inklings, was now clearly present. The hard core deep within was strong, resilient, angry and determined. I was not about to let undeserved misfortune destroy my life. However, being catered to by Nora could be useful, would amuse me, so I went along.

Our days fell into a routine. Nora would tap on my door just before lunchtime. I'd quickly put my books away and hop back in bed - I have always been an early riser and do my best thinking in the AM - and let her assume that she was awakening me. She had already arranged with the Prof of my 10 AM class that I could simply submit the assignments, and that I could do my lab work in the afternoon instead of at 11. This was great by me, as I had the mornings free. I'd do my exercise routine unseen, before anyone else was up, and get some real work done. Once she awoke me, Nora became my constant companion, always talking to me, filling up the silence, in her mind fending off my depression.

I let her think she was doing some good. Part of my revenge was going to be seeing just what I could get her to do for me, how far I could get her to go. She'd already arranged my escape from the most boring class of my college career, was my waitress in the cafeteria, did my laundry, and was debasing herself daily in the eyes of the campus community. All I had to do was keep quiet, shuffle around and act injured. Plus I found many of her rambling conversations interesting and amusing, and often had to bite my tongue to keep from offering comments. Except for one time.

The fourth day of that first week, during one of her extended monologues, her returning to a constant theme became too much. A recurring motif in all her spiels was Nora apologizing, telling me incessantly how sorry she was that she had let Judy and the other women control her, that she had gone along with Judy's plan to make the film. And then especially after the "misunderstanding," - her terminology, mine was "vicious physical assault" - when Judy once more dominated her and mobilized Alice and Janice to help pressure her to falsely accuse me. Nora interspersed her apologies between every other topic and I finally exploded.

I was shocked when the seething rage erupted from deep inside me - one moment I was calmly observing and listening, and the next I was hissing in fury. I yelled in her face that I never wanted to hear her lame excuses again. Ever. She looked stunned, alarmed, and then her face melted. Her shoulders shook with silent, wracking sobs as she quietly stood, turned and walked out my door.

I was surprised at how empty my room felt, at how flat the sauvignon blanc was, at the rancid taste of the salted peanuts, and how truly boring I found my thesis. I called it a night early, curled up on my bed and stared at the wall until I eventually slept.

The sound came from the crazy dream. A huge, mange-ridden black bird was manically pecking at a telegraph sounder. I knew it was sending an important, even crucial, communication, but I had forgotten all the Morse code I once knew and felt a tsunami of panic and desolation sweep over me at my inability to decipher the message. The bird pecked on, frantically, harder and harder, trying to be understood. I struggled with all my essence, yet could grasp nary a clue as to the meaning. Still the bird pecked, harder yet. Rapping, rapping...

"Chad, I'm never going away. You might as well open the door." Finally realizing that my dependable internal alarm clock had failed miserably, again, I stumbled up, took a long drink of water to rinse out the morning breath, preened the bedhead in the mirror, slipped on fresh shorts and tee, and let Nora in.

Our eyes met only briefly on their way to the floor. Nora walked past me, I sat beside her on the bed, and she began talking. About nothing, about everything. I felt the emptiness and desolation from the dream dissipate as my shoulders relaxed and I lay back, lolling in the comforting normalcy of her voice. There were no more apologies from Nora. In their stead I saw remorse and sorrow frequently flash into her eyes as she took a breath to speak, then choke it back. There were no further outbursts from me.

During another unending filibuster she haltingly told me how she had been raped by three creeps when she was barely eighteen. It was at summer camp and three boys from a neighboring camp had lured her off by herself, held her down, pulled off her jeans and panties, and did her. Multiple times. She was so ashamed and traumatized she never told anyone until much later, but it ruined sex for her. At least with guys, except for her revenge manipulations of them. It explained why she'd become a lesbian, and especially why she'd been so terrified when I'd started to enter her. She wept openly as she stammered out the story, and it was all I could do to steel myself, to keep from feeling sympathy.

On the seventh day of Nora eating meals with me, the rubber bands came again, a cute reminder of what I'd supposedly done to myself. A group of four guys, not the brightest bulbs on the tree, thought their fusillade would be hilarious.

It wasn't. Several landed in Nora's and my food, one hit her in the face, and she was not amused at their guffaws. She probably shouldn't have stood up and called them adolescent babies, though the term was perfectly apt. Like the juvenile bullies they were, they goaded each other on as their pique grew, and Nora's protective instincts must have made her walk over and confront them as they approached our table.

I watched dispassionately. That was my mode for everything: watch, be amused, and enjoy her capitulations and humiliations. However, when one guy actually roughly pushed her I found myself suddenly between them. Hurting Nora was my job, not that of the overstuffed, greasy-haired, pimply jerk who seemed like he might actually hit her.

He tried to sneer wickedly down at me. The sucker was big. And stupid, which he proved when he opened his mouth. He glanced back at his posse for backbone as he derisively called out, "Hey, pervert. Why don't you drop your pants and show us those pathetic balls of yours. Or maybe I'll just de-pants you, hold you up and let flash you to everybody here." His laughter was forced, mocking, and prompted the same from his buddies.

