flooded the room. I
twisted the lock on the knob and we leaned against the door,
listening to see if we’d been noticed. It didn’t seem as
though we had.
“ I
think we’re okay,” I said, ear pressed against the door.
My angel-friend didn’t answer. “Piper?”
I pivoted from the
door and found her staring across the room. I expected to see we’d
found refuge in a storage closet, but my expectation was incorrect.
Instead, we’d entered an office. I’d never heard of
anyone keeping an office off a boys’ locker room, but I also
wouldn’t have expected to find a locker room at the bottom of
stairs normally leading to a subway platform or a dog-fighting pit
behind the door of a doctor’s office waiting room, either.
Seems Hell is full of surprises.
I took in the
office with a quick glance: a four-drawer metal filing cabinet stood
against one wall, basketballs of different brands filled a rolling
rack nearby. A box in one corner over-flowed with whiffle balls and
the scoops for throwing them; orange mesh pull-over tops used for
differentiating teams spilled over the side of a second, smaller
box, tossed in by careless hands. A simple desk with two drawers sat
against the far wall, a man at it perched on the edge of a wooden
desk chair, his back to us. He didn’t seem to notice we’d
entered.
I stepped up beside
Piper and she raised her hand, stopping me. She extended a finger
toward the desk, pointing out the one thing I hadn’t noticed:
a closed-circuit television.
It looked like one
which might have been found performing security duty in a 7/11
sometime in the eighties, the screen no more than twelve inches
across, the picture in grainy black and white. I couldn’t tell
what was on the screen from where we stood, so we edged closer,
trying not to betray our presence. After a few steps, I saw multiple
figures moving around on the screen but still couldn’t tell
who or what, nor get an inkling of where the camera on the other end
might be. Intent on the screen, the man didn’t notice us.
Piper must have
realized what he watched before I did because she averted her gaze,
put her hand on my chest to stop me from getting any closer and
shook her head. A spark flared in my heart at her touch but I
brushed her hand aside and took two more steps, less concerned about
the man noticing my presence after seeing her reaction.
The picture
cleared: the boys in the locker room. Most of them were shirtless,
changing out of their gym clothes; a few had already stripped to hit
the showers, also clearly in view of the camera’s placement.
One boy stood at the center of the locker room, staring up at the
camera as if he looked through it and out the other side.
I looked away and
into the face of the man for the first time. He was older than I
remembered; his hair had receded a few inches from his forehead,
contacts replaced the wire-rimmed glasses he’d worn. He stared
intently at the screen, an unsettling look on his face.
“ Tony?”
He didn’t
hear me. The wooden chair creaked beneath him as he leaned forward
awkwardly, getting a better look, and I noticed his arms were tied
to the chair. He licked his lips and leaned back, his eyes
flickering down to his lap. My gaze followed his to the bulge in his
red gym shorts with white stripes down the side. He looked back up
to the screen and I recognized the unsettling look on his face as a
mix of desire and desperation—a staple of Hell’s
punishments.
My stomach did a
somersault, anger and disgust exploding in my chest. My foot lashed
out kicking the edge of the chair and sending it skittering across
the room on squeaky wheels.
“ What
the fuck are you doing?”
The man who was
once my youth soccer coach—and who also coached my son—looked
up, surprised. It made me angrier to see he didn’t seem to
have any guilt mixed in his expression.
“ Who
are you?”
I clamped my teeth
together, grinding my molars.
“ Ric
Fell,” I said, anger compressing my
twisted the lock on the knob and we leaned against the door,
listening to see if we’d been noticed. It didn’t seem as
though we had.
“ I
think we’re okay,” I said, ear pressed against the door.
My angel-friend didn’t answer. “Piper?”
I pivoted from the
door and found her staring across the room. I expected to see we’d
found refuge in a storage closet, but my expectation was incorrect.
Instead, we’d entered an office. I’d never heard of
anyone keeping an office off a boys’ locker room, but I also
wouldn’t have expected to find a locker room at the bottom of
stairs normally leading to a subway platform or a dog-fighting pit
behind the door of a doctor’s office waiting room, either.
Seems Hell is full of surprises.
I took in the
office with a quick glance: a four-drawer metal filing cabinet stood
against one wall, basketballs of different brands filled a rolling
rack nearby. A box in one corner over-flowed with whiffle balls and
the scoops for throwing them; orange mesh pull-over tops used for
differentiating teams spilled over the side of a second, smaller
box, tossed in by careless hands. A simple desk with two drawers sat
against the far wall, a man at it perched on the edge of a wooden
desk chair, his back to us. He didn’t seem to notice we’d
entered.
I stepped up beside
Piper and she raised her hand, stopping me. She extended a finger
toward the desk, pointing out the one thing I hadn’t noticed:
a closed-circuit television.
It looked like one
which might have been found performing security duty in a 7/11
sometime in the eighties, the screen no more than twelve inches
across, the picture in grainy black and white. I couldn’t tell
what was on the screen from where we stood, so we edged closer,
trying not to betray our presence. After a few steps, I saw multiple
figures moving around on the screen but still couldn’t tell
who or what, nor get an inkling of where the camera on the other end
might be. Intent on the screen, the man didn’t notice us.
Piper must have
realized what he watched before I did because she averted her gaze,
put her hand on my chest to stop me from getting any closer and
shook her head. A spark flared in my heart at her touch but I
brushed her hand aside and took two more steps, less concerned about
the man noticing my presence after seeing her reaction.
The picture
cleared: the boys in the locker room. Most of them were shirtless,
changing out of their gym clothes; a few had already stripped to hit
the showers, also clearly in view of the camera’s placement.
One boy stood at the center of the locker room, staring up at the
camera as if he looked through it and out the other side.
I looked away and
into the face of the man for the first time. He was older than I
remembered; his hair had receded a few inches from his forehead,
contacts replaced the wire-rimmed glasses he’d worn. He stared
intently at the screen, an unsettling look on his face.
“ Tony?”
He didn’t
hear me. The wooden chair creaked beneath him as he leaned forward
awkwardly, getting a better look, and I noticed his arms were tied
to the chair. He licked his lips and leaned back, his eyes
flickering down to his lap. My gaze followed his to the bulge in his
red gym shorts with white stripes down the side. He looked back up
to the screen and I recognized the unsettling look on his face as a
mix of desire and desperation—a staple of Hell’s
punishments.
My stomach did a
somersault, anger and disgust exploding in my chest. My foot lashed
out kicking the edge of the chair and sending it skittering across
the room on squeaky wheels.
“ What
the fuck are you doing?”
The man who was
once my youth soccer coach—and who also coached my son—looked
up, surprised. It made me angrier to see he didn’t seem to
have any guilt mixed in his expression.
“ Who
are you?”
I clamped my teeth
together, grinding my molars.
“ Ric
Fell,” I said, anger compressing my
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