Gatherings 5 Fourth Gathering: The Inner Sanctum and Virgin’s Blood Chuck had given Chris the OK early Wednesday morning. A few hours later, Chris hitched a ride off campus and procured for himself a Jason-style hockey mask. He also restocked on diapers, and, at Chuck’s request, picked up a bottle of fruit punch. The clerk on duty asked what all of it was for. Chris replied that he only wish he knew. It was the truth, too. He had no idea what he was getting himself into. “They are meeting in the woods tonight,” he told Stacy later on. “You’re kidding, right?” she said. “That’s perfect! We can just get a video camera and…” He held a finger to her lips. “Don’t even think about it. If you blow my cover, there are going to be a lot of guys wanting to kick my ass.” “How do you know they don’t want to already?” she teased. Chris shrugged. “I always just assumed they would have done so by now. Anyway, I’ll keep my eyes open and tell you what I see.” “Yeah. You do that.” Come nighttime, Chris and Chuck took off together in the direction of the woods. “Do you know where you’re going?” Chris asked. “Of course I know where I’m going. Only assholes get lost in the woods.” That would be me, Chris thought. When they got to the woods’ edge, they donned their masks. Chris had the fruit punch with him and Chuck was carrying a paintbrush. Chris felt like he was about to step into an Andy Warhol painting. Why did the truly strange stuff only happen late at night? Because no one was watching? But someone was always watching. He’d be watching tonight. In roughly the same place where the girls met only a few nights earlier stood a consortium of mask-wearing individuals. Forget Warhol, Chris thought. This was definite Kubrick territory. As it was too dark to identify anyone by face, he instead tried to find familiarity amongst the voices. He listened for names. “Hey Chris,” Matt greeted. “Welcome aboard. You get the blood…er…fruit punch.” “Right here,” Chris replied. Did he just say blood? “Excellent. Start introducing yourself around. We won’t start for another five minutes or so.” Chris nodded. This was going to be easy after all. He walked from masked face to masked face, dropped his name, made a few politically incorrect wisecracks and listened for replies. Name upon name tumbled into the registers of his memory. He found it shocking. These were people he knew. Some of them were his friends. And yet, they were…well, he didn’t know WHAT they were doing, but it couldn’t have been good, could it? He was direly confused. “Yo!” Matt yelled. “All throw down for Father Thorn!” Chris watched as the crowd fell silent and a masked man stepped forward. Thorne, Chris thought. Where did that name sound familiar? “Thank you, Brother Matt,” said Thorne. A professor, maybe? He sounded older. “You know, I saw something very troubling in the Times the other day. There was an article about an artist who was fired because his sculpture, which was to appear in a town square, was thought by some to be racially insensitive. Beside this article was a political cartoon which painted our President in a most unfavorable light. I ask you, is this not hypocrisy…” Now Chris remembered. Thorne was a professor in the history department. Ryan had him for a class. He said he was a real hardass. But why was he mixed up in this? As far as Chris could tell, the people here were following Matt. But Matt appeared to be following Thorne. Why? Did Thorne have something to do with what happened to Pam? Intent on finding answers, Chris listened to Thorne’s impassioned rant. He found himself alternately bored and captivated, repulsed and inspired. In his mind, it all amounted to nothingness. It was zero with a lot of fancy rhetoric, but zero just the same. “And now,” Thorne said. “I figured it’s time we have some fun. Matt?” “Ancient civilizations believed that painting themselves with the blood of virgins could prolong their lives. Bullshit, of course, but why not give it a try?” The crowd voiced their approval. One by one, they stepped forth, removed their masks and held still while Matt painted the ‘blood’ (actually fruit punch) upon their faces. When it came time for Chris to step forward, he found that he was hesitant. The blood seemed symbolic of a vow of some sort, a vow he could never keep. He felt like a traitor. So far, these guys had done NOTHING wrong. But would Pam lie to him about being assaulted? What was going on? “Well Chris?” Matt asked him. “You in?” Slowly, Chris removed his mask. Matt took the paintbrush, dipped it in the fruit punch and applied a few strokes to Chris’s cheeks. The brush was hard and cold. He felt like branded cattle. “Live long, brother,” Matt said. “You too,” Chris found himself replying. When he left the woods that night, he did not report back to Stacy. In fact, he avoided her entirely. Do this, do that. Help us, please. He was tired of being a pawn. The Nightmare, the Walkout and Chris Gets Busted That night, Chris had a dream so horrific that it made Gigli seem tame by comparison. He woke from it in the very early hours of the morning, screaming and clutching the covers as if they might provide the sanctuary he so desperately longed for. It caused him to question his sanity. It made him wish he was back at home in his mother’s arms. In Chris’s dream, Matt and Pam were in the middle of making out. Her legs were wrapped tightly around him as their tongues grappled for position inside each others’ mouths. His hands crept under her shirt and felt the cups of her bra. He was looking forward to what would probably be a very good lay. “This is boring,” she said abruptly. He stopped. The look on his face was one of bewilderment. “Excuse me?!” “Not YOU,” she replied. “This. This school. Doesn’t anything ever happen around here?” “Sure. There’s parties all the time.” “I’m not talking about parties.” He gave her a confused glance and she leaned into his ear and whispered. A moment later, he dumped her unceremoniously from his lap. “You’re crazy!” he chastised. “Get out of here.” “Oh, come on Matt,” she insisted. “You know you want to.” “Besides, it won’t work.” “Sure it will. People will do whatever you tell them. You’re a god around here, remember? As for me…. I’m the innocent freshman girl. Why WOULDN’T anyone believe me?” “This means that much to you?” he asked. She licked the corners of her mouth seductively. “It means very much.” And that’s when Chris woke up. It was a harrowing vision. As much as he didn’t want to believe it, it made perfect sense. But it was a DREAM. But did that mean it wasn’t true? And, if it was, who else was in on it? Stacy. No way. He’d already doubted her once and she’d been by his side unconditionally ever since. And yet… Chris sprinted from his room to the bathroom and ducked his head under the shower. The stinging blast of water woke him up and shook off some of the confusion. Nonetheless, he doubted he’d get back to sleep. It was 4AM and he had class in the morning. He felt like shit. And so it goes. Chris did not sleep any more that night. While he would undoubtedly be tired later, he felt quite energized by the time his peers were groggily awakening. In fact, he was so energized that he decided to go for an early morning jog. He jogged right by Stacy while she was en route to get breakfast. “There you are,” she scolded. He seemed to take no notice of her. “Chris?” So she took it upon herself to go after him. He led her away from the center of campus and toward the main road that marked the border. When at last he stopped to catch his breath, she found herself standing behind him with mounting concern. “What’s gotten into…” she began before he clamped a hand over her mouth. “I need to know that I can trust you,” he said, crazed in his calmness. “Can I trust you?” Though wide-eyed and fearing for her safety, she nodded and he removed his hand. “I didn’t catch up with you last night because I was having second thoughts,” he explained. “I mean, the whole time I was there, they didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong. Nothing! Just a bunch of upset guys venting about stuff and having a good time. It felt kind of cool to tell you the truth. And then, last night I had this dream. It was really horrible, but it makes sense you see. I saw Matt and Pam together. It was her idea, not his. They staged the whole thing.” Stacy seemed to transform before him. Her sassiness disappeared. Her confidence burned out quicker than Keith Richards’ cigarette. She was, just as he had been, completely and utterly confused. And while he felt bad for her, seeing her like that made him smile. “You mean that thought never crossed your mind?” he asked. “It does make sense, really. She was right: its her word against his.” “No,” she replied firmly. “Nu-uh. No way Pam would do something like that.” “How well do you know her?” Chris asked. “I thought I knew her, but…” “I thought I knew you!” she snapped. “But Jesus, Chris, this is crazy. It’s…. I don’t even want to think about it!” “Well you’d better start thinking,” he told her. “Because this is only going to get more messed up. Now I asked if I can trust you. Can I? Or are you just trying to….” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Chris, you can trust me.” “Good. I’m going to continue to find out what I can, only I’m not doing it for Pam anymore. I’m doing it because I’m tired of being jerked around. I want to know!” “So do I,” she said. “But at the same time, I’m scared. Ya know?” He nodded. “You can tell me though,” she said. “I won’t tell the others if that’s what you want.” “OK,” Chris replied. “I’ll tell you.” As they walked back towards the center of campus, Chris gave a full report on the night’s findings. He named names. He no longer felt like such a rat doing so. If there were no sides, he could be a traitor to no one. “You’ve been up since 4?” Stacy asked. Chris nodded. He had a mouth full of muffin. “Ugh, that sucks. Well…you can always take a nap later.” “I don’t take naps,” he said, swallowing his muffin. “Oh…I forgot,” she taunted. “You’re such a macho guy…. you could NEVER take a nap.” Chris made a chest-pounding gesture and she laughed. “Tell you what,” she said. “You can take a nap after sem. You’ll like it. Trust me.” He nodded. She said he could trust her, didn’t she? Gary Thorne checked his watch. His class began at 12:30, but he always started a minute late to give any stragglers a chance to get into class before tasting his wrath. As he looked around, he saw a full house. Excellent, he thought. The name of the class was Early American History. Today, he would be lecturing on the Federalist Papers. It was one of Gary’s favorite topics. At 12:32, Gary cleared his throat and began to speak. When the second hand on his watch skipped past six, his class abruptly rose to their feet, turned and walked out the door. Gary was stunned at first. Was this some kind of a prank? When his students began walking down the hall, he realized it was no prank. His class had simply quit on him. “Hey!” he shouted after them. “Class is not dismissed. I’ll see that you get Fs. Every last one of you!” He meant it, too. Somehow, however, he didn’t think that would matter. Gary longed for a bourbon. He’d have to settle for coffee. Life was full of compromises.