The cold, calculating essence from within me took over as the fool reached out to grab a handful of my tee-shirt. As soon his fingers flattened on my chest I snapped both hands over the back of his and lurched forward and down. I felt my jiu jitsu sensei smile down on me as the joint lock convinced the oaf that collapsing to his knees was a better plan than letting his wrist snap. The follow-up wrist lock put him on his back and I applied increasing pressure as I calmly said, "Apologize to the lady. Now." His voice was high, tremulous, and squeaky as he did, and he and his cohorts followed my advice and skulked off to finish their dinner elsewhere.

When I sat down and began to eat I noted a small sly smile on Nora's face when she sat next to me. As she softly said, "Thank you," I felt her hand come to rest on my thigh. I was stunned, transfixed, completely torn between the competing urges to take her hand in mine and to roughly swat it away. Before either impulse won out, her hand suddenly sprang off me, and Nora whispered, "Oh, God, I'm sorry..." Neither of us could miss the similarity to what she had done to me previously.

I still think it was accidental. I certainly didn't intend to brush her wrist with my fingers, but once they did it on their own, it was fait accompli, and I purposely squeezed the back of her hand under the table as I whispered, "It's fine."

Beyond Nora's relentless company, the other constant in my life was plotting revenge. Her continually returning to the idea of confessing, of telling the police what had really happened as a way of rectifying things, proved the essential element.

I knew that her admission now would be useless. The other women would stick to their testimony rather than face perjury charges, and the cops would simply believe that Nora was suffering some sort of Stockholm Syndrome, making up a story to clear me. She'd lose all credibility and it would do me no good. Though the idea of her humiliating herself did have some appeal, I finally dissuaded her from confessing.

But Nora's idea of involving the law was very intriguing. Charging Janice with felony assault and battery; Judy with heinous assault (what's the charge for attempted castration?), conspiracy, and battery; Alice and Nora with conspiracy, giving false statements to law enforcement, aiding and abetting a felony; would be just retribution. It would damage their lives just as mine had been. But I needed proof.

I needed the video from that night. During one of our many talks - by the second week I'd begun contributing my witty repartee - Nora had said that Jane Picardy, the film student who had placed the camera and recorded everything, had erased it. I had my doubts. Why would she? My bet was, now that Nora was on the outs with FIST for spending all her time with me, they still planned on showing it, once I had recovered and came to Movie Night. For me to steal the video seemed like killing two birds - one a lark - with one stone.

No film major would even consider missing Campus Movie Night, so Jane wouldn't be home. Though her room was a first floor double, I'd always seen her roommate at movies with her. It would be unoccupied. A locked door was to be expected - that message had been drummed into us from the first day of freshman orientation - but the windows? They were a piece of cake. Not that I'm an experienced second story man, but I'd locked myself out of my own room often enough that I figured it out. A sharp, thin knife and a coat hanger bent just right were the tickets. The landscaper who had the idea to plant shrubs right outside the windows to discourage peeping Toms evidently didn't realize that they also provided cover.

One of Jane's windows wasn't even locked, and the screen latches were quick work for the hanger. Inside, the papers beside it on her desk identified which of the two computers was Jane's.

- - - - -

"I've been in the computer lab all night - just check the security monitors." I'd been parroting my alibi incessantly, but the campus cop still wasn't buying it. He was sure his "instinct," telling him I was the computer thief, was correct. Duh.

I'd been very careful, though, so I knew the pseudo-fuzz, Barney Fief-type would have to release me. Soon. I had arrived at the lab well before Movie Night began, and as the feature film was hugely popular, and it was Friday night, no one else was even in the computer science building. I sat at my station, slaving away at my thesis. Yeah, the same one that wasn't going to be accepted for honors. Once I knew the movie was running I did have to use the john, though. I grimaced sliding out the bathroom window, and more when I forced myself to sprint, hoodie up, head down, to Jane's. I was back and at my post in fewer than four minutes, not nearly enough time for a gimp with aching balls to do anything nefarious.

Once seated I slipped Jane's computer out of my waistband and booted it up. My exculpatory security camera, the one that would show me in my cubby all night long, was behind me so I knew my desktop was unseen. Picardy's password wasn't complex, but there's no way I could have guessed it. Have I mentioned that my thesis is a program to hack computers?

I had the videos copied to the flash drive in no time and shut the Picardy PC down. I had to visit the Men's Room again - damned cafeteria fish tacos, was my story - and I only took off the flesh-colored surgical gloves I'd had on all night after I'd tossed Jane's machine into the pond. It skipped twice before visiting Davy Jones. I could have returned it, but why take the risk? Besides it was gratifying to know how much she had on it. Hope she backed it up frequently. My flash drive was hidden alongside many others in one of the faculty promotion and tenure files, massive accumulations of praise and publications, which were stored in a large walk-in closet next to the lab. And never looked at again. I'd watched enough footage to know that nothing had been deleted. Vengeance was nigh.

