The Boy in the Tunnel

Fall 1997, Chapter 11: Renee

"You break this camera, I will kill you."

"Got it."

"I'm not kidding. I will stab you in the neck and watch you bleed out. Then I'll paint my face with your blood and run naked, howling through the woods."

Greg the Human Tripod didn't have a response for that. Renee took her spot between Lata and Caroline, five feet from both of them. She had chosen them for the aesthetics as much as anything – Caroline's oversaturated Kodachrome, Lata's sepia tint, the stark rayogaph contrasts of her own body. They should be immortalized.

"I just press this button?"

"Don't press anything. I set the timer. You are a human tripod." She assumed the Kouros pose, just as she had instructed Lata and Caroline to make. She let her face go blank. Behind them, a few stray lights twinkled amid the ancient buildings and trees of West Campus. On the roof, a tangible atmosphere of fragrant smoke issued from a dozen mouths. A spotlight above the stairway door shone hot and naked on them, creating deep shadows from every ridge and crevice.

With a click, the shutter opened. Renee held her breath, waiting for it to close.

The rumble and woof from Taylor's apartment increased in strength as they descended the stairs, any identifying characteristics muffled by wood and brick. Renee opened the apartment door and the treble blasted her in the face. Bodies collided with bodies in artificial twilight, sometimes intentional, sometimes not. Renee snaked her way through a maze of flesh, the jutting bones of her hips inscribing messages on thighs and asses. A disco ball threw dots of light around the room, turning everyone's face into a starfield. Renee raised her camera above and took a shot from the perspective of a distant planet.

She made it to the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, and the haphazard array of bottles it contained. She reached for the enormous bottle of Grey Goose and looked for a clean cup. Lata was right behind her. "Whose apartment is this?" she asked, looking around at the exposed-brick walls, the stainless-steel appliances, the tasteful up-lighting.

"Taylor Hollister." Renee found a plastic cup in the cabinet, emblazoned with the slogan "COLLEGE – 5 OR 6 OF THE BEST YEARS OF MY LIFE."

"As in..."

"Hollister Drive. Hollister Arena. He is loathsome, but money has its uses." Renee filled the cup with Grey Goose, then drank half of it in one swallow. She wanted it to clean her out, to disinfect her. Lata stared at her, wide-eyed. "What happened to your friend?" Renee asked.

Lata looked out to the living room. The bodies had realigned themselves in orbit around Caroline, a new planet in the center of the room. Light sparked off her shimmering dress like a breathing disco ball. Renee pointed her camera at Caroline and left the shutter open, so time would turn her into a faceless mass of light.

A hand brushed Renee's shoulder blades. "Renee!" Taylor planted a stubbly kiss on Renee's cheek, leaving a sickly-sweet imprint. More to disinfect. "How does the witching hour find you, my goth princess?"

"Tone it down, Taylor."

"Whatever, I'm just trying to relate." Taylor hopped up on a clear spot on the counter. Everything was always frictionless for Taylor. If his name or his money wasn't lubrication enough, his looks usually did the trick. He looked like a wolf, like he'd eat your grandma to get into your bed. He'd blow your fucking house down if you weren't careful. Renee knew a lot of girls building their houses out of straw, waiting for him to saunter by. "Where's Alex?"

"He had something he needed to attend to."

"Sure. You didn't bring the other one, did you? I know you like to keep a backup handy."