CHAPTER 19 - DARK KNIGHT

            When I looked up and saw Michael standing over me, I was so startled that I let out a strangled squeak of fright. Once again, he had appeared silently and seemingly out of nowhere. Instinctively, I shrank back into one corner of the armchair, trying to make myself as small and unobtrusive as possible. For the first and only time in my life, I was afraid of Michael and what he might have done to Bobby - regardless of how much Bobby might have deserved it.

            Michael just stood there for a moment, breathing hard, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, gazing at me in silence. I looked him up and down for any evidence of involvement in an altercation, some clue as to what might have transpired between him and my assailant. There was no trace of blood on his clothes or hands, neither his nor anyone else's it seemed. There was nothing more incriminating than some dust and dirt on the knees of his blue jeans where he'd knelt on the ground.

            Michael saw the wariness and suspicion with which I regarded him, and he took one reeling step backward. I think he recognized the fear in my eyes and it hurt him deeply. "They call it psychological warfare, Maggie," he offered by way of explanation. His tone of voice was low and calm and he spoke slowly like someone trying to reassure a frightened animal.

            "What someone thinks you'll do to 'em can be more effective than anything you might really do to 'em. I promise I only made threats. What you saw was all that happened." He looked out the window in the direction of the Handy Mart for a long moment, and then he turned back and leveled his gaze straight at me and confessed, "But the truth is I wanted to kill him." He said it so calmly and quietly that the admission was all the more chilling for the softness of his words

            Part of me was horrified. All my life, I'd heard people make that threat figuratively, but I knew that Michael was totally in earnest. This was not make-believe mayhem on television; this was the real and honest deal. I knew that Michael was only a few years removed from his tours of duty in Vietnam. I came to the sobering realization that as a soldier he had not only learned how to kill someone up close and personally, he had possibly done it. "You really could've, couldn't you?" It was more of a statement than a question.

            "About a dozen different ways," he confirmed with a shrug of feigned insouciance. There was a challenge in his steady gaze as he declared flatly, "I'm not gonna apologize for it."

            "No apology expected," I whispered. I was less horrified by his admission, though, than I was by my own realization that none of his past deeds made any difference in the way I felt about him. "I'm just glad you came along when you did."

            Michael sat down on the ottoman in front of my chair. "How's your throat?" He placed two fingers under my chin and tilted my face up toward the light as he looked for signs of bruising.

            "It's fine," I assured him, "now that I can breathe again. My face hurt worse, and it's only a little bit sore."

            He scowled. "Your face?"

            "Um . . . where he hit me," I grimaced in anticipation of the thundering that was sure to follow.

            "He hit you?!" Michael bellowed. He was almost at the point of jumping up and running out to find Bobby and finish what he'd started, but I grabbed his wrist in both my hands to hold him back. Allowing himself to be restrained, he sat back down. "Good thing I missed that," he said, "otherwise I might have killed him."

            He examined my face and I winced as he applied gentle pressure to my cheekbone. "Is that tender?" he inquired.

            I nodded. He got up and went into the kitchen returning a few moments later with a packet of peas from the freezer. "Here," he said as he handed the plastic bag to me. "Put this on your face."

            "Thanks," I responded, applying the makeshift ice pack to my cheek. The loose peas allowed the bag to mold easily to my cheek, and the cold felt surprisingly good.

            Michael's next statement caught me by surprise. "You know, what he did qualifies as an assault, Maggie. And, I'm a corroborating witness. We should call the police. File charges."

            It was my turn to be horrified as I dropped the bag and grabbed both his hands in mine. "No way!" I exclaimed. "Please, please, please, please promise me you won't call the police!" Pride be damned. I was begging.

            Now Michael was the one puzzled and slightly suspicious. "It was a crime, Maggie. Why don't you wanna report it?"

            "'Cause Bobby's crazy," I explained. "Even if they arrest him, they won't keep him locked up forever, and once he gets out, he's gonna be pissed! And he's gonna want to get back at the people who put him in jail. Bobby holds a grudge, and there's no tellin' what he'll do. In fact, there's no tellin' what he may try to do to you just for what happened today."

            Michael smiled indulgently. "Don't worry about me, honey. I can take care of myself."

            "You don't understand," I protested. "Bobby's sneaky!"

            Michael smirked and replied with a wink, "But I'm sneakier!" Then, he became more serious, "You're really scared of him?"

            "Heck, yes! Everybody's scared of him! Like when we were kids, Tommy Mills had this beautiful German shepherd named Goliath. He was a big dog, must've weighed at least a hundred pounds. One day we were playing and Bobby pushed Tommy off his bicycle. Well, Goliath lunged at him. He didn't even bite Bobby; only snapped at him an' scared him. Two days later, the dog came up dead. They said it was poisoned. Everybody knows Bobby did it, but, of course, nobody can prove it.

            "Then, just last year, somebody set fire to the field house at the football stadium. It only damaged one wall 'cause they were able to put it out before it burned down the whole building, but it happened right after the coach tried to kick Bobby off the team for ‘disciplinary problems'. It's the same deal; everybody knows who did it, but nobody has any proof. And stuff like that's been goin' on as long as I've known Bobby. Somebody pisses him off an' accidents start happenin'."

            On the one hand, I really was afraid of repercussions from our run-in with Bobby, but there was another, more subtle and less noble reason that I didn't want Michael to call the police. Since I was a minor, involving the police would necessitate involving my parents. And involving my parents would necessitate introducing them to the man who had come to my rescue. And once that happened, there were bound to be questions about the exact nature of our relationship. Those were questions I didn't want to answer. And, there were also a few questions whose answers I didn't want to know.

            Michael acquiesced. "Okay. No police. But stay away from him, Maggie."

            I was a little annoyed. "Don't you think I tried?!" I harrumphed. "It's not like I asked for any of that." Then, a thought aroused my own suspicions. "Wait a minute! You don't think I asked for that, do you?" Way back then, there was still a tendency to criminalize the victim in situations where the assailant was an acquaintance. No one had yet heard of the idea of date rape, and the general consensus was that women only got what they were asking for. Of course, in these semi-enlightened times, we now know that idea to be patent bullshit.

            He sighed, "No, honey, I know you didn't ask for it. But if we did have him arrested and he went to trial, that's the case his lawyer would try to make." Michael rubbed his hands over his face, looking tired and resigned. "You're probably right about not involvin' the police, but I surely don't like the idea of just lettin' him run around loose."

            "I'm not real crazy about it, either, but there isn't a whole lot we can do short of makin' him disappear."

            "Don't think it couldn't be arranged," Michael groused.

            "But if you go to prison for murder, I won't be able to visit you," I cajoled.

            Michael's whole expression changed. "And speaking of visitin' me, how come I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in the last couple of weeks? You been avoiding me?"

            Caught off guard, I immediately went on the defensive. "Don't be silly! Why would I do that?!"

            "Well, now I don't rightly know. You'll have to tell me." He made a face of wide-eyed innocence. Then he smiled indulgently. "Let me give you a little piece of advice, Magnolia," he said as he tapped me playfully on the end of the nose. "Never play poker. You're no good at bluffin'."

            I retreated behind a shield of affronted dignity. "I don't know what on earth you're talkin' about."

            "It doesn't matter, hon. I just wanted to be sure I hadn't hurt your feelin's or somethin'. You were definitely in a mood when you left here last time."

            I dropped my eyes Might as well 'fess up. "No, you didn't do anything."

            Michael was like a bulldog worrying a bone. He wasn't going to drop the subject. "Well then what happened? Did Stacy say or do somethin' to upset you?"

            I shook my head. "Not really, I guess." Sighing heavily, I tried to figure out how to explain to Michael what I didn't completely understand myself. "I was afraid of bein' in your way an' wearin' out my welcome. I didn't think you wanted some goofy kid hangin' around all the time." Man! That sounded lame even to my ears.

            But Michael seemed to accept it. "You're not a goofy kid, Magnolia. You're my friend," he assured me. "And friends are honest with each other. If I need space, I'll tell you." He hugged me. It was an innocent, brotherly hug. "It's okay, honey. I'm just sorry you couldn't confide in me, whatever the problem was."

            Oh, he's good! I thought. When it came to guilt trips, Michael could give lessons to Jewish mothers. At that moment, though, I didn't mind a little guilt trip. I was just overjoyed that my self-imposed exile from Michael was finally over.

***

            We talked for a while, catching up on the two weeks that we'd been apart. Finally, it was time for me to leave, and I rose ever so reluctantly. "I guess I'd better be getting' home." On impulse, I leaned over and gave him another hug. "I'll never be able to thank you for showin' up like that. I was really gettin' scared."

            "Aw, shucks, ma'am," he replied as he patted me gently on the back. "Just doin' my job." He looked out of the window. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

            That sounded lovely, but I had no idea how I'd explain Michael to my folks. "Oh, that's okay," I replied trying not to be obviously evasive. "I'm sure I'll be okay."

            Michael conceded. "Well, I really don't think Bobby will bother you again," his expression became very stern, "but if he so much as looks crossways at you, I wanna know about it."

            I traced the customary "X" on my chest. "You'll be the first," I promised.

            Despite my brave words to Michael, I was a little concerned that Bobby might be lying in wait for me somewhere, so I did not dawdle on my way home. However, I arrived at my destination without incident.

            Once in the safety of my bedroom, I flopped across my bed heaved a sigh of relief. Whew! What a day! Suddenly it dawned on me that I'd never actually gotten around to purchasing the magazine I'd set out to buy. I couldn't contain my delighted laughter. Oh well! I guess I'll just have to go back tomorrow!

            And, true to Michael's assurances, Bobby never bothered me again. In fact, I didn't have to worry about avoiding Bobby because Bobby went out of his way to avoid me. If he saw me coming, he'd cross to the other side of the street or turn around and go the other way. Whatever Michael had said to him that afternoon was obviously very convincing and very effective.

            Michael's presence probably went a long way in convincing Bobby to leave me alone as well. Nearly every night following our encounter I heard a motorcycle travel down the street at just around midnight. It would slow to a stop in front of the Suttons' house. The engine would rev loudly three times, and then the unseen cyclist would roar away into the darkness. I would roll over, smile, and go back to sleep. My guardian angel was on duty.