- - - - -

"Why didn't you go in? Why didn't you tell them?"

Nora's questions were revealing. She must have seen me outside the police station. As always she kept up the massage as we talked.

"I don't know," I lied. The flash in Nora's eyes hinted that maybe she knew the truth, too.

I'd planned for days to go to the cops, show them the video and press charges against the four women. Sweet revenge. Justice, even. But when I got to the door I stopped and just turned around. I couldn't do it, for a number of reasons.

First, I knew that, of all the women, Judy was most culpable. She was the instigator, the one who incited the others to do all they'd done. Judy also had a perfect alibi, and would escape justice entirely.

Second, I had grudgingly admitted that Nora's remorse was genuine. She had been doing everything she could to rectify matters, despite substantial difficulties and significant humiliation.

I had also come to enjoy our talks, her company. I now understood her vulnerability, how she had been psychologically injured, even impaired, by the rape, and how it had made her susceptible to manipulation by others, especially Judy. For her to be most severely punished - she's the one who planted evidence against me - did not seem just.

Then there was the surprise. The adrenaline that instantly flooded my system launched me at her as soon as I saw Janice when I opened the door to my room. My unprovoked attack must have stunned her, as my single leg takedown had her on her back and I almost had the choke hold locked in when other hands grabbed my arms from behind and began pulling me off. I knew I was in deep trouble and elbowed the one behind me before turning back to Janice.

Nora's "Ouch!" paralyzed me. It was her holding my arms. "Chad! Stop it! Everything's fine! I invited them here."

As I scrambled to my feet I saw Marsha, Alice, and Jane Picardy standing around me, looking very distressed. As she popped up onto her feet, I realized I'd been wrong about Janice. She had to be six-five and two-fifty easy. Had our scrap continued I would have been in real trouble. When our eyes met hers fell to the floor.

"Chad, you need to listen. My friends" - there was a definite edge to Nora's intonation of that word - "came her to apologize."

Janice went first. She raised her eyes to mine and I saw sincerity, pain and remorse. I closed my mouth when I realized it was agape as she explained that she'd really thought I was raping Nora that night, and was so very sorry for attacking me and going along with Judy's insane plot. She hoped that I had suffered no permanent damage. What could she do to make amends? After the others' profuse apologies, Marsha explained.

Judy had gone off her meds during spring break and by the time I sat at their table her homicidal ideation psychosis was in full bloom. She was ready to begin her crusade against the enemy and had already purchased the elastrator. Castration would be fitting punishment for men, for past crimes and for being men.

Then I had dared to sit at her table. Next to the woman she loved desperately. Judy was a beautiful, persuasive and powerful leader, and consumed with jealous rage she had concocted both plots. Her charismatic fervor swept the others along. Only after the membership learned of the dire consequences of what they had done, did they engineer the coup d'état that had overthrown Judy, who was once again institutionalized. She was now so divorced from reality it was unlikely she'd ever recover.

When Marsha had approached Nora to inquire what could be done to rectify the situation, and Nora informed her of the true scope of what had happened to me, Marsha and the women of FIST were appalled that they been willingly complicit in something so destructive. They had told themselves that they were only following orders. It sounded all too familiar to them, once Judy's malignant zeal had dissipated. Hence our meeting.

I immediately dismissed their idea of telling the police the truth. It was out of the question. The real culprit, Judy, had a ready-made insanity defense. The legal consequences would be most severe for Nora, which was unacceptable, and there was no guarantee that it would even undo any of the damage. The powerful initial public impression of the lurid scenario was already affixed in the ethos. As with so many sensational scandals any retractions or corrections would be much less dramatic and thus ignored.

But together we did devise a plan.

That very afternoon Nora phoned my parents and told them the truth. Simply the threat of the lawsuit from my father's lawyer, the same guy who bargained away my honors, was enough for CUFF to have removed my page from their site.

I accepted the invitation to become the first male member of FIST. We all laughed when I ran for, and won, the position of chapter secretary. They joined Nora and me at meals, we sat with each other in classes, and when we all walked together at graduation it had a significant effect on my professors and fellow students. Obviously, something hinky had happened. Though exactly what had transpired remained a mystery, our obvious comity indicated that we had resolved it amongst ourselves.

But there was one further reason Nora being hurt was so inimical to me.

The medical treatments had evolved. When I got out of the hospital and Nora first tried to take over my life, I let her think that I actually did need her to tell me when to get up, clean up, eat, study, and sleep. She made me swallow my pills and did everything that eventually seemed to nudge me back to life.

With everything else, she took over icing my balls, then oh-so-gently applying the healing balm to them. Four times a day. Every day. The treatments the nurses had gleefully performed so roughly at the hospital. Maybe it was sadistic of me, but I got some perverse enjoyment out of the extreme care Nora took, how I could frankly ogle her when all her attention was focused on my testes. I found it amusing to see how far she would go, what I could get her to do, and I savored each and every little snippet of revenge.