A light blanket of fog floats over Lake Wenatchee. The pitch black water under the waning moon’s light ripples ever so softly by a crisp breeze out of the West. The Lake’s namesake established in 1811 by Chief Clawfoot of the Wenatchi tribe was the main source of survival and vitality of the tribe. Now 200 years later, it is the center of recreational activities of the town. During the parching summer days, the Lake is bustling with all sorts of water activities, from skiing to wading in the shallows. Up and door the shoreline, pop-ups, tents, chairs and bbq’s make use of every square foot. The savory smell of sizzling animal products and suntan lotion replaces the distinct pine smell denotative to the region. But in the evenings, after the last beer is drunk, and all the day trippers have left, the place becomes a bastion of peace and tranquility. A good place for the teenage youths of the town to engage in all sorts of questionable activities. Pursuits that their bedrooms at home can not properly fortify against from prying and intrusive parental units.
A mint older model Bel Air pulls rambles up to the cliff’s edge overlooking the placid lake below. The leveled area known as Paradise Point is normally bustling with local teenagers hanging out and making out, but tonight it’s deserted. Mark is becomes excited by the realization he is alone with his new conquest. A chick from the city, in town for vacation with her parents. She was someone new who would soon leave and take her annoyances with her. Tonight is going to be a great night he thinks to himself, but the stupid grin on his face alerts the young lady he may have other intentions than just fooling around. They two teenagers begin to kiss, pecking at each other like chickens looking for a wormy midnight snack. Mark escalates his game and becomes more comfortable in his technique, utilizing some techniques he learned from his older brother. Jamie stops his advancement.
“Do you have any CD’s we can listen to?” She asks, flipping down both the passengers and the driver’s sun visors.
“Jenny, this is a classic…” He replies, rolling his eyes at her appalling lack of appreciation for all his hard work, the cost of reconditioning put into his ride and ignorance on the subject of standard equipment in classic cars.
She punches him hard in the arm. “My name’s Jamie!” She continues her search under the seat for something to listen too. Finding an old 8-track cassette of Johnny Cash, she examines the strange object and tosses it in the back seat.
“That’s what I said… Jaime.” Still hesitant, his voice curls at the end of his response, the slightest audible inflection of a question mark. He could have sworn her name was Jenny.
“No, you didn’t.” She replies. His gaff quickly wears off from her mind, a non-issue for the most part, but nevertheless a slap to her self-esteem.
Mark flips back up both visors and turns to Jamie. “Anyways, this car has an eight track and I didn’t come here to listen to any music from my parents era.”
“What did you come up here for?” She questions, a facetious look on her innocent face, knowing exactly why they both drove the twenty miles from town to do.
That stupid grin crosses Mark’s face again and they both begin to giggle. “You know.” He replies.
Mark slides over to her side of the seat and starts kissing her on the nape of her neck. Her flesh responds in kind with goosebumps and the tiny hairs at the base of her skull stand on end. Jamie continues to giggle, playing hard to get at first, but gives in after only a few short minutes as her libido flares up. The two start hot and heavy into each other, kissing, necking and fondling. Lost in the moment, they both are unaware of small pebbles that begin bouncing off the driver side door and window. Only after a moment’s pause to catch his breath does Mark stop his passionate endeavors to pinpoint the peculiar distracting sound and to look around. But the windows are fogged up and the sound immediately ceases anyways. He doesn’t think much of it, maybe the wind picked up some loose dirt from the hillside and carried it down. He continues his ingress into Jamie’s blouse. He manages to undo her bra strap when the sound of his car being dinged by small pebbles resumes. The sound, however, is getting louder as the pebbles are becoming larger. Small rocks are barraging his sweet ride, this time too constant with force and repetitively to be anything other than intentional.
“What the hell is going on here?” He questions Jamie rhetorically, stepping out of the car before she could answer. He finds a few small stones lying in the dirt along his car door. He picks up a couple and hurls them back into the darkness of the pines.
The romantic moments between the two fades quick, as Mark’s testosterone fueled passion turns to testosterone-fueled anger. Jamie sensing Mark’s his change in mood, knowing any chance of a tender encounter among the two on the cold hard vinyl was over, b*****s up her blouse.
“Everything ok?” She asks, concerned for both their safety.
“No, it’s not! Someone’s throwing rocks at my car and they’re going to get their a*s kicked!” Mark shouts, in the direction where he hears movement amongst the foliage and dry leaves on the ground. He bulges his eyes to let in whatever little light the moon affords him, to try to see the encroacher just out of sight.
“You better take off before I come in there and break your damn face!” He continues.
Large rocks, the size of baseballs come launching out of the dark foliage in rapid succession. They strike the side of the car putting large dents into the flawless royal blue speckled paint. One large stone whizzes past Mark nearly hitting him and breaks the driver side window and comes to rest in Jamie’s lap. She screams in terror and climbs up onto the seat pressing her back up against her door. Mark’s heart begins to race from both fear and rage. Both his pride and joy is being destroyed and any chance of highly anticipated s*x has been ruined.
A moment of calm interrupts the chaos. Jaime’s screams stop. Mark ceases his barrage of expletives towards the thicket of darkness. Then out from that blackness, a stone is hurled with more velocity than any of the previous. Mark is unable to dodge the projectile and it strikes him on the right shoulder, shattering his collarbone and tearing his humerus bone from its socket.The force of the blow causes him to stumble backward into the already shattered window, shredding up his right hand and forearm on the protruding daggers of glass. Marks screams, his face bearing the intense pain. His arm falls lifelessly to his side. He manages to open the door with his left and struggles to enter the car. Mark screams and cries in pain and he tosses himself onto the seat. His right arm gushes blood and his little finger dangles off his hand, almost completely severed from its four companions. The grotesque scene incites another round of panic and terror in Jamie as a severed artery in Mark’s arm squirts volumes of blood on her silk blouse and jeans.
Mark does his best to start the car and throws it into reverse. The blood soaked steering wheel makes it difficult to turn in the tight space at the top of the hill. He plunges the back of the car deep into the overgrown treeline. From nearly 12 feet high above, a boulder the size of an office printer comes smashing through the rear window, landing in the back seat. The rear shocks bust under the intense added weight and bits of glass goes flying through the interior of the car. Shards of glass rain down on them. The two teenagers peel away from the scene, the rear of the beat up Bel-Air drags in the dirt, kicking up dust. The couple most certain never to return to now coined “Purgatory Point”.
