HOLY CROSSWORD DOROTHY

HOLY CROSSWORD DOROTHY

Four across. I should know this. Chango. No, that's not it. I read the thing from cover to

cover and I should know all this. Four across. Founder of Hyperspace Mechanics. I don't know.

One down. Better try that. A native or inhabitant of Africa. That's an easier one to handle. Better

count the squares. Seven. Yeah, I know this. A-F-R-I-C-A-N. That's it, baby, you got it-sister. Now

four across again. I ought to refer to the book again, but let me see if I can wing it.Definitely not C-H-A-

N-G-O, because the R is where the N should be now. Let me see-C-H-A-R-N-O. Oh, right! Professor

Charno, the baldheaded fellow with the blue skin. Should have known something wasn't quite

kosher. Five across. Every time I went for coffee, there he would be across the street. Five across.

I don't know. Pretending to read the Free Press when he was really just checking me out to see

where I was going. Um. The ones down seem easier than the ones across. Let me see. Two down

and fun to go.

Ha. A rapier wit, mah lady. Should have told somebody. Two down. A main street in

Detroit. Now aren't we keeping it local. Got to be W-O-O-D-that's right-W-A-R-D, that's right,

that's it. Six across. Thought it was just a coincidence the first few times I saw him across the

street or behind me in the late afternoon crush to get home. Six across. First name of Randurian

conqueror. That's easy too. D-R-U-L-L. Drull Drugor. Eight across. Highly skilled teacher. I-N-

no, can't be instructor. D-R-no, can't be that either. Should have told some friends. Professor!

Got to be Professor. Yeah, P-R-O-F-E-S-S-O-R. Professor Carno. What was I thinking to let him

blithely stalk me like that? Should have left work with friends. Hmph. Three down.

-2-

A sailor? A seaman-whatever. What else could a sailor or seaman be? I don't know, better

try something else. Ten across. Surname of Randurian Tyrant. I know that. I already have Drull

down. Let me see-D-R-U-G-O-R. Uh-huh, that will do it. What's next? Eleven across. What should have

done was have Teddy pick me up at work. He could have been my eye witness. Fourth planet from

the Sun. That's not earth, that's for sure. What's the next one. Oh, I know, it's gotta be Mars. Let me

check-how many letters? M-A-R-S. Yep, moving right along. Teddy would have known what to do.

The only thing is it would have led to other things. Picking me up after work would have given him

plenty of opportunity to pressure me for a date. No, I didn't want to go there.; didn't want to go

through all that. Margaret worked downtown just up the street. I could have called her and gave her

the lowdown.

Um. Seven down now. To serve as a prediction; what's that all about? Can't be OMEN, not

enough letters. Mmmmn, PREMONITION (?) No, that's too long-too many letters. To serve as a

prediction-to serve as a prediction-to serve as a prediction-to serve-what about-no, it's got to have

an S in it whatever it is that goes in here. Nearly lost a digit when he hustled me into the car and

slammed the door on my fingers. Should have gotten someone to walk me to the parking lot. Who

would have thought anybody would have the nerve to grab someone in an area as well-lighted as that?

I should have put up more of a fight. Ugh! I can still taste his gloved hand cupped around my mouth,

choking off the scream in my throat and heart before it ever got started. I should have put up more of

should have put up more of a fight. I should have taken off one of my high heels and twisted around to

gouge at his eyes. Right. That's easy to say now. Easy to know what to do after the fact. While it's

happening your wits scatter in all directions. Sure, I should have been prepared for something like for

something like that before I ever started out to my car. Yeah, that's what they all say. What I want to

(CONT.) -3-

know is who ever prepares for the day they might be kidnapped and raped?

Where was I? To serve as a prediction-to serve as a prediction-to serve as a sign (?) A sign

for what? A sign of things to come? A foretelling? No. A foreboding? No. A forewarning? No. A

foretaste? Well, that has an S in it... no, that won't work-there are too many letters. I wish some-

how I could get rid of the chill that runs down my legs and up through the root of me deep into the

middle of the night when I wake up from another nightmare panting and sweating tears out of

my pores remembering the ugly, snarling nicotine-stained teeth gritting behind the oval opening in

the lint-filled red and black ski mask and demanding I take off my panties and throw them across

the back seat. Let's try thirteen across-I don't know what seven down is all about.

Passageway or energy frequency. Just when I need it to get easier this puzzle gets harder. I

should have seen it coming, but how was I to know? Passageway or frequency, I don't know that-

let's try nine down. Maybe something will open up down there. Nine down. Nine down. The killer

part about it was he parked that red Camaro of his right by my black Ford Focus as big as Life in

broad daylight. How many times did I see him standing by that corroded ride of his, smiling at me,

barely able to raise his hand in a nervous wave? A crewcut, tinted glasses, a mustard colored mus-

tache pasted across his upper lip, and all wrapped up in a navy-blue windbreaker that was obviously too

big for him. Nine down. Nine down. I should have known, but what I want to know is where was Warren

Melvander, our trusty old security officer, when the Sun went down and I stayed late to finish up my

blueprints? What pains me is how I came off the elevator and told him how I would be right back

because I needed to get the rest of my specs out of the car. I thought he would look out for me when

I left the vestibule. I didn't think I would have to specifically tell him. After all, that was what he was

After all, that was what he was being paid to do. Nine down. Nine down. The time that is to come. Um.

That rules out the past and nix on the present. I know this one. The F in PROFESSOR has to be the

(CONT.) -4-

has to be the beginning of-yep! F-U-T-U-R-E.

I know I should have parked closer to the front entrance instead of by the freight elevator.

That still doesn't excuse Officer Melvander. I just want to know where was he when I was shivering by

my car, with a furry hand cuffed around my mouth and the cutting edge of some kind of hunting knife

poking at the underside between my breast and ribs. Sixteen across. Sites where battles are fought.

How about Bunker Hill or Gettysburg? No, there are not enough letters in Gettysburg. I think maybe

Pearl Harbor. No, I'm still a couple letters short. How about the parking lot adjacent to the Guarding

Building?- There's a battleground for you. My own personal version of Hamburger Hill. Sometimes

when I'm at home reading or watching television I can hear the voice of Rodger Ray Cook behind

me as clear as a death knell.

"Remember me?"

Before I could give anything like an intelligent reply, I felt a gloved hand close about my windpipe

and another around my lips. I thought he was going to break my jaw his grip was so tight.

"Remember me? Just nod if you recognize the sound of my voice." I racked my brains all in a

split-second as to who this could possibly be. "Don't try to scream. You cry out and I'll cut out your

heart and store it in a jar with my own piss."

He pressed his head in my hair when he said this. Sometimes I think to myself that any passerby

catching a glimpse of us from afar would have thought he was a lover whispering an endearment in

my ear. Some sweet nothing from a maniac wooing his prey. A shudder coursed through me and shook

my entire body, but I uttered not one sound. The only thing that came out of me was the mist of my

breath in the cold night.

"Open the door to your car." He whispered in my ear.

-5-

The keys trembled between my fingers. I pressed the button on the keypad and the doors to the

Ford Focus burped open. The hand that was clasped about my throat reached down and snatched the

keys from my hand.

"Get in the back and lock the door," he tells me, "you try and run from me and you will be

one sorry mess of a sight."

Rodger Cook ushered me into the back and a thousand and one alternatives exploded in my

mind like some kind of fragmentation grenade. I could have screamed, turned and fought, made a run

for it somehow. The moment swelled around me and I attempted to steel my resolve, but whatever

reserves of will I attempted to summon just seemed to wash out of me in a sick, queasy feeling of

timorous weakness.

The moment passed and I was in the back like an obedient little waif. I heard the doors relock

around me and all hope was shut out in a clacking finality.

"What is it you want from me?"

I heard myself saying it, but it sounded like I'm was listening to someone else take up my side.

"Just keep your hands in your lap, honey bunch."

"What do you want?" I asked the ski masked head in the rearview mirror. "Do you want

money? I left my purse in the office, but there's some travelers' checks in the glove compartment.

You can have them. You need my car? Take it. I don't care. Just let me out right here. I won't tell

anyone."

I could have been mistaken, but it seemed to me he was chuckling to himself. I thought I

saw him slowly shaking his head as though I just didn't get it.

"You really don't remember me, do you? Now keep your hands in your lap. You spring for that

door and I'll break your arm. You scream for help and I'll slit your throat from ear to ear, but not

(CONT.) -6-

straight away if you catch my drift. Are we on the same page now, sugar pie?"

"Who are you?" I asked in a resentful whisper.

"I think it will come to you in time." I hear him start the engine. "I don't want your money.

I don't want your car. Now I want to make sure we have an understanding about this escaping

business and this crying out for help stuff. Do you follow me, sweet thing? I need an answer right now,

yes or no?"

"Yes,..." I heard my voice in spite of myself.

"That's better. Now that we're on the same page, we better get rolling. Let's go back to my place

where we can talk."

"What do you want?" I mumbled grimly.

I felt the car lurch out of the parking lot. He was making his way down Michigan. Rodger Cook

glanced at me with a curious, sneering smirk.

"Don't you know? I want you, honey bunch. I'll tell you what; take off your panties and give them to me."

"WHAT?"

"Calm down now, sugar pie, calm down. Don't make me come back there and put a bullet through

your head. I want the panties. Give 'em to me right now."

This is it, I thought to myself, I'm going to die. This creep is planning to kill me.

There. This is it. B-A-T-T-L-E-G-R-O-U-N-D-S. Sixteen across. Now eleven down. Things that conceal

or disguise. Whatever it is, it'll start with an M and end with an S.

"Since you're going to murder me anyway, why don't you take off that ski mask so I can

see who you are?" I challenged him bitterly.

"All in due time, darling, all in due time."

-7-

MASKS! That's what it is! Starts with an M, and now A-S-K- and ends with an S. That's

it! M-A-S-K-S. Now seventeen down.

"I'll tell you what-" This idea flashes into my head from nowhere, "-let's make a swap. I'll

hand over my panties and you hand over you ski mask so I can see who it is that's going to kill me."

"Where do you get the idea that you're in any position to bargain with me?

"What-are you going to rape me wearing that ski mask? That's pretty kinky, isn't it?"

"What difference will it make to you?"

"Whatever happened to granting the condemned a last request?"

"What last request?"

"I want to see your face before I die. A girl should at least see the face of her attacker before

she goes."

"Look, sweet thing, nobody's going anywhere and nobody's dying. You just be a good little

girl and hand over those panties. Stop the pretense, little lady. We're not negotiating some bid on

a condo here. Throw your drawers my way, sugar pie, and Daddy's going to take real good care of you.

Forget all that Woman's Lib crap." I'll never forget how he turned and looked over to me while the

Street lamps flashed ribbons of light across the side windows and upholstery of my car. "Unless, that is,

you want me to make special reservations for you to have your own little private plot of land. That what

you want, honey bunch? God's Little Acre for your little spring chicken be-hind?"

Seventeen across. Land measure or 43, 560 square feet. 'Let's Ask Architect Dorothy',

brought to you by Procter & Gamble. Hmph. A-C-R-E. Twelve down. Unquestioning belief. Should be

bias, but that's not enough letters. Should be prejudice, but that's too many. Same thing for obsession.

Some kind of term for fixed idea, but what could it be? Whatever it is, it has to have five letters. I don't

know why it took me so long to place that voice.

-8-

"Don't you remember the letters you used to get when you were in college? Always signed

the same way?"

Finally, it came to me, and I matched the voice to a face and the face to a name.

"R.C. Cola?"

"At your service, ma'am. There you go, in the flesh."

All my girlfriends used to give me the skinnies on how Roddie Ray Cook wallpapered his

dorm room with photos of me. According to them, he would take his pictures while I was walking to and

from classes. I was just an Architectural Design major at the time. He was studying to be a surveyor or

something like that. The fellow seemed nice enough the few times I met him and talked to him in my

classes. I never took much notice of him. A lanky, tall guy with a diffident manner, I would see him every

now and then darting between the buildings like a ferret. Sometimes it looked like he was cradling a

camera and sometimes no, but all the wild tales my girlfriends told me about him I just chalked up to

idle gossip. There were plenty of guys on campus back then with the HOTS for me. Some I dated and

others I did not, but with drafting classes driving me batty I had to concentrate on my studies. After

graduation, the marriage proposals started coming in like fan mail.

I will have to admit it was all very flattering at the time.

All those letters! Some I opened and read, others I filed in the trash bin. Now I'm wondering,

what could I have done with Ray Cook's letters? I don't know.

Fourteen down. Supreme male ruler. Four letters. Hmmn, it's not chief, it can't be boss,

must be K-I-N-G. Yeah, that fits the N in BATTLEGROUNDS. One more. Fifteen down. What is this?

Of the cosmos. Whatever it is, it's got to have an O and a C in it. Let me see, C-O-S-M-I-C. Yeah, that hits

the spot. Now I'll go back and fill in the ones I missed.

"You never gave me a tumble," I heard something in his voice break that almost made me feel

(CONT.) -9-

pity for him. "-never even as much as had a cup of coffee with me. Why? I'm just a good ole boy. Free,

white and twentyone just like you are. What would one date have cost a pretty girl like you? Just one

date with a nice guy like me. We could have gone out a few times and found out what we had in

common-"

The car was slowing down, which told me we were nearing his place. He kept on rambling

all that Lonelyhearts nonsense. How mortified he was and how rejected I made him feel. I kept inching

my hand over to the lock button in the door console. I prayed to God that he didn't notice what

I was doing in the rear-view mirror. While I was secretly groping to unlock the side passenger door,

I nervously kicked a book or something on the floor with my toe.

That's it! The name of the book in my car! S-T-A-R-H-A-M-M-E-R!

"Do you always give potential girlfriends this kind of treatment?"

"Can't say that I have. But then, I guess there's a first time for everything , eh?"

"Look, you don't have to go through all this with me. Wha-what type of books do you like

to read?"

"A few years too late for that, isn't it? What say we skip the preliminaries on this date, little

darling." We were slowing to a crawl and I reached down for the book at my feet. Ray Cook turned

to me and once again raised the hunting knife in his fist. "Now I asked you kindly for your

panties, missus. Don't make me come over there. I'll slice them off if I have to an-"

I caught him with an awful whack under the chin, swinging the book upward with all my strength.

Stunned, he reflexively slashed the hunting knife at my head and nicked me just above the brow near

the crown of my head. My hands darted out in spite of the spasm of pain lancing through my temples.

through my temples. I mashed down on the lock button and levered the door open, spilling out in

a jumble on the loose gravel and tufts of dry grass. He was pushing to open the door on his passenger

(CONT.) -10-

side, and only pressed the lock button in a raging afterthought.

I was on my feet now with something wet curling around my right eyebrow and tracing itself

through my hair and underneath my earlobe. I touched my fingertips to the edge of my ear and saw

red on my fingers.

I could feel my heart pumping as Ray Cook bolted through the door on the driver's side to

come around to where I was backing up in a terrified shiver. I took off one of my heels, having no other

weapons of any kind, and threw it at him. What else could I do? I saw the shoe bounce of his collarbone

as he attempted to duck. I took off my other shoe to throw it as well, thought the better of it, and

simply turned and ran for my life.

I was running without any idea where I was going. I looked, back because I knew he would be

coming after me. I saw him trip and fall in a patch of wet grass, and that made me bear down and

and run all the harder.

I managed to make it to the main road in about fifty yards. What I would have done otherwise I

cannot tell you. I darted in my bare stocking feet between whizzing cars, their flashing headlights

almost blinding me, and dodged at the blaring sound of oncoming horns until I made it to the other

side of the road. The traffic everywhere was heavy and thick and it was providence that I didn't get run

over in my consternation.

I could see Ray Cook on the other side between all the cars going both ways. I kept glancing at him

out of the corner of my eye as I waved my arms wildly like a madwoman, hoping to flag a car down.

Miserable seconds passed sluggishly during which I could see Ray Cook making his way through the

traffic over to my side. Just as my heart sank that nobody would be having any of my troubles this night,

a yellow checker cab rolled over onto the shoulder and flashing its red lights, cruised back in reverse

towards me.

-11-

I ran, slipping and sliding with all my might.

I swung open the passenger door and hopped inside.

"Get me out of here!" I barely managed to gasp. "That guy-see that guy? Over there! Over

there! That guy is trying to kill me!"

The cabbie was some young black fellow in a green windbreaker and a red beret. He clumsily

slipped gears into forward drive. We lurched away off the shoulder and down the road.

When we came to the first Police Station we could find, I filed a police report. This took

some hours, and the taxi driver who picked me up was also required to make a statement. After

all, he was just about the only one who really witnessed anything. At least as far as I could tell.

Channel! C-H-A-N-N-E-L! Yes! That's it. A passageway or energy frequency. The E fits

FUTURE and everything. Now it's time to clean up the ones that go down. Three down A sailor;

a seaman. Something like Ulysses perhaps? Now there's the R in Professor and the A in

STARHAMMER. Mariner maybe? M-A-there's the A-R-I-N-E-and there's the R! Yep!

Seven down. Seven down. Seven down... to serve as a prediction. Now I remember! Foretaste

was too long-wait a minute! How about forecast! F-O-R-E-C-A-S-T! Just one more, twelve down.

Unquestioning belief. It's got to have five letters. Maybe dogma, that has five letters. No, I need

an A instead of an O. Ulp! What was I thinking? Faith! F-A-I-T-H! That's it!

Faith. Yep. F-A-I-T-H.

Uh-oh. I think the Mayor just introduced me. Yes, she's motioning me toward the podium.

Better get going.

-THE END- ELIGAH BOYKIN JR.

2634 WEST McNICHOLS

DETROIT, MICHIGAN 48221