A Knight Comes To Bed Read online

  “Well, as far has works by Levis, I really like The Widening Spell of the Leaves, which might be a bit corny to pick as my favorite work by him since it is the most popular collection of poetry he has out there. Well, at least in my opinion the most popular,” Rachel said.

  “No, I agree with you on that count, for sure,” Sam said. “A lot of people like Elegy a lot though. Not that I'm saying that Elegy wasn't a testament to what writing, and especially poetry, can do. I'm just saying that…”

  Sam trailed off and they looked at each other in surprise. It was obvious the foremost thought on both of their minds was how well they were both getting along. They smiled at each other, and shared a knowing look between them.

  “What is your favorite play by Shakespeare?” Rachel asked Sam.

  “For me, it has to be Julius Caesar. I love the way Shakespeare challenges you to think differently of patriotism and nationalism by making the heroes of the story assassinate their leader. I guess I'm one of those people that look at the senators that betrayed Caesar as heroes for not leaving the path of reason.”

  “What do you mean?” Rachel asked.

  “The way the senators all compared notes to see if any of them actually thought that Caesar was a God and they decide that a God doesn't get sick and doesn't get confused or make mistakes, and since Caesar got sick and made some mistakes, he must not be a God. Which, in and of itself isn't so big of a deal, but Caesar was establishing himself as a Godhead tyrant at the time, and the men in the senate saw it for what it was.”

  When Sam finished talking, he smiled to himself. He couldn't believe that he was having a conversation about William Shakespeare at a college party. Sussing out the subtle nuances of the play Julius Caesar was a pleasure that he rarely got to enjoy anywhere except inside of a classroom run by a literary professor.

  A small group had gathered around them to listen to them talk. Most of the people listening didn't look like they expected to talk, or even wanted a turn, only being there to absorb the knowledge being passed back and forth between people.

  Rachel looked around at the crowd gathering and wondered if it hadn't been a mistake to strike up a deep conversation about something so nerdy. Not that there was anything wrong with being nerdy, just that sometimes it separated her from other people in ways that were hard to understand.

  But it wasn't that way with Sam… that much had become apparent to her. Sam would more than happily carry on a conversation with her about whatever text she wanted to as long as she wanted, and apparently at his own party in front of all of his peers and guests. Rachel felt pleased with herself in that respect, but also felt something was amiss.

  That's when she noticed the cheerleader from earlier in the day at the library just a few feet away from Sam, slowly swaying in a drunken stupor as she waited for a chance to break into the conversation. From what Rachel could gauge from her demeanor and posture, the cheerleader wasn't offended, just a bit miffed. There wasn't any rage or malice in the girl’s eyes, just a haughty arrogance born from having grown up around too many silver spoons.

  Humility was an attribute hard to come by in college students, that was something Rachel had realized very quickly when she had moved to the university, and that was one of the reasons she liked Sam—he had it going on but also had a level head on his shoulders. The cheerleader shifted her weight from one foot to the other in impatience, then spoke.

  “Sam, I want to go back to my dorm room,” the cheerleader said.

  “Uh, well, you can if you want but the party’s still going on,” Sam said. “And it would be nice if you hung out with everyone for a little bit. I mean, midterm is a stressful time and people probably won't be congregated like this again for at least a month or so.”

  “No, I want you to come with me,” the cheerleader said. “So… you know.”

  The cheerleader ended her sentence with a sultry smile and leaned in close to Sam, quickly giving his neck a little nibble. Sam blushed a deep shade of red, which Rachel found interesting considering his reputation around school as a ladies’ man and expert in bed. The party was still in full swung around them, and even though there weren't frat boys hanging from the rafters or people screaming while someone did a keg stand, it was still pretty raucous.

  Sam's date asking him to leave his own party so they could go back to her dorm room to fool around seemed a little childish of her.

  “What are you two talking about?” the cheerleader asked as she drunkenly sagged against Sam. “You both seem to be enjoying some kind of precious secret.”

  “We kind of are,” Sam said, casting a wide smile at Rachel. “Rachel and I both have a love for poetry that neither of us knew about before just now. It is kind of amazing really. You don't run into many people that can carry on a decent conversation about poetry.”

  For a second their voices were drowned about by the pulsating bass emanating from speakers in the corner of the room, but quickly the volume was turned down to a reasonable level.

  “Really,” the cheerleader said with a sniff. “Well, isn't that something? You made a special friend at your special party. What a surprise and treat for you.”

  Sam's date wasn't having the fact that Sam would rather talk to Rachel about poetry than tangle in sheets with her, and it made Rachel a little uncomfortable. Even though it wasn't her fault, or anyone's fault that she and Sam had hit it off so well, she didn't want to become hated amongst the popular, pretty girls for stealing Sam away from one of the cheerleaders.

  The girl Sam had come with walked off with a haughty look on her face.

  “Aren’t you going to leave with your friend?” Rachel asked.

  “I would, but I kind of feel like she is getting a little bit too much like a girlfriend,” Sam said. “She's alright, but besides being on the same sports team, we don't necessarily have a whole lot in common to talk about besides how practice went yesterday. Which is fine, don't get me wrong. I don't want to sound like an elitist asshole, but it would be nice to talk about something more than what uniforms we will be wearing for the big game, or gossip about people that we don't really know well enough to have an opinion on.”

  “I know what you mean,” Rachel said. “Sometimes it's hard to get along with people outside of the superficial things that we all go through every day.”

  Rachel stopped talking, wondering if she'd gone too far with her words. She didn't want to scare Sam off since he was obviously very much against the idea of having any kind of girlfriend. Sam didn't even like that the vacuous cheerleader he was with was trying to tell him he needed to go back to her place and have sex with her. That said a lot to Rachel about Sam's character and about the situation at large.

  Sam obviously had a lot on his mind, and not just school stuff. Rachel had her own thoughts sometimes about what happened to her father, but he was already gone. She couldn't disappoint him because he was gone. It was something Rachel had made peace with long ago.

  But Sam's father was still around, and because of what had happened to Sam's brother, his father still depended on Sam. He was going to have to rise to the occasion in a big way post college, and he knew it. Rachel knew it as well and thought about it for a second as she looked at Sam, who was looking over at his date with no small amount of concern on his face.

  Rachel bet that Sam didn't want to hurt the friend he'd brought, even though he didn't want to be serious at all with her.

  “I had better go, though,” Rachel said. “I mean, the midterm is soon and I should refresh my memory again tonight to make sure that I am prepared for the exam.”

  “It's too bad you have to go,” Sam said. “Have a good night. Good luck with that test.”

  Rachel turned and left as gracefully as she could manage, leaving Sam standing there among friends and with a cheerleader who wanted to sleep with him, wishing she had stayed.

  Chapter Four

  WHAT DO I really have in common with these people? Sam wondered to himself. It was nice to talk t
o someone like Rachel for a change, someone who liked things he liked.

  Sure, it was okay that the people around him all went to his university and loved him for being a basketball player, but there was more to life than just hero worship.

  Rachel had never once brought up how he was on the basketball team or commented on the varsity jacket that he wore everywhere. To her, it was like none of that mattered. This was somewhat of a new experience for Sam. Most people that met him knew all about him—who he was, what he did, what he liked, what he didn't like—or at least thought they did.

  But Rachel hadn't made any of the usual assumptions about him. People loved to assume that Sam wasn't into nerdy things because, in most people’s minds, anyone who was a jock couldn't also love literature at the same time.

  “Hey,” a voice called out over the general din of the party. “I just found someone's phone. Does anyone know who this person is?”

  A short freshman in a striped sweater held up a phone. On the screen the phone’s owner had a picture of herself and an older woman. The two bore a striking resemblance and were probably mother and daughter.

  Even from across the room Sam could see that it was a picture of Rachel with her mom.

  “I know whose phone that is!” Sam cried.

  In a moment he rushed over and had the phone in his hands. He pocketed it immediately as he maneuvered his way to the door.

  “I need to go get this to the person who left it,” Sam said. Glancing at his date, he added. “I'd hate for someone to get stressed out so close to midterms. That could really hurt a person's grade.”

  People around him agreed as Sam slipped on his jacket and was out the door. He knew he was going to have to move quickly if he wanted to reach Rachel before she made it back to her dorm. The walk back to Rachel’s apartment went right by the library, and fortunately, Sam had seen her stop there several times just to enjoy the sculptures that were out front. He loved the sculptures as well, and seeing her admire them was one of his first memories of Rachel. She didn’t know it, but before their “meeting” in the library, he already knew who she was.

  With a spring in his step, Sam made his way out his door and across his lawn to the street. He looked at the phone in his hands and smiled at the cute picture of Rachel and her mom. They both looked so happy sitting side by side. Sam wondered if Rachel's mom was as smart as she was.

  The night air held a small chill and Sam quickened his step, hoping that moving quickly would warm him enough that he wouldn't be shivering when he finally caught up with Rachel. He caught himself smiling—excited that he’d be able to see her again. He hoped she would be happy to see him too.

  Chapter Five

  SHE’S SO PREDICTABLE, Kurt thought to himself.

  Kurt Sully, football defense lineman, hid behind one of the sculptures outside of the library, watching Rachel's form walk down the street. Her black silhouette cast a long shadow, illuminated by the yellow-gold of the street lamps above her. Kurt had been at Sam's party, seen Rachel and knew she would be heading home sooner than later. He'd hot-footed it out to the sculpture garden to wait at a spot he knew he would be hard to see in the daytime, and especially so at night.

  Kurt had always disliked Rachel. She was a goody-two-shoes know-it-all and he hated that about her almost as much as the looks of contempt she gave him. Rachel was one of those girls that turned their noses up at guys like Kurt. As hard as he tried, no matter how big he got or how many tackles he made, he couldn't get the smart pretty girls to like him.

  Kurt got that he wasn't attractive by any means, having the face of a snubbed-nosed pig rather than an angel. Guys like Sam looked like fucking James Dean in their varsity jackets, while guys like Kurt looked like big thugs with varsity letters.

  Maybe it was just his luck, or his place in life, or his destiny, or whatever that girls like Rachel wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't give him the time of day, but he was over it. Kurt was sick of Rachel's discriminating looks and it was time to put her in her place.

  Rachel thought she was so special, so above it all. Her aloof attitude wouldn't help her tonight, Kurt thought, and he was going to make sure of it.

  Kurt hadn't really given the possible ramifications of his actions much thought. He had shown a couple of girls that had been walking home how good it could be with him and, even though they had cried, he knew they liked it. How could they not? They always liked being fucked, eventually.

  Somehow nothing had happened to Kurt—no street justice or police detective knocking on his door. Kurt had a secret weapon, a strong left hook. Kurt being a southpaw was something only boxers or street fighters really took note of, so he had the element of surprise on his side. Not only that, but Kurt knew how to throw a punch and had no qualms hitting a girl so hard he knocked her out.

  Once they were out, they weren't enough conscious to see what was going on, or really know what had happened except by putting the pieces together. Most of them were so drunk they could barely see anyway, and Kurt suspected Rachel was in the same condition.

  Rachel walked steadily down the hills sidewalk, to the front of the library, and stopped. She was at the point where, if she continued forward without stopping to admire the sculptures, Kurt would have to take action to intercept her or there was the possibility that she could sprint straight away from him.

  As a defense lineman, Kurt wasn't exactly fleet of foot so he was ready to take action, his whole body tensed, when she slowly came to a halt and turned to admire the sculptures.

  The sculpture garden itself was about fifty feet long by thirty feet wide and filled with all types of sculptures. Some of them were the old Gothic kind that filled city cemeteries—angels in flight or ducking around stone crosses, old men with laurels on their brows holding stone anchors while looking stoically into eternity, angels with relaxed wings, and big granite obelisks pointing accusingly at the sky. Those made up about one-fourth of the stone work. The other sculptures were from different kinds of art periods, imitations mostly.

  The university had a great artisan stone working program where final term students had to plan and execute a fairly large piece of stone work. Sex, rebirth, death, life, harvest, autumn, equinox, spring turning to summer then to fall then to winter, and all other forms of subject matter could be sussed out of the tirelessly standing and rigid structures erected in the garden.

  It kept from becoming spectacle through careful mentoring from a few of the professors. But in the last few years, a few sculptures had been, at their inauguration, controversial, and considered obscene.

  The latest sculpture to have this notoriety was Kurt's current hiding spot. It was a two-person sculpture—one man, one woman—groping each other. The piece, entitled “Greed”, had roused quite a stir in the feminist community and in Kurt's pants. He always found the image of two pieces of stone twisting together, one groping the other while the other one pushing at the other's chest a powerful one.

  He liked the idea of destroying innocence, and waiting for Rachel seemed to him just like clubbing a baby seal, except not for money, just for the pure joy of wrecking something so beautiful he would never be able to own.

  He would make her touch him, though, and Kurt shuddered as he thought about it. His mouth salivated at the thought of grabbing her hand and shoving it down his pants as he choked her.

  Kurt could hardly contain himself as Rachel slowly stepped onto the path that ran elliptical through the garden, coming back full circle to where she stood, and right by where Kurt hid. Then Rachel slowly padded around the curve of the path that went away from Kurt. He didn't move though. It took all he had but he didn't move to pursue Rachel as she walked slowly away from him, oblivious to the danger and her impending doom.

  Kurt felt powerful, like he was witness to something precious and secret. It had happened like this once before and he had sprung too soon and his prey had escaped. Tonight would be different. Tonight would be the night that he learned from his past mistakes. He wou
ld be patient with his prey. Too often he charged head-long into these things and somehow penalized himself by rushing through the experience instead of really appreciating every moment along the way.

  Kurt stood as still as a stalk of Midwest corn, after the summer's heat has sucked the moisture out of it and the sun had dried it, bleaching its long green leaves a sickly yellow. He sucked his teeth while Rachel slowly walked around the trail. And when she finally walked to the sculpture which he hid behind, she walked by with a quickened step, not looking up at the vulgar display but instead looking down the trail past it.

  This bitch, Kurt thought, she would be one of those people who don't like this beautiful work of art. This cunt thinks she is better than everyone and everything. I'm so sick of it.

  Something inside Kurt broke, and hate rushed through the thin walls of his heart to fill him completely. It was exhilarating and it turned him on like it always did. Without conscious thought and acting completely on predator instinct, Kurt sprinted around the monument he loved so much and bee-lined for Rachel.

  She looked back to see him coming as he plunged through a small patch of knee-high flowers by the path. The scream that left her mouth and filled the garden was one as old as time itself, to be repeated throughout history again and again.

  A short ode to the sculpture titled “Greed” that Kurt loved so much. The ballad of the oppressed as they were made to suffer.

  Chapter Six

  RACHEL WALKED AROUND the sculpture garden completely at ease. It was one of her favorite places to stop on her way home from going out, when she actually decided to get out of her apartment. The night had a chill on it that she didn't like though, and instead of really taking her time, she moved rather rapidly down the narrow trail of worn grass.

  Sometimes she stopped to peer up at the stars, trying to make out half-remembered constellations. But other than those brief moments of hesitation she moved with a grace born of confidence